The Man wipes the sweat from his eyes, and opens the bus window. He looks around at the other commuters and into their dull, half-open eyes. Eyes that seem fixed on distant, imaginary points. Eyes that are open, but do not see.
The Man shudders and looks away.
A student with eyes beyond her years, unfolds herself onto the seat opposite him.
The Man gives her a sympathetic smile when their eyes meet. But she responds with a confused expression of bewilderment.
The Man flinches. Her eyes make him feel dirty, as if he had molested her.
The Man looks away to avoid the girl's accusing eyes to see other dead eyes watching, watching. He can feel countless eyes watching him, judging him, condemning him.
The Man becomes frantic, he can feel the nervous energy of all the world gathering into him. This is not how everything should be, he wants to tear out the foam stuffing out of his seat and stuff it in the driver’s mouth. He wants to snatch the emergency hammer and smash the windows. He wants to fly to the sun and blot it out with his body, to obliterate himself in the process. He is furious, energetic and very, very angry. This is not the way.
A lady of middle years who has been sleeping with her feet on the seat, wakes briefly to glance at him with glassy eyes before returning to her world. Anxiety grips The Man. Is it showing? Are the internal fireworks erupting from his eyes? Are his visceral intentions so obvious? The Man struggles with himself, a Goliath holding back a dam overlooking farmsteads that stretch over a horizon.
He. Must. Not. Let. It. Show.
The Man tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. He feels like an android, an automation with glass eyes and Lego hands, but he is NOT! He wishes it were raining, very hard so that the roof would keep thud-ding. He wants it to rain down on this pathetic bus, trundling down a dry road. He wants to hear the rain strike the plastic windows so that it will sound like someone is knocking on a door. Yes, then he could get up and open the door and step out to see the rain falling from a great height on his eyes.
Before The Man gets off the bus, he resolves to smile at the driver and shake his hand.
~
I think commuting is one of the most deadening, soul-crushing experiences that people subject themselves to on a daily basis. A daily prison, in which moments of life are progressively disappearing, while we sit and wait to go somewhere we may not want to be. It's scary how so many people sit in passive silence and just...stare into space. And we can't do anything about it, but remain in our own little worlds, alone, even with all the people around us.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Dally The Rabbit by JJ
The Boy loved writing, maybe he just liked the feeling of creating new things.
The Boy went to school and he loved it. He got to write many new things and he was happy.
The Boy had a new teacher one day. The teacher told everyone to copy something old out of a book.
This was called PENMANSHIP.
"Might we not practise our PENMANSHIP by writing something new?"
"Are you challenging me?"
"I just think we learn more by writing something new, rather than writing something that has been written before."
"You are here to learn respect and obedience."
"I have a need to create new things."
"Suppress it, TROUBLEMAKER."
The Boy was silent. All he could think of was a rabbit peeking out of a hole to see tarmac and asphalt being poured over it for roads.
The Boy was dismayed. He closed his book and began writing.
"Dally was a happy rabbit, why did you build a road over him?"
The Boy stopped writing, he didn’t think he could do it anymore.
~
When I was younger, I often felt suppressed by the educational system that was obsessed with making sure I always did the right thing (that is, to do things in the prescribed fashion). I wrote this story drawing upon my memories as a child in primary school, although you can tell that the incident may have been exaggerated a little...
The Boy went to school and he loved it. He got to write many new things and he was happy.
The Boy had a new teacher one day. The teacher told everyone to copy something old out of a book.
This was called PENMANSHIP.
"Might we not practise our PENMANSHIP by writing something new?"
"Are you challenging me?"
"I just think we learn more by writing something new, rather than writing something that has been written before."
"You are here to learn respect and obedience."
"I have a need to create new things."
"Suppress it, TROUBLEMAKER."
The Boy was silent. All he could think of was a rabbit peeking out of a hole to see tarmac and asphalt being poured over it for roads.
The Boy was dismayed. He closed his book and began writing.
"Dally was a happy rabbit, why did you build a road over him?"
The Boy stopped writing, he didn’t think he could do it anymore.
~
When I was younger, I often felt suppressed by the educational system that was obsessed with making sure I always did the right thing (that is, to do things in the prescribed fashion). I wrote this story drawing upon my memories as a child in primary school, although you can tell that the incident may have been exaggerated a little...
