June 2012
2 posts
the-peony asked: how much do you love me?
3 tags
It would not do for the world to know that the silence speaks to her. That the void is not, as is commonly thought, a void. The silence has a rough voice, rough like hands that have too often been washed in soap and water and not moisturized with the luscious hand cream from Dior. The voice that snags on the “s” portions of words, leaving a sibilant hissss. The voice that tells her...
May 2012
18 posts
http://visualentropy.blogspot.ca/
Photoblog! I received a pretty camera as a Grad gift so I’m going crazy clicking.
3 tags
I don’t want a love story unglued from the pages of some book written by a dead white man. I don’t want to fit myself in clothes not meant for me and I don’t want to walk in shoes that insist on moving in a direction my feet don’t want to go.
What I want is a love like hot summer roads and blue pickup trucks. A love story with melting ice cream and leather seats burning in...
Commencement. Tomorrow. Woot.
Pages Worth Remembering: Cross out what you've... →
fragmentsofmysoul:
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte Harry Potter series - JK Rowling To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee The Bible -kjv Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman Great Expectations - Charles Dickens Little Women - Louisa M Alcott Tess of the...
I feel like doing a collaboration. (I never have these feelings.) Does anyone want to write with me?
Reblog if I'm allowed to go to your ask box and be...
Oh sure, go for it. We’ll be bosom buddies.
5 tags
Rain, smoke and the bitter end of a cigarette, I drip poetically all over your chair and you look at me as though you have never seen me before. Surrender, survival and submission, your existence exonerates mine. We have been one, you and I. Now we are two. It is the end of the road and somewhere, somehow, in the middle of the breaking, you became the smudged ink in a book I no longer care to...
4 tags
Freedom tastes like ash on my tongue. It tastes like blood and bone and the death of my people. It sounds like the screams that accompany my memories in the darkest corners of the night.
I have no name. They took it away. I have no home, no country, no place to call my own, no land to leave my mark on. They destroyed it.
And I will destroy them. You may laugh since I am a woman. Weak....
They celebrate the shape of the minutes that construct their lives. There is a crow living in my head and speaking through my mouth. A crow. Loud, noisy and utterly unbearable. Sometimes I look outside the window and consider jumping out. It wouldn’t hurt but it would be a step in the right direction. I feel the need to escape tugging at my skin. I need to escape the confines of this place....
2 tags
Unlike Alice, I don’t need to fall into a rabbit hole to reach wonderland. I simply need to close my eyes.
For the confused among you.
Old English (Anglo-Saxon): Eft he axode, hu ðære ðeode nama wære þe hi of comon. Him wæs geandwyrd, þæt hi Angle genemnode wæron. Þa cwæð he, "Rihtlice hi sind Angle gehatene, for ðan ðe hi engla wlite habbað, and swilcum gedafenað þæt hi on heofonum engla geferan beon."
Middle English: In þat lond ben trees þat beren wolle, as þogh it were of scheep; whereof men maken clothes, and all þing þat may ben made of wolle. In þat contree ben many ipotaynes, þat dwellen som tyme in the water, and somtyme on the lond: and þei ben half man and half hors, as I haue seyd before; and þei eten men, whan þei may take hem.
Early Modern English: But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!
Modern English: Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Pointless dribble: Omg, lol, def totes ridic, c u ltr
Tumblr: A3ruI#$uo13urq8o3U#$QRJFAKELFJQEjfkasdjfklqjRJ#@J@#KLJ$JFSGDDFJFIdSFI45jkjr!!!!!!1111
5 tags
I reached my limit and then I dissolved like a popsicle on your tongue. It was a nice view from the floor and neon fireworks exploded in brilliant prismatic detail against the backdrop of my closed eyelids. I lay there with my limbs splayed and my body arranged for the palate of some wayward sultan. Who’s to tell and who’s to know? The walls won’t tell no matter how judgmental...
4 tags
I burn paper hearts on the fifth of December. You know it is trouble when pain feels like a friend and you cannot remember a single night spent ob-li-vi-ous.
You were the smell of the forest on fresh spring mornings The taste of hope on the roof of my mouth, an explosion of colour behind my closed eyes, orange and tangy, you were.
Paper fed flames lick my fingers on the fifth of December when I...
