Roads

The night peels the heart like an onion, what remains after it is removed of it's defenses?

I had to do an interpretation of my theme in my Writing workshop today. I decided to do a serious short instead of acting it out or singing, etc.

So I laid out several magazine advertisements which are usually the epitome of gender construction (my theme) and one of my mother's old clothing and one of my old t-shirts on the table. I also had a pair of scissors, a ruby red lipstick and nail polish. I blindfolded myself to represent society's ignorance to it's gender construction. I sat like a marionette and waited for my cue to start (which is the music that was played during the whole act).


That was when I picked up the lipstick and started to draw on the magazine adverts. This symbolizes the effect of make-up. I dropped the lipstick and then picked up the nail polish and poured it all over the adverts, destroying it. Yet it is not enough, so I tore the adverts and tossed it on to the ground. The pieces are still there though, signifying however hard we try to break free of these stereotypes, it will still remain.


Then I picked up the pair of scissors and started to cut through the clothes. It was intense, since I was blindfolded and I didn't know what I was cutting. Crazy as it sounds, my writing class was dead silent during my whole act. I found out later it wasn't because they enjoyed it, they paid close attention because they were afraid I might cut my finger off or something. I timed it well and I think I did good. There were some who didn't bother putting in effort and read it out like the Vagina monologue. But all in all we had quite a bit of fun, some were entertaining whilst others were intense. See, this is why I take Writing, the most interesting people are always in my class.

Experimental Writing

Little doll
Who carries the name of the most beautiful flower
Could you please bring me something from your parents' tower?

Of course dear Shadow
What is it you humbly ask to endow?

Walk back to your castle dear child
And make it your family's tomb
For all I really yearn
Lies within your mother's womb

I once heard of a man who will become like no other
Could you please bring me your still unborn brother?

The shadow bowed in gratitude, completing her task
Would you like anything in return, might I ask?

Please I hope you won't find me wrong
I would like to play, laugh and dance all night long
But no matter what I want
I would find a friend the most relevant

I’m sorry dear little flower
Friends I can not give
It is sadly beyond my power

Then I would like my brother back
For this deal of ours
Just turned awfully sour
What good are you, if you make me weep?
Please have my brother returned by the gates of my keep

Neither your brother I can give you
What you gave is given
I merely strive for a way to make it even
Seeing my offer is merely out of kindness
This child will never know the embrace of your fortress

Then I wish for a way to have you undone
Kind shadow
I want you mauled and buried
By the darkest and most blighted meadow

Fair enough little flower
Without feelings of either vain or rue
I will grant your one wish 'come true

Without honour
Without grace
You will travel to the darkest place
Untouched by the vilest of gloom
Your skin will always run paler than our brightest moon

Travel the road of which I pointed
And be forever gone
For sure one day
You will have me undone

Thank you kindly,
Shadow of whom I don't know

Writin.g.

Yours is the voice
That keeps me awake
My head explodes
And my body aches


Experimental Writing is a tough and challenging subject which I chose to go through. Completely surrounded by fellow writers, I feel immensely intimidated that most of them are able to transcend from writing fiction into writing prose poems, non-literary satires, etc.

So here I am, this guy who apparently thinks he's able to write and is pretty much good at it and this whole notion of being good in writing shatters before him and he's having trouble coping with class. Not only that, he hasn't been able to grasp the formats and techniques 100% yet. Somehow or rather I hear my enemies and my nemesissies snickering from miles away. Don't get me wrong, the protagonist I'm speaking about is actually me.


To top it off, I have to go through an array of assessments to pass this subject and if one fails any of it, they have to fork out another subject's worth of fees to take it all over again.

The pressure is on and I'm feeling the sweat. Someone please hand me a towel, s'il vous plaît?

Writer's Block

As an aspiring writer (as of 1st March 2007), I'm experiencing a blockage in my creative side of the brain. I've recently started writing a narrative on the genre of horror and it used to be my forte, but I seem to have lost the gist for it.

True, I do dish out ChickLits but I think I do better in creating a frightening and menacing environment for the readers. I can't seem to think of how the plot would flow from where I stopped, and I just got off the phone where I was giving out ideas about a Women's Rights campaign. I guess that doesn't mean that there's an obstruction in creativity.