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Random acts of hairiness by Gary
There once was a boy named Mao. As a teenager, his friends used to tease him for being a "pei hor", which he never knew the exact meaning of but understood it to be something about his smooth hairless legs.
When Mao was 16 1/4years old, his first ever girlfriend broke up with him because she had hairier legs than him.
When Mao did his National Service, he secretly envied his hairy platoon mates as he hypothesized that a thick plantation of hair on legs and arms helped to scare away mosquitoes. Mao on the other hand, got bitten all the bloody time.
Then one day, Mao bumped into a crusty old man in Toa Payoh Lorong XX. The old man whispered to him,"Ay, boy ah, I got good stuff. You want a not?"
"No thank you Uncle, I got enough blue film liao."
"Blue kee lan ah blue. I one look I know you dunch have body hair, feel damn shy right?"
Mao was taken aback. Did someone paste a post-it note on his back? He reached around but couldn't find anything.
Crusty old man continued,"My uncle's sworn sister's neighbour's grandfather's classmate's yoga instructor's plumber went to Nepal one day, and got this lucky charm made from Yeti hair. Guaranteed to make you hairy until blur. Sell you cheap, only $180"
Mao's eyes brightened. He would have tried anything, but he was a hardcore cheapskate by heart, and tried to feign disinterest.
"Wah lau, dunno can believe you a not leh. Like not real leh, Tell you what lah uncle, see you so poor thing, give you $24 for it." Mao reached into his wallet and showed the old man the cash, thinking that the old man would have been desperate to sell off his charm anyway.
The old man paused for a bit, then sighed,"Okay lor, come give me the marnee..."
Mao grinned and took out the notes for the old man. In a flash, the old man spun, grabbed the notes, punched Mao's balls with an arthritic bony fist, then turned to walk away.
"EYAAARgggHHHHhhhhhnn!!!" Mao lay on the floor clutching his family jewels in agony.
He cried out,"Weeiiii giimeesomethinggnnnbackknn~~"
The old man paused in mid step,"You still want something ah?"
"....yeraagghhnn..."
The old man shook his head, fished out a different charm from his pocket that had a mish mash of short and odd looking hairs stuck on, and tossed it to Mao.
"You get what you pay for."
The old man scratched his bum and sauntered away.
"The old fart's strange hairy charm really works. Lucky I paid $24 instead of his cutthroat price," Mao chuckled to himself.
As he stroked his hand hairs like one would stroke a Persian cat resting on one's lap, Mao noticed two brown long hairs on his forearm that looked unusually out of place.
"This won't do, girls will definitely make fun of how weird these two stupid hairs must look."
Mao figured he'd yank out the hairs, after all, they should grow back thicker next, which was something he didn't mind at all. He pulled. Strangely, the hairs extended a cm or two, then retracted back into his forearm.
"That's weird." Mao pulled again, the hairs extended, and were about to retract when Mao pulled harder. He felt a strange resistance under his skin, like the hair was trying to pull itself back, but he was determined to extract the hairs and gave a hard yank.
Out popped a black cockroach from under the skin of Mao's right forearm. Mao stared at the insect in shock and disbelief. The 'hairs' he was pulling on were actually the cockroach's feelers.
As he flung the cockroach aside, Mao noticed that his right arm was feeling terribly weak. He could still move it, but with lethargic difficulty.
Fired with a sense of overwhelming bewilderment and disgust, Mao combed his body for more odd hair pairs, determined to yank any strange creatures out. He pulled a centipede from his left leg, and a spider from his right leg. Each time he pulled an insect out, that limb experienced a debilitating sense of weakness. His left arm produced a caterpillar, and with much effort from his weakened arms, he yanked a large carpet beetle out from his chest.
Mao was wheezing by now, he didn't have the energy to inhale and exhale properly. Mao felt his hair with his hands, and as he suspected, there were two extremely thick hairs on the top of his skull which felt very different from the rest.
Mao pulled hard, but the two hairs were proving to be the toughest yet. With all the strength he could muster, Mao yelled "Ya~rrgh!" and pulled and pulled and pulled.
Out crawled a giant isopod from his scalp. As the creature emerged, Mao fell back, and slumped on the ground. His eyes stared blankly to the sky, and he stopped breathing altogether.
The giant isopod wriggled its claws, and sauntered away, followed closely by a cockroach, a centipede, a caterpillar and a carpet beetle.
