over passion, killing the poetry in my soul.
Visiting New York was a surreal experience. It has been 7 months since I last visited that place and there is an urging desire in me to visit again. There seems to be something waiting for me there, something that I have not uncovered. Something that is waiting to be opened; like a Pandora box.
I feel there is something missing, something that I did not pick up from that place when I last visited. Maybe 2 weeks was too short, maybe 3 months would be more appropriate. Maybe it was the manuscript that I did not leave at the writer’s house doorstep because the ending is not complete. Maybe it is my self esteem and lack of confidence. Maybe I was not fully ready.
Maybe it is the new storyline sitting on my lap that I have not developed for over a year. Maybe this is the one that will change my career direction, or my life for good. I know I have a compelling story but why am I not writing? Yes, I can blame it on everything else but it all comes down to the actual act of writing.
Maybe it is just me.
And I do want to visit New York again.
I do foresee myself there again, this time, more prepared.
Here is my interpretation of this song, an intriguing and dark song with many underlying meanings and messages it is trying to convey to the unaware listener.
“Kiss From A Rose”
There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea.
You became the light on the dark side of me.
There is a lonely lighthouse in the middle of the sea (him), and she “became” the light of his lighthouse that is on the dark side of him (implying he is the dark shadow of the lighthouse itself).
Him = Lighthouse
Her = Light on the Lighthouse
Love remained a drug that’s the high and not the pill.
He is deeply obsessed with the “light” which he admits it is his “love” and brings him a “high”.
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can be seen.
When it snows, the light (her) on the lighthouse allows the lighthouse (him) to be seen.
Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray.
This is a very contrasting statement “rose on the gray”.
Rose = Bright red and vibrant
Grey = Dull and boring
“Rose on Grey”
= She is the brightness of his dull grey boring life.
= She is a red blossoming flower that lights up his world of grey
Ooh,
The more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.
Somehow, this has signs of something obsessively wrong or strange/unacceptable. It might be a forbidden love, akin to taboo love like necrophilia or incest, or racial differences in this context. The contrast of “grey” (him) and “rose” (her) is the taboo here. How can a grey lighthouse end up with a rose?
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the gray.
She is a blossoming rose, and he is a gray gloomy (old/boring) man, and she lights up his life with her presence and prospect of procreation.
…But is it possible for them to have a happy ever after when they are two worlds apart?
There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
MY POWER, MY PLEASURE, MY PAIN! These are the three strongest words in his whole song that he is literally shouting it out loud for the world to hear. This is the whole meaning of this song, the main central theme. She is the center of his life, his “light on the dark side of me”, his power, his pleasure and his pain. It is a love that is forbidden yet obsessive, twisted with pleasure and pain, power and helplessness. There is so much contrast in his love for her, that he is becoming addicted (in the next verse).
To me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny.
Won’t you tell me is that healthy, baby
He finally admits it – he is addicted to this forbidden yet obsessive love spell this rose has cast on him.
In a cafe down in Hawthorn
That serves magic pies
A taste, and it will become an addiction
It was famous far and wide
Everyone wanted a bit of the magic pie.
I asked the owner one day
“What is the secret to the magic pies?”
He replied,
“The secret is in the kitchen.”
And smiled a wide grin.
One night, in the dead of the night
I picked the kitchen lock to discover
the secret of the pies
To my astonishment, there was an old woman
With a big metal ball chained to her ankle
Her hands feverishly rolling the dough on the table
There was a thousand pies stacked up to the ceiling!
She looked at me with her red sinister eyes
Her skin as pale as white flour
And gave a ghostly shriek
That sent me running away.
I kissed Philip Theil, and was part of his quest to kiss a different person each day for 365 days. We met at the Emerging Writer’s Festival opening night and went to his place for dinner. We had a friendly kiss at the door and had a delicious french cooked meal by his partner.
Apparently, there is a safe in their apartment that was sealed when they moved in. We came up with lots of theories on what could be behind the door, including gold bars or yucky corpses. I am in the process of constructing a poem based on “The Safe” and it will be uploaded soon! 