Maybe it's wordplay then. I seem to get stuck in my limited edition of vocabulary skills which isn't exactly great in my situation at the moment, since I'm starting my new semester and I'm taking up another Writing class (cause I thoroughly enjoyed the criticisms, the late nights, the stress) and I need my brain to be working properly at 150% through-out the whole semester.

I am looking forward to my new semester, at least I hope it could bring forth a new collection of ideas.

Hopefully.

The Dawn Of Awakening

"Why? Why are you doing this to me? Haven't I given you everything you want?"

"I don't want your meaningless gifts, I don't want your distasteful flattery, and most of all I don't want you," he said while turning his back.

I looked at him hoping to catch a glimpse of remorse in what he said. I bit my lip to fight back the tears. I loved him so much, how can he just throw away whatever we had just like that? Like a million pieces of glass, my heart shattered onto the ground. My whole world was crumbling around me.

"You said you loved me. What happened that made you take back whatever you said?"

He shifted his head and looked at me with the corner of his left eye and said, "I never said I loved you."

Digging my fingernails deep into my fist, I pounded the marble floor. The tears unleashed itself and started to fall onto the ground. I couldn't breathe. My whole body jerked each time I tried to breathe. I could hear myself crying out loud, yet I couldn't control it. He's hurting me and I couldn't understand why. How can someone I gave my heart, my body, my soul to be so cruel?

"Cry all you want. But don't think that you can use tears as a weapon against my conscience. If you haven't already noticed, I don't have any."

My eyes were blurry from the tears. I looked up to see his back heading towards the door. I wanted to stop him but my legs wouldn't respond. I lifted up my right arm and tried to grab a hold of him, his jeans, his shirt, anything I could to stop him from walking out of my life. I opened my mouth and his name came out with a shriek.

"Ethan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The sound of the door closing echoed in the still room.

(Written by: Ethan Lim. please don't plagiarize my narrative! thanx.)

J'Adore Alexia

well it's time to post up my narrative for my Fictional
Writing class. a few notes before u continue to read my major project, the
dialogue bit is in french and as a "writer" i assume that people
reading it knows french, and btw it's quite badly translated (i'm still in the
process of learning!) so do not nitpick at this very grey area.



secondly the title actually means the 7 Deadly Sins in french, see if u can
actually spot the sins within my narrative.



thirdly, there are two parts to my narrative, i did not want the reader to
relate to the protagonist so i kept it cold and simple. everything is very
minimal, in contrast to the second part which is dark and dismal. i wanted to
portray the workings of a model, as in what we see on the exterior (photographs,
posters, etc) to what goes on in the inside. also names of brands, wines,
papers, etc do actually exist in this world. i did quite a bit of research and
poured out my heart and soul into this piece.



so i hope u guys who like reading enjoy it. any comments please feel free to
drop me a msg.

Les Sept Péchés Capitaux

Alexia opened the door with her keys and stepped into her apartment. She threw her keys into a glass bowl next to an array of neatly fanned out French Vogues, one of which had her posing on the front cover. Her skinny frame was dressed in agnès b. from top to toe, her long fiery red hair was tied back into a bun and she had pink Swarovski crystal studs glued to her smooth and fair face to contrast with her sapphire eyes. Next to her were the words "Alexia Cohen: la nouveau voix de la modèle".

She tip toed her way to her bedroom and remembered her former lover asking her, "Were you a ballerina? Or did you spend your lifetime walking on eggshells?".

She turned on the lights to find a picture lying on her 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. The picture was of a chubby and a thin girl, frozen in time laughing silently and their arms were around each other. She picked up the photo and stared at it, mesmerized by the uncanny similarity they had with each other. Her slender fingers slowly traced out the girl's face in the vintage photograph.

Celes…

She could still remember speaking to Celes like it was yesterday. Braiding each other's hair and talking about which guy in high school was cute, the fight they had over who Paul Vargen should take to the prom, the tears of happiness when Celes came out of the closet and introduced her girlfriend to Alexia. The last time they spoke to each other was when Celes got kicked out of rehab for doing crystal meth during one of her meetings.

Alexia walked over to her mahogany dressing table and set the photo down. She ignored the smudged Le Monde that had been there for a couple of days.