When Mao was 16 1/4years old, his first ever girlfriend broke up with him because she had hairier legs than him.
When Mao did his National Service, he secretly envied his hairy platoon mates as he hypothesized that a thick plantation of hair on legs and arms helped to scare away mosquitoes. Mao on the other hand, got bitten all the bloody time.
Then one day, Mao bumped into a crusty old man in Toa Payoh Lorong XX. The old man whispered to him,"Ay, boy ah, I got good stuff. You want a not?"
"No thank you Uncle, I got enough blue film liao."
"Blue kee lan ah blue. I one look I know you dunch have body hair, feel damn shy right?"
Mao was taken aback. Did someone paste a post-it note on his back? He reached around but couldn't find anything.
Crusty old man continued,"My uncle's sworn sister's neighbour's grandfather's classmate's yoga instructor's plumber went to Nepal one day, and got this lucky charm made from Yeti hair. Guaranteed to make you hairy until blur. Sell you cheap, only $180"
Mao's eyes brightened. He would have tried anything, but he was a hardcore cheapskate by heart, and tried to feign disinterest.
"Wah lau, dunno can believe you a not leh. Like not real leh, Tell you what lah uncle, see you so poor thing, give you $24 for it." Mao reached into his wallet and showed the old man the cash, thinking that the old man would have been desperate to sell off his charm anyway.
The old man paused for a bit, then sighed,"Okay lor, come give me the marnee..."
Mao grinned and took out the notes for the old man. In a flash, the old man spun, grabbed the notes, punched Mao's balls with an arthritic bony fist, then turned to walk away.
"EYAAARgggHHHHhhhhhnn!!!" Mao lay on the floor clutching his family jewels in agony.
He cried out,"Weeiiii giimeesomethinggnnnbackknn~~"
The old man paused in mid step,"You still want something ah?"
"....yeraagghhnn..."
The old man shook his head, fished out a different charm from his pocket that had a mish mash of short and odd looking hairs stuck on, and tossed it to Mao.
"You get what you pay for."
The old man scratched his bum and sauntered away.
*
Two weeks later, Mao was sitting under a tree in the park , the old man's hairy charm hung around Mao's neck as he admired the hairs growing well on his forearms and calves."The old fart's strange hairy charm really works. Lucky I paid $24 instead of his cutthroat price," Mao chuckled to himself.
As he stroked his hand hairs like one would stroke a Persian cat resting on one's lap, Mao noticed two brown long hairs on his forearm that looked unusually out of place.
"This won't do, girls will definitely make fun of how weird these two stupid hairs must look."
Mao figured he'd yank out the hairs, after all, they should grow back thicker next, which was something he didn't mind at all. He pulled. Strangely, the hairs extended a cm or two, then retracted back into his forearm.
"That's weird." Mao pulled again, the hairs extended, and were about to retract when Mao pulled harder. He felt a strange resistance under his skin, like the hair was trying to pull itself back, but he was determined to extract the hairs and gave a hard yank.
Out popped a black cockroach from under the skin of Mao's right forearm. Mao stared at the insect in shock and disbelief. The 'hairs' he was pulling on were actually the cockroach's feelers.
As he flung the cockroach aside, Mao noticed that his right arm was feeling terribly weak. He could still move it, but with lethargic difficulty.
Fired with a sense of overwhelming bewilderment and disgust, Mao combed his body for more odd hair pairs, determined to yank any strange creatures out. He pulled a centipede from his left leg, and a spider from his right leg. Each time he pulled an insect out, that limb experienced a debilitating sense of weakness. His left arm produced a caterpillar, and with much effort from his weakened arms, he yanked a large carpet beetle out from his chest.
Mao was wheezing by now, he didn't have the energy to inhale and exhale properly. Mao felt his hair with his hands, and as he suspected, there were two extremely thick hairs on the top of his skull which felt very different from the rest.
Mao pulled hard, but the two hairs were proving to be the toughest yet. With all the strength he could muster, Mao yelled "Ya~rrgh!" and pulled and pulled and pulled.
Out crawled a giant isopod from his scalp. As the creature emerged, Mao fell back, and slumped on the ground. His eyes stared blankly to the sky, and he stopped breathing altogether.
