by | | FlashFiction
Walk away, say you are never, ever
Going to turn back on your thesis
That you had proven scientifically,
That there is no existence of love.
Tell me, that love is an illusion
That it is a fantasy that cannot be real.
It is a curse that can be unlocked
That there is no such thing as love
It is an emotion, that cannot be quantified.
Like water, it flows like the waves of the sea
It does not stay still, in a state of constant fluidity
It is like blood, that flows in the veins
It pumps the heart, filling it with oxygen
And it drips away… when a scalpel lands.
It is a flux of hormones
It is the need to propagate
It is Lust disguised as an Angel
Killing me swiftly
In your white coat
A scalpel in hand
Cutting my heart out
A thesis of evidence
by | | Features
Elektra by David Mack, for cover of Daredevil – End of Days #3.
by | | Her
You are, the wild chase of dreams.
The wind that never stays
A smile
and you are gone.
The warnings are so clear
The chemistry, so deep
The paradoxical nature
Of hate and love
A thin line
Between love and lust
Pain and pleasure
Intertwined
——
As you sped away into the sea of superficiality, dangerously alcohol laden with a cigar in hand.
You are, the wild chase of dreams.
——-
You know, we could create something beautiful together. One that is real, and not an illusion of emptiness. One filled with love, romance and the fantasy you crave.
I am still a believer in love.
.
.
.
.
by | | Her
These tears, these tears
I cry in vain
Not hearing, not hearing
The pleas inside
So painful, so painful
This love I feel
I tried so hard to reject the truth
To be confronted with reality
A part of me has died.
by | | On-Writing
The challenge of being a writer is consistency, consistency to write daily and honestly without holding back his emotions. In every written word and story, he has to convey the most honest truths hidden deep in himself, and reveal it to the world in a wide variety of persona and alter egos. Making it acceptable, and entertaining for others to read and enjoy, the beauty of the subliminal truths of the human race. The stories entering deep into their subconsciousness, governing their actions, and maybe, changing the world for the better.
During the French Revolution, philosophers wrote of a new world of democracy with no kings or queens. The bourgeoisie