3 tags
Apples bloom in your cheeks. The day is young and flush with the arrogance that is intimately associated with beauty. It should be impossible to be sad on a day spilling over with sun.
This is where I learn to speak my secrets without saying anything at all. Inveigle my way into your dreams using just a hint of rosemary blue. Absolute nonsense, of course. Consider the crispiness of his...
5 tags
I’m hiding in my room. But the sun is shining outside and birds may be singing. Yet, here I am, hiding. Eyes drunk with sleep, hair wild with an edge of night, room a haven for the sinful. The chair stands at angle, it’s stance arrogant. Pretty soon I will be having an earnest conversation with it regarding comfort. What it doesn’t offer and what I seek. Then there’s the...
3 tags
A quiet despair, tenebrous and timorous, simmers. A room painted the colour of mustard seeds, disenchantment roils off the curtains ravaged by dust. Ashes in the grate remember the winter with longing. A ray of light, intrepid and fragmented, spills in through the crack in the dusty rose coloured curtains. He sits, cigar lit, cigar smoke puffing up his cheeks intermittently, his cheeks tell tales...
5 tags
Dreaming of Clothes - Lee Jong Im
So I recently translated this story from Korean to English for a 4th year Korean class. I learned Korean from scratch and I still trip over the fact that “moja” in Korean means hat while “moja” in Fiji-Hindi (my mother tongue) means socks. Anyway, I’m sharing this story because I think it is kinda brilliant even though my translation probably has lots of errors in it....
April 2012
8 posts
4 tags
You can’t feel moonlight the way you feel the sun warming the top layer of your skin before heating the blood running in your veins until your heart is playing rock and roll and your neurons are running wild.
Nestled under the eaves of this gray morning was an epiphany. But it wasn’t meant for me.So I kept walking.
You keep on carving me out of the spots I build myself into....
There is no point in pretty words, dressed up in golden shine tarted up splendor. No point in that. And no point in you. Or me. Or us together. We’ll just go around breaking each others hearts and then we’ll both be called to justify this act of insanity in pretty words and garlanded apologies that stink of lies and desperation and yes, the syntax has gone haywire and there’s a...
Why is America so scared of Islam? Why is the West so full of hatred towards it? I just saw this book that purports to “tell the historical truth” about Muhammad the founder of the “world’s most intolerant religions” citing all sorts of historical facts out of context to make his point and demonize the prophet. If you are going to be talking atrocious actions,...
2 tags
Today we’ll discuss elephants sipping tea from china teacups decorated with the most darling of English roses. A soiree of elephants. Elephants in saris. With bindi and ajhumka.Just the one.
I’ve been alive 28 years, some months and miscellaneous moments. I have been compounded into the person I am by the choices I have not made. Oh yes. Tonight at midnight I will sneak out of my...
4 tags
Musings of a Non-Writer Not at a Coffee Shop
A directive from the mind to the heart to the soul: Breathe, damn you. Maybe it was damn you or perhaps damn you. It doesn’t really matter. I wish I had the kind of life where I could spend wandering around, sitting in cafes writing, I wish I was that kind of person. I am not, by the way. People near me when I’m writing annoy me. I find their voices too loud, their fingernails too...
I discovered crayon hearts on the pavement.
I feel like I am undressing my room and at the same time, baring myself to my own eyes. I am unveiling my dreams and watching the light fall on my secret selves. Watching the cracks appear, disappear, ad infinitum. The future is just a whisper in my ear, the faint feel of ghostly fingers on my skin. It exists. That’s all I know. Its shade? Its colour? I guess we will all witness what...
2 tags
The Gold
It was the glitter of the gold on the curve of the bone beneath her eyebrow that stopped him. He blinked and took a moment to orient himself. It was night - a shallow darkness - so almost morning. And from the thumping beats vibrating the building next to him, like drum beats heralding a pagan ritual, he was next to a club. The club. Gaudy neon signs would name it Berserk. Fitting name.
He was in...
March 2012
5 posts
I don’t see the big deal about pinterest.
Obviously Tumblr > Pinterest.
Yes, expect lots of pithy posts in the next few days. I have to keep myself amused somehow. (Aka procrastination, curse you term paper, curse you.)
I am watching Vampire Prosecutor. The man is sexy. Every time he drinks blood I feel like drinking cranberry juice. My mind, it amuses me sometimes.