The giant isopod wriggled its claws, and sauntered away, followed closely by a cockroach, a centipede, a caterpillar and a carpet beetle.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Flower Girl by Berder
It was quite early when I first approached Victoria Theatre at around 1830hrs. No one was really there except for a group of the Publicity crew who were taking a break. They told me that the ticketing booth would not be manned so soon, so I took a roundabout the area which took me back to the spot where the flower girl in blazer from that crew approached.
“你要买花吗？可以在演出后送给你的家人或朋友。”
“我… 不知道要送给谁。”
“没关系，不知道的话可以送给我啊。哈哈！”
“Er… 给我考虑考虑，你等一下问到我再说。”
After a little while hanging around in the area I was approached again.
“你可以帮我买花吗？”
“Er… Er…”
She looked into my eyes with a powerful allure.
“我可以要你的电话号码吗？”
She was quite taken aback, but quickly regained her composure.
“可以吗？你给我你的电话号码我就跟你买。”
“Er… 我电话号码是999。”
I immediately regretted what I have said. Feeling guilty…
“Er… 好吧。”
So she happily took the three dollars from me and returned the fifty-cent change with a smile.
“Thank you!”
And so that rose accompanied me throughout the performance.
***
After the performance, I waited at the entrance for a while, swayed here and there a little and bumped into a few friends once in a while. And after half an hour, the group of them came out from the backstage after packing their stuff.
I could feel my heart jumped out of my mouth at that instant.
I approached her after she was done on the phone.
“其实我真的不知道要把花送给谁。我就送给你吧。有缘再见。”
Maybe she would just throw away the rose at the end of the day, but perhaps I shall see her again next year.
~
For the sake of remembering this little incident that happened last night before and after watching Huang Cheng Ye Yun.
“你要买花吗？可以在演出后送给你的家人或朋友。”
“我… 不知道要送给谁。”
“没关系，不知道的话可以送给我啊。哈哈！”
“Er… 给我考虑考虑，你等一下问到我再说。”
After a little while hanging around in the area I was approached again.
“你可以帮我买花吗？”
“Er… Er…”
She looked into my eyes with a powerful allure.
“我可以要你的电话号码吗？”
She was quite taken aback, but quickly regained her composure.
“可以吗？你给我你的电话号码我就跟你买。”
“Er… 我电话号码是999。”
I immediately regretted what I have said. Feeling guilty…
“Er… 好吧。”
So she happily took the three dollars from me and returned the fifty-cent change with a smile.
“Thank you!”
And so that rose accompanied me throughout the performance.
***
After the performance, I waited at the entrance for a while, swayed here and there a little and bumped into a few friends once in a while. And after half an hour, the group of them came out from the backstage after packing their stuff.
I could feel my heart jumped out of my mouth at that instant.
I approached her after she was done on the phone.
“其实我真的不知道要把花送给谁。我就送给你吧。有缘再见。”
Maybe she would just throw away the rose at the end of the day, but perhaps I shall see her again next year.
~
For the sake of remembering this little incident that happened last night before and after watching Huang Cheng Ye Yun.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
That Look in Her Eyes
She was young and didn't know any better. At least that was what people said in her defense whenever her story was recounted.
But really, at 16 years of age, was that a defensible excuse? Is there ever an acceptable age when people are automatically accounted to "know better"?
The story started in an accident & emergency ward of a Vietnamese hospital. She was at the hospital waiting for news of a relative who was involved in an accident. As she turned to search for a seat, she saw someone being wheeled by; he was lying down in a hospital bed.
"O, what a handsome mien this chap has!" she thought to herself. "I have rarely seen anyone so good-looking. What a pity he is in such a state."
She shared those thoughts with her closest friend and confidante later on recounting her hospital trip.
A few days passed uneventfully. On one fateful day, she was supposed to meet some potential suitors her parents had chosen for her. But she took ill suddenly and the meeting never happened.
Overnight, her temper also took a turn for the worse. Where she used to very biddable and gentle, she flew into a rage easily now at the smallest slight, imagined or otherwise.
Her parents didn't understand the change. Being wealthy, educated Vietnamese, they initially dismissed suggestions from relatives to seek guidance from a medium. There must be a medical reason for her metamorphosis, they insisted.
But there was a look in her eyes that defied any cure by western medicine. A blankness in those dark orbs where vitality and humour once flashed. Finally, they caved in and sought a medium's advice without her knowledge. At the medium's advice, they bound her forcefully, and took her kicking and screaming to a medium. The medium's conclusion baffled the parents greatly: how could their daughter be possessed? She has been sheltered all her life and has never been known to frequent any places where she could come into contact with spirits! In disbelief they took her home.