Model Hits Rock Bottom: Former top model, Celes Cohen, was diagnosed with having a mental breakdown after she was found naked on the streets of Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile. The photographer said she ran out on her last shot and witnesses saw her shrieking down the road of the café. Former co-worker and make-up artiste Jean Mallea revealed Cohen to have serious mental problems and had been consuming drugs during her previous shoots…

She moved to the kitchen with grace and agility, her stomach being abused from her starving it all day and demanding that she feed it immediately. A blast of cold air hit her as she opened the chrome refrigerator. Nothing. Her fridge was empty apart from a jar of pickles and a bottle of milk, both past its expiration date. Sighing to herself, Alexia picked up her phone and proceeded to dial La Favela Chic, the French version of HardRock Café. She straddled it with her neck and picked out a glass from the cabinet. Listening to the phone ring, Alexia watched the clear liquid flow straight into the glass as she turned on the tap. She took a gulp from it and left it at the basin.

"Alo, La Favela Chic, est-ce que je peux prendre votre ordre, sil vous plais?"

"Bonjour, c'est 18B Champ de Mars."

"Mademoiselle Cohen? Voulez-vous le même passer une?"

"Oui."

"La facture devoir…"

Alexia did not bother listening to the amount she needed to pay. She hung up and grabbed her handbag she threw on the white leather couch. She fished out 80,000 Francs and slipped it into one the many white envelopes she had lying on the round frosted glass coffee table. She slid the envelope gently underneath the door of her apartment; afraid that the delivery man will find out that the food is just for her. Trying to make it seem like she had a party going on, Alexia turned her Bang & Olufsen on and the apartment was filled with Camino Del Sol's haunting voice.

It was time to relax while her food was being delivered to her doorstep. She went through her mail that was sitting on her alabaster table next to her door and found the Hello! magazine delivered to her monthly from Leonard. Attached to the magazine was a note that said:

Hey sexy.

Saw your cover on Elle. Keep up the good work.

Miss that supple pink nipples of yours.

When will you come for me again?

Leo

Alexia thought about the men she had met up with and casually ended the night with their bodies entwined from heat and she giggled to herself. She tore the Post-It from the magazine and crumpled it up and tossed it aside. What’s the point in having a maid when the apartment is always clean? She ripped the plastic covering the magazine and flicked it nonchalantly. She sat down on her couch and started flipping through the magazine. There were pictures of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie, Britney shaving her head and other celebrities in their get-ups for various award ceremonies. Her eyes were drawn to an article on a beautiful red-head with eyes of blue.

After former top model Celes Cohen was checked into Esquirol hospital, a mental institution in France, her twin sister Alexia took over the reign of her modeling career and stole the world by storm…

Alexia ignored the knocking on her door and her eyes continued darting across page 16 of the magazine.

Alexia weighed in at about 130lbs but soon after her sister left the modeling world, she dropped a shocking 35lbs within 2 months. Now weighing 95lbs, Alexia is even thinner than her sister and is speculated for having an…

Alexia threw the magazine across the room.

Fuck you.

She could feel her eyes starting moisten. Damn mother fuckers and their fucking lies. Alexia picked herself up and took a deep breath, straightening and fluffing her Carven couture babydoll dress. The knocking had stopped and she was ready to pick up her dinner sitting outside the front door. She unlocked the latch to the door and slowly opened it to take a peek outside. The delivery man along with the white envelope was gone. In its place were two brown paper bags. She quickly snatched the bags and closed the door silently.

Upon opening the first paper bag after setting it down on her glass dining table, she brought out two cheese steak burgers wrapped in aluminum foil, a Styrofoam box of onion blossoms and a bottle of Côtes du Jura to go with her 2 cream based pastas in the other brown bag. Grabbing a fork from her utensils drawer she sat down and started to inhale the cabonara pasta pancetta, occasionally digging her cream stained fork into the onion blossoms and stuffing it down her throat.

Alexia was halfway through her 2nd serving of spaghetti bolognese when she felt her stomach groan and expand. She took a large sip from her glass of wine and continued to eat, occasionally stopping to take a deep breath. Her stomach could not stand it anymore. She set her fork down and looked at the two cheese steak burgers, unwrapped and sitting there on top of the aluminum foil. She closed her eyes and thought of Celes, her bony structure, the sunken-in cheekbone, her perfect abs…

Alexia opened her eyes to find Belial standing in front of her. His demonic eyes fixated on hers. In his scaly inhuman hands was a mirror in which he extended his arms for her to take a look. The reflection showed a grotesquely huge woman, sitting in the same position she was sitting in, her face drooped like a bulldog, the neck bunched up in fats and her arms rolled in cellulite.