I haven’t written anything at all for a while now (fanfiction does not count) and I don’t feel too upset about it since I consider this phase in my life as the absorbing phase. I will absorb life and then spit it out in the form of ridiculous prose and even more weird poetry. Just you wait.
Well. I guess there’s Grad School where I’ll absorb a whole lot more. But anyway,...
So when you life throws you lemons, you throw it back and tell it that you are only accepting organic and that you don’t particularly like lemons, how about pineapple instead?
In other news, I read Kafka’s Metamorphosis (for school) (I only specify because Kafka does not really star too brightly on my to read list) (there are no heaving bosoms in his books) (I’m joking, I hate...
February 2012
15 posts
So. School is determined to drive me absolutely nuts. Well…crazier than I am at this moment which is plenty crazy if you ask me. I’m not even able to read a freaking book I have that much stuff to do.
The next six weeks, dudes. Poetry and other works will be scarce because my muse went on a trip to Cuba and refuses to come back.
If you need me, I’ll be in the bat cave. Doing...
One more year passed. I felt it settle into my bones. Dense, heavy, weighty. My love remains barren but time will not be denied.
I am looking at you right now. Theorize that.
So obscurities colour my mouth crimson and is that your heart? I must give in to the sleep god soon, whatever colour he is wearing tonight (I used that word twice, I hope I didn’t offend your gourmand tongue, the one...
“If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think...”
– Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via solipsism2)
3 tags
Love. Sex. and disaster on an ice cream cone. experimental bliss on unicycles and hurricanes topped with whipped cream. amaranthine tomorrows keep skipping beats like my heart on repeat. Fall. Get hurt. Get up. Go back to start.
It was night. I sat beside you as quiet as the needles on the pine trees behind us.
Sometimes. When it rains. I sing. Sometimes I tie myself up in sentences and throw...
4 tags
Sentimental as a cat, she was, that haughty feline smile. The red dirt of the roads eschewed her skirts. The sky swallowed her up and spit her out. The sun refused to warm her and the wind told his breezes to mind their distances. It is a question of arithmetic. She was subtracted from the rest of them. The remainder after the divisor did its business with the divided. Stone cold reality hardened...
5 tags
“I don’t like love songs.” Juliet, drunk on red crystals of heartstuff, announces to the bemused world.
Any errant romeo (notice the lower caps) will tell you that love songs are cliche. As are violins (and villains) and caviar (too salty, the nutritionists say). All the cool people now slash their wrists (horizontal, they don’t really want to die) and eat pomegranate.
...
4 tags
I composed a militant monologue that year full of trenchant words that regarded their neighbors with a zesty suspicion. The vowels felt threatened and w__ld d_s_pp__r randomly. Randy soldiers polished their spears - the ones made of flesh too - and hapless women called it survival and spread their legs. The flowers were particularly red that year and everyone preferred the songs of the violins....
The blank space mocks me. It really does. All this whiteness. I haven’t written anything for a long time. Maybe I’ve forgotten how. It’s hard enough remembering to breathe these days.
You know how interesting things happen to other people and never to you? Or maybe that’s just me. Anyway.
So last night after I stumbled home, half dead from the ridiculously long day, I went and sat on the sofa. No more like I lay supine (I love that word) until at around one when I thought I should change my alarm from the ghastly 5:30 am (I said long day, didn’t I?) but (and I...
I am not a bitch on purpose. It comes naturally to me.
insaneramblingsofalunaitic asked: I love your writing. It's all beautifully written and deserves to be published.
January 2012
23 posts
The silence. Sifting, shifting, pervasive, deep, perspicuous (or not?). I wanted to say something pithy. Like: Be back later. Too busy evolving.
But you know. I’m still tired. The world reeks of malevolence. The future isn’t shiny anymore. I have lost my joie de vivre.
Not that I have folded my carpet bag away. I will get it back. Insha Allah. One of these days. Until then I trudge...
Canada Is About To Pass Sopa’s Evil Little... →
livelaughawesome:
“I’m a Canadian.
We’re a quiet bunch; prone to enjoying hockey, drinking stronger beer than our friends south of the border, and lovers of fries smothered in cheese curds and gravy.
We also, apparently, have an inferiority complex when it comes to being evil dirt bags, because we’ve decided to pass our very own version of SOPA up here.
Only better*
Meet Bill-C11. Formerly...