News spread quickly of her "possession". Her best friend got wind of it and thought that the "encounter" at the hospital might have something to do with it. She told the parents who sought the medium's help to expel the spirit.
The spirit refused. "Blame her for being the one who invited me in with her pity first."
Years passed. Recently her best friend went back to Vietnam for a visit.
The look in her childhood playmate's eyes remains the same. Deep, dark and blank.
**********************
Equal parts truth and fiction. The skeleton of this story is as recounted by a Vietnamese friend of mine, with a heavy dose of fictional spicing on my end. I don't think I quite attained the feel of her story, which sent a slight chill down my spine when I first heard it.
But really, at 16 years of age, was that a defensible excuse? Is there ever an acceptable age when people are automatically accounted to "know better"?
The story started in an accident & emergency ward of a Vietnamese hospital. She was at the hospital waiting for news of a relative who was involved in an accident. As she turned to search for a seat, she saw someone being wheeled by; he was lying down in a hospital bed.
"O, what a handsome mien this chap has!" she thought to herself. "I have rarely seen anyone so good-looking. What a pity he is in such a state."
She shared those thoughts with her closest friend and confidante later on recounting her hospital trip.
A few days passed uneventfully. On one fateful day, she was supposed to meet some potential suitors her parents had chosen for her. But she took ill suddenly and the meeting never happened.
Overnight, her temper also took a turn for the worse. Where she used to very biddable and gentle, she flew into a rage easily now at the smallest slight, imagined or otherwise.
Her parents didn't understand the change. Being wealthy, educated Vietnamese, they initially dismissed suggestions from relatives to seek guidance from a medium. There must be a medical reason for her metamorphosis, they insisted.
But there was a look in her eyes that defied any cure by western medicine. A blankness in those dark orbs where vitality and humour once flashed. Finally, they caved in and sought a medium's advice without her knowledge. At the medium's advice, they bound her forcefully, and took her kicking and screaming to a medium. The medium's conclusion baffled the parents greatly: how could their daughter be possessed? She has been sheltered all her life and has never been known to frequent any places where she could come into contact with spirits! In disbelief they took her home.
News spread quickly of her "possession". Her best friend got wind of it and thought that the "encounter" at the hospital might have something to do with it. She told the parents who sought the medium's help to expel the spirit.
The spirit refused. "Blame her for being the one who invited me in with her pity first."
Years passed. Recently her best friend went back to Vietnam for a visit.
The look in her childhood playmate's eyes remains the same. Deep, dark and blank.
**********************
Equal parts truth and fiction. The skeleton of this story is as recounted by a Vietnamese friend of mine, with a heavy dose of fictional spicing on my end. I don't think I quite attained the feel of her story, which sent a slight chill down my spine when I first heard it.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A night at the gym by Lee En
As I was pounding away on the treadmill the other night, the three ghosts of Christmas came avisiting.
The ghost of the past hung stolidly on the glass walls in front of me, standing out starkly against the dewy panes. He beckoned me to look back into my past but I closed my mind's eye and upped my running speed and pounded and pounded, harder and harder. Insistent and unwavering, he hung still in front of me, flashing images that have yet to fade from my memory. I remember, and slowly, I let the sadness fill me.
Satisfied, the ghost of the past left.
The ghost of the present shone in front of me then. I saw all the marvellous things in my life that I am happy with and grateful towards. My friends, my family, my health and the little things that bring a smile to my face everyday... I remember, and I let the sunshine glow in me...
Content, the ghost of the present left.
I pounded and pounded and pounded, waiting for the ghost of the future. I knew that he would come and with growing trepidation, I pounded and pounded. What would my future be with all of that in the past and what I have in the present. Then I remembered what dajie told me, if you just sit down and look at yourself right now, it's not hard to see what you'll be in the future. Then I looked into myself and I feared and I hoped. There, sitting restlessly within me, was the ghost of the future. Staring down at his feet and rocking from side to side, he stayed there for a long while.
I stared and stared at the ghost of the future. Until he stilled himself, got up and strolled away.
With a wipe of my towel, I continued pounding and pounding and pounding, soaring in the feel of sweat running down my face...