NO! That's not her! She watched in horror as the mirror reflection of herself pointed at her and laughed. Yet nothing could be heard apart from the music playing at the background. Each time she laughed, her flabby double chin would shake and flap around.

Like a droplet falling into still water, ripples took the image of the fat woman away and replaced her with Celes' zed card. Yes, Celes was perfect. Her eyes pierced through the glossy card and into Alexia's soul, her features sharp and fairy-like.

Belial set the oval mirror on the table and picked up one the cheese steak burgers. He held it out to Alexia, the burger dripping with jack cheese on his rough palms. He smiled at her, like a snake his tongue darted in and out of his sharpened blood stained teeth. He stretched out his arms even further, the tip of the burger touching her cabonara and bolognese covered lips. She slowly parted them and took a huge bite into the burger. She could taste the juicy grilled beef wrapped in the saltiness of cheese and sautéed mushrooms melting into her mouth. She grinded the remnants of her first bite and swallowed it down. More. She snatched the burger from Belial's palms and started to feed on it, each bite tasting even better than the last. Her eyes bulged out and she made her way through the last morsel, her hands were covered in oil and fluids from the beef patty.

Her stomach was reaching its limits, but she was still hungry. She greedily grabbed the second cheese steak burger and masticated on it. Upon devouring a quarter of the burger, she could feel it rise from her abdomen. She looked up and watched Belial point to the bathroom door with his long brown fingernails. It was coming, and it was coming fast. She threw the vestiges on the table and darted into the bathroom.

Alexia hunched over the toilet seat and felt it at the back of her throat. She unhinged her jaws and everything came spurting out; surge after surge of food that she consumed. As she grabbed on to the toilet seat, the force of it threw her head back slightly and it snapped back into place after each gush. Welts of tears formed at the corner of her eyes and rolled off her face like hot coals. It was the last stream of herself and she could now feel the acidic taste burning through her throat. Her limbs were limp from the whole ordeal and she struggled to peel her body from the bathroom floor.

With her left hand, Alexia reached out and turned the silver handle anti-clockwise. She watched the dark orange fluid with bits and pieces mix in with the water, making its way down the hole. The flushing sounds echoed through the hollow toilet bowl and into the tiny bathroom.

Alexia stepped in front of the sink and looked at herself in the cabinet mirror latched onto the wall. Her gorgeous red hair now had clumps of remnants in it, the eyeliner blended with her tears and was melting down on her face. She turned on the tap and the water gushed through the faucet. She bent down and washed the chunks away from her mouth and her hair. The water merged with her liquefied eyeliner and turned black as she softly scrubbed her eyes. She straightened her back and looked into the reflection again, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed into Belial's beady eyes.

"I'm perfect."

The Fallen One

i hide in the corner of my room, wishing for it to go away
underneath the desk, where no one can touch me
bundling myself up in the fetal position, i lay there looking at my hands
my blood stained hands
my hands, the tools for vengeance
the very hands that were used in the game of cat and mouse
i can see the parasites eating away the flesh of my morbid existence
i close my eyes and try to clear my mind of grotesque images
the memory of my life
remnants of what used to be life
what life? i'm already dead inside
as welts of tears form in the corners of my eyes, i ask aloud,
"God, have you forsaken me?"



(copyrighted by me!)

Assignment Blues

these past few days have been so hectic for me. basically cause all my assignments are due in one after another and it's rushing everything in that turns my hair grey. so i manage to get an extension for my Writing assignment, something which i actually take pride in doing. i'm gonna post it up for u guys to read, give me comments on it, like the tenses, emotives, did i show instead of telling the readers, what u got from it, whether i actually have a plot in it cause in the assignment it's supposed to be describing a character in the stillness of time so it's supposed to be plotless. so anyways enjoy reading and send me comments.

Tap tap tap.

Celes Cohen tapped the tip of her blood red Manolo Blahniks together, hoping she would be whisked away just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. She loved the movie when she was a little girl and always begged her mother to watch it with her over and over again. Celes looked up to see the signboard of the café, it looked huge from where she was sitting. Nulle part Ailleurs. No place else. She studied French during her high school years and was always known as the geek in red, basically cause of her fiery red hair and the fact that she always came home with As.