In a class of 40 students
There was a boy who did not remember his name
He did not remember his parents or home
He did not remember to bring his pencil box either.
He asked his classmate
A boy of his age sitting beside him
If he could borrow a pencil
His classmate refused
Although he had a box full of pencils.
He never shared anything he had.
- – -
In a class of 40 students
A teacher noticed a boy who did not bring his homework
“Stand at the back of the class!” she shouted at the boy.
The poor boy became the laughing stock of the class.
- – -
In a class of 40 students
There was a boy who suffered from forgetfulness
No one knew and no one noticed.
He never came back to class the next day
He is still no where to be found
——
Today I went to a book fair
There was two books for sale
One was a book on DEATH
And the other, a book on SEX
“The DEATH book costs $10 and the SEX book, $5”
A guy with blue eyes at the counter said.
“And why does DEATH cost twice as much as SEX?”
I asked curiously.
“It takes twice the courage to die than to have sex.”
He answered.
“How about, we do some love making before I kill you.”
I seduced him with my fingers and lured him away to a dark place.
– – -
“Mummy, where is daddy?”
A child with blue eyes asked.
“He disappeared right after you were created.”
I smiled and looked at the bare patch of the garden.
——
I have acquired a little black book from the Emerging Writer’s Fair 2010 for $2 and decided to set a task to doing it justice for such a pretty looking thing. From now on, I will update a post every other day on my new poetry works (written in the book while travelling on the train/writing in cafes around Melbourne). After completion of the poetry series, I will compile them and put them up for sale (muahaha!)
While they are free, my loyal readers should be the first to read them anyway. A word of warning although – they are morbid (morbid = double espresso of darkness).
The first work will be updated tomorrow, its time to bookmark my blog on your RSS feeds
Michael loves tarantulas, and this pet he has is named after me.
I just love those water glaring eyes of hers… she looks so pretty as a grown up now!
After traveling around the world in the beginning of the year – from Singapore – Japan – New York – Washington – Los Angeles – New Zealand – Australia, visiting overly industrialized cities that looked like they are out of a science fiction movie, I decided Melbourne is the best place for writers to be. Here are the top 10 reasons why I love this city:
1. Melbourne is a City of Literature
2. The coffee in ANY cafe BEATS Starbucks in America, anytime. (In New York, I was deprived of my usual cup of latte in an European cafe. The only places for coffee is no other than Starbucks, located in every block. There are probably a few hundred of them in Manhattan alone. And they suck.
3. Cafe Culture + Good Coffee = Better Writers
(Notice that Edinburgh (another city of literature, also the home ground of J.K Rowling) also boosts a vibrant cafe culture)
4. Friendly, nice people with social encounters everyday.
(see my previous entries with the cafe owner)
5. Relaxed pace of life, and “no worries” mentality
6. Cafes tie up with local poets and offer them free coffee to be their in house cafe poet.
7. Road kill, kangaroo and emu meat fuels a writer’s diet. (ok I was not serious)
8. Multiculturalism, unlike the Americans, a typical Australian would know that Singapore is NOT part of China, but is located in South East Asia.
9. General acceptance of individualism (and being different from the rest), an encouraging community that support the literature scene with writer’s groups, writer’s networking sessions, writer’s courses, newsletters… too many to name a few!
10. Freedom to Write whatever without being sued, repressed or told what to do.
(I am officially SICK of having a limited freedom of expression in my own repressive homeland and our basic human right is the freedom of expression.)
And also, for personal reasons, to escape from the traditional backward Asian mentality that is overly conformist, suppressive, limiting, and the myopic mindset of being in a tiny island. An overemphasis on material possessions and superficial beauty. It is precisely the nemesis of everything I am not.
Not to forget, my very supportive and encouraging partner who tells me to write more “I eat men for breakfast” vampy stories.
These are the reasons on why I have not been writing in my blog as often as before because most of my writings are done in cafes in notebooks. This gives me an excuse to stay off my computer screen and go out of my home. I might or might not choose to display my writings. They have took on a wild raging force that stems out of my pen out of truth and honesty.