~
"Here are my favourite lines, written by my old friend heddwig: The sun is always shining. Even though clouds may come along and obscure the sun for a while, the sun is always shining. The sun never stops shining. And even though the earth turns, and the sun appears to go down, it really never stops shining."
The ghost of the past hung stolidly on the glass walls in front of me, standing out starkly against the dewy panes. He beckoned me to look back into my past but I closed my mind's eye and upped my running speed and pounded and pounded, harder and harder. Insistent and unwavering, he hung still in front of me, flashing images that have yet to fade from my memory. I remember, and slowly, I let the sadness fill me.
Satisfied, the ghost of the past left.
The ghost of the present shone in front of me then. I saw all the marvellous things in my life that I am happy with and grateful towards. My friends, my family, my health and the little things that bring a smile to my face everyday... I remember, and I let the sunshine glow in me...
Content, the ghost of the present left.
I pounded and pounded and pounded, waiting for the ghost of the future. I knew that he would come and with growing trepidation, I pounded and pounded. What would my future be with all of that in the past and what I have in the present. Then I remembered what dajie told me, if you just sit down and look at yourself right now, it's not hard to see what you'll be in the future. Then I looked into myself and I feared and I hoped. There, sitting restlessly within me, was the ghost of the future. Staring down at his feet and rocking from side to side, he stayed there for a long while.
I stared and stared at the ghost of the future. Until he stilled himself, got up and strolled away.
With a wipe of my towel, I continued pounding and pounding and pounding, soaring in the feel of sweat running down my face...
~
"Here are my favourite lines, written by my old friend heddwig: The sun is always shining. Even though clouds may come along and obscure the sun for a while, the sun is always shining. The sun never stops shining. And even though the earth turns, and the sun appears to go down, it really never stops shining."
Being Dumped or Is it? by Don Leow
She dragged her tired and tiresome body out of bed. Looking at the clock on the wall, she wished she could turned back time. To last night to be precise. That was when her then boyfriend had broken up with her. She couldn't remember what reasons he had offered for the termination of their relationship, but there was something about her becoming increasingly frigid. She wanted so much to say her piece, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something was holding her back and the fact that her boyfriend was dumping her had caused her to lapse into a momentary daze. It wasn't despair or even sadness, but she couldn't placed it then.
Thinking back, she realised it was a strange and stupefying sense of nonchalance. She should've lashed at him for putting all the blame on her. How could he cast her as a defendant in a court of love and without a jury to pass an objective verdict! Couldn't he see that her frigidness was a symptom of their fading and farcical love. But it was for the better, she thought, and started dialling the number that she had called every night for the last 2 months. A comforting and caring voice came over the line: "How are you, darling? How was your day? I missed you so much" A slow but sure smile came over her face and she responded in kind. You wouldn't believe what that son-of-a-bitch said to me last night. But its over now and I can be truly yours in spirit as well as body.~
Don is... Someone who muses at all and sundry, but who wishes sometimes to be in the thick of action rather than looking in.
Monday, December 1, 2008
"How big is yours?" by utioa.
I have struggled to explain my answer to that particular question that was asked one peculiar occasion many years ago. The fact that I even offered an answer was amazing, but not as amazing as my answer though. My ex-girlfriend insisted that it was a Freudian slip; an unintentional but illuminating peek into my unconscious; a gift from God for her; God’s punishment for me. I just thought it was nonsense.
You know how these grass-cutters would cut the grass around your neighborhood? Slowly but surely noisily they would walk around, nonchalantly sweeping their mechanised cutters. They give the landscaped grass a trim to make it look as good as before, and then lie down on it, allowing the sweet green aromas of their work put them to sleep. They were cutting the grass when I blabbed my answer to her question. I think the sweet green aroma made me do it.
Behind her on that fateful evening, was a stream of handsome birds flying in an uncanny straight line right across the orange sky. Like a razor over the waters, it seemed to cut a temporary opening in the sky. A slit that we could pull open for that every instant and peek into the other side, the other world, or into the nothingness. What would you like to see on the other side? What can you imagine? Will things fall in? Or will you fall out? Will we enter into a minute universe will infantile and infinitely miniature worlds? Or will there be giants outside looking inquisitively at us peek out? So many possibilities, so many questions running through my mind that sometimes I wonder whether I really heard her question.