The pink scar on her right shoulder contrasted her white and smooth alabaster skin, it was visible to the naked eye and it was the only gift from her father. The one scar on her perfect marble body, pulsating with hate and anger. With that she saw men differently, scum and bastards. No man was worth her time unless they were gay and then again she did not like the fact that they have a penis.

Celes slid her long frail arms and dug deep into her Hermes birken bag and shuffled some stuff around, looking for her Chanel compact. She learned that she had to look fresh and beautiful in order to book jobs where she had to work with photographers shouting directions at her in a snooty accent. She made friends with the make-up artists, who were responsible for transforming her from a pretty girl to the IT girl, the girl with the je ne sais pas as the French say it. She rewarded herself with the Crémeux à l'Ananas, the café’s trademark desert, for making it on the front page of French Vogue. She had to thank Ford Models for signing her up when she was 16, allowing her to work the runway in the Olympus Fashion Week and the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week as well as book her jobs that pay for her weekly splurge in Soltice products.

She opened her compact and looked into the mirror reflection of herself. Her eyes were like two sapphires glowing in a pool of milk. She always thought people would like her after looking into her eyes, yet people seem to be put off by her attitude towards life. Her eyes are the only gateway into her soul but no women she was interested in wanted to get to know that soft side of her. They preferred her the way she was, the way she presented herself; hard and opinionated.

She checked her lips, to see whether the color of her lipstick was still in tact. It was perfect, red and luscious. The signs of the silicon injection healed over the past few days. Her first visit to Dr. Andrew Ng and it was a success, just like the doctor said. She was not really excited to make a visit to the plastic surgeon as she did not think anything was wrong with her. But her modeling agent wanted it for her and when the needle pierced through the skin on her lips, she remembered what her mother said to her, “Beauty is pain…”.

Celes pursed her lips together and fluttered her eyes to shake off the mascara clumps that had gathered on her eyelashes. She then closed her compact and dropped it into her handbag

“Last shot! The camera loves you Celes!” a man’s voiced boomed.

Celes Cohen shifted her gaze slowly and looked straight at the camera, her eyes piercing through the lens.

Snap.

Why Write?

i'm happy these few days, which doesnt exactly give me a reason to really blog. after going through my blogs one after another, i realized that my life is really depressing. i only write when i'm down and depressed, which is possibly the reason why i write. the following is what i wrote for one of my assignments (i got a Distinction for it, go me!) for my Writing class, which i would like to share with everyone. that's basically because i ran out of stuff to write about...i'm happy, forgive me, enjoy.

Why write? I write basically to bitch and moan about every single thing that is wrong with my life or dare I say the universe. But that was before I started writing on a regular basis. Now I write to get my emotions out. Since I realized that I do not wear my emotions on my sleeve, I have to find a way to get it all out. In that sense I relate to Austin (1982) and Bird (1993), in what they wrote. Austin writes about his past, the nostalgia and the reason why he became a writer today; Bird writes about how she puts the facts in her past into the fictional writing that she has created. I on the other hand write to re-live my past, to remind me of the growing pains that I had endured and the happy moments I have lived through. I write based on my emotions and try to bring it to a higher level. For example, my memories have made me write things that is hard to face in real life, but by channeling my experience I can write about a minimalist room which has nothing in it apart from a chair and a dangling light bulb, all because I felt empty in life at that exact moment after writing my memoirs on paper. The room, like how i envision my life to be, is empty apart from a few minor details. From that I was able to expand and bring a character in that I felt resembled me on a different level. Like Austin, I was able to create nostalgia, like Bird I was able to channel this nostalgia or facts into something else; fictional writing.

So why write? Maybe other people write just for the hell of it, maybe they just write because they feel like it or they have too many ideas and thoughts in their head they just need a way to channel it out. But personally, I write with my emotions and feelings up front. Finding a way to merge fact into fiction by emphasis of certain details and make the readers relate to me, that's why I write.

one of these days i have to post my writing pieces for u guys to see. some of my readers will like it, some of them wont. but i honestly hope u, as a reader would have an impact upon reading it. after all, that's what i'm here for.