“Oh Yoshimi,
They don’t believe me,
But you won’t let those
Robots defeat me…”
That song by The Flaming Lips kept ringing, playing, intruding, caressing my mind when she was going on and on about her shock, exasperation, pissed-offness, WHAT THE!!!…nesses, at my unfortunate answer to her question. Such a nice and yearning song though. For a moment I wished I had a girlfriend called Yoshimi. Someone that I can shower on my love and attention on without fear, without doubt, without anxiety...with hope. Oh Yoshimi…She don’t believe me…My ex was quite a Yoshimi to me actually until my stupid answer to her ridiculous question.
“It’s bigger than yours.”
~
You know how these grass-cutters would cut the grass around your neighborhood? Slowly but surely noisily they would walk around, nonchalantly sweeping their mechanised cutters. They give the landscaped grass a trim to make it look as good as before, and then lie down on it, allowing the sweet green aromas of their work put them to sleep. They were cutting the grass when I blabbed my answer to her question. I think the sweet green aroma made me do it.
Behind her on that fateful evening, was a stream of handsome birds flying in an uncanny straight line right across the orange sky. Like a razor over the waters, it seemed to cut a temporary opening in the sky. A slit that we could pull open for that every instant and peek into the other side, the other world, or into the nothingness. What would you like to see on the other side? What can you imagine? Will things fall in? Or will you fall out? Will we enter into a minute universe will infantile and infinitely miniature worlds? Or will there be giants outside looking inquisitively at us peek out? So many possibilities, so many questions running through my mind that sometimes I wonder whether I really heard her question.
“Oh Yoshimi,
They don’t believe me,
But you won’t let those
Robots defeat me…”
That song by The Flaming Lips kept ringing, playing, intruding, caressing my mind when she was going on and on about her shock, exasperation, pissed-offness, WHAT THE!!!…nesses, at my unfortunate answer to her question. Such a nice and yearning song though. For a moment I wished I had a girlfriend called Yoshimi. Someone that I can shower on my love and attention on without fear, without doubt, without anxiety...with hope. Oh Yoshimi…She don’t believe me…My ex was quite a Yoshimi to me actually until my stupid answer to her ridiculous question.
“It’s bigger than yours.”
~
"Hey dun need to write self-intro lah..nothing to write. jus use my email add? (thirteenheads@yahoo.com) it leads to facebook too."
(untitled) by Lixuan
For as long as he* was self-conscient, he lived in darkness. He had nothing to his own, nor a consciousness of having needed something belonging exclusively to himself. He had no feelings of his own, nada, but he did not bemoan the lack, as not having it in the first place doubtless inured him to self-pity of dispossession.
What he did have, was a sense of shared awareness. It began one day with a vague feeling. Odd electric currents traveled through his ‘form’. He felt exhilarated, buzzed up.
Then as suddenly as it began, the buzz stopped. Something had changed. While he still lived in darkness, he now found himself sharing a common “awareness” – of tall looking columns, blue masses that looked sometimes shiny/ sometimes dark, and many others he had no way of describing – with someone, something.
Gradually he realized that there were others in this shared awareness. He felt a wave of exhilaration – though he was unable to speak of this nebulous feeling as such because he was never taught – a shared community, fwah!
As time passed, the awareness of some things faded and was replaced by others. Sometimes the shared awareness did not manifest itself in images; it came in full dolby sound surround, and other indecipherable formats.
One day, many years later, he felt the community of shared awareness fading. Had he the words to describe it, it would have been that he just had his first taste of loneliness. The “fades” just kept coming. Until one day, he lost the struggle to tap into the shared awareness and caved in to the desire to fade out like the others.
Away in another parallel universe, Tate plugged in his USB flash drive and was dismayed to see that the flash drive had finally died on him.
“Never works when you need them! Fortunately I had the presence of mind to do a backup recently”, he mutters as he walks to the dustbin and disposes of it.
*Real name: Byte-10115946789 of Toliba Flash drive 2GB S/N 123456789, suppressed for expediency purposes to “he” in the story.
~
"This story came to me at SITEX today, while I was trying to make my way out of the crowd after my sis had purchased her Toshiba laptop."
What he did have, was a sense of shared awareness. It began one day with a vague feeling. Odd electric currents traveled through his ‘form’. He felt exhilarated, buzzed up.
Then as suddenly as it began, the buzz stopped. Something had changed. While he still lived in darkness, he now found himself sharing a common “awareness” – of tall looking columns, blue masses that looked sometimes shiny/ sometimes dark, and many others he had no way of describing – with someone, something.
Gradually he realized that there were others in this shared awareness. He felt a wave of exhilaration – though he was unable to speak of this nebulous feeling as such because he was never taught – a shared community, fwah!
As time passed, the awareness of some things faded and was replaced by others. Sometimes the shared awareness did not manifest itself in images; it came in full dolby sound surround, and other indecipherable formats.
One day, many years later, he felt the community of shared awareness fading. Had he the words to describe it, it would have been that he just had his first taste of loneliness. The “fades” just kept coming. Until one day, he lost the struggle to tap into the shared awareness and caved in to the desire to fade out like the others.
Away in another parallel universe, Tate plugged in his USB flash drive and was dismayed to see that the flash drive had finally died on him.
“Never works when you need them! Fortunately I had the presence of mind to do a backup recently”, he mutters as he walks to the dustbin and disposes of it.
*Real name: Byte-10115946789 of Toliba Flash drive 2GB S/N 123456789, suppressed for expediency purposes to “he” in the story.
~
"This story came to me at SITEX today, while I was trying to make my way out of the crowd after my sis had purchased her Toshiba laptop."
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Town by Berder
Her laughter can be easily heard along the streets most of the day. She's quite a popular figure in this small little town in the middle of nowhere. Which seems rare elsewhere, given that her power over the lives of the good folks is absolute. Nonetheless, everyone seems to be happy, in this small little town in the middle of nowhere.
There isn't much history to talk about for this town, for it is quite newly established as compared to other townships elsewhere. With a current population of less than a hundred, a few good rows of houses accommodate them. Not to mention a few sizable mansions to house the more affluent ones.
Even so, the town is good enough to sustain itself. Even without her, there are enough shopping centres and restaurants and schools and grassroots committee to run the place smoothly. Of course all the decisions big or small concerning the town must go through her for anything to happen.
The town is not isolated of course. There's a train station in the town central in which its citizen can take its daily return train to the 'Outside'. That's what the citizens call the region outside her jurisdiction. Despite popular belief, the citizens are actually not that afraid of the Outside. When asked, they will say "She will still take care of us when we are Outside you see."
Speaking of her absolute power over the town, it's interesting to note that she controls everything in the town, like how the supply routes are arranged, how the roads are built, how the citizens interact, how they eat etc, while the population did not mind the control at all. And they seem quite grateful for that too. Quoting one of their words in a recent interview, "How do we live without her??"
Well, it seems that the prosperity of this little town in the middle of nowhere is set to have double-digit growth for the next few years under her wise charge.
****
"Mum, could you get me the mini-Barney dinosaur please??"
~
Actually Berder like to do a lot of random things, including writing nonsense. Of course every time Berder writes, he will try to keep the nonsensical level down. Favourite quote: "What will come will come, what will stay will stay, what will leave will leave, no matter what happens." Favourite question: "How many berders do you have?
There isn't much history to talk about for this town, for it is quite newly established as compared to other townships elsewhere. With a current population of less than a hundred, a few good rows of houses accommodate them. Not to mention a few sizable mansions to house the more affluent ones.
Even so, the town is good enough to sustain itself. Even without her, there are enough shopping centres and restaurants and schools and grassroots committee to run the place smoothly. Of course all the decisions big or small concerning the town must go through her for anything to happen.
The town is not isolated of course. There's a train station in the town central in which its citizen can take its daily return train to the 'Outside'. That's what the citizens call the region outside her jurisdiction. Despite popular belief, the citizens are actually not that afraid of the Outside. When asked, they will say "She will still take care of us when we are Outside you see."
Speaking of her absolute power over the town, it's interesting to note that she controls everything in the town, like how the supply routes are arranged, how the roads are built, how the citizens interact, how they eat etc, while the population did not mind the control at all. And they seem quite grateful for that too. Quoting one of their words in a recent interview, "How do we live without her??"
Well, it seems that the prosperity of this little town in the middle of nowhere is set to have double-digit growth for the next few years under her wise charge.
****
"Mum, could you get me the mini-Barney dinosaur please??"
~
Actually Berder like to do a lot of random things, including writing nonsense. Of course every time Berder writes, he will try to keep the nonsensical level down. Favourite quote: "What will come will come, what will stay will stay, what will leave will leave, no matter what happens." Favourite question: "How many berders do you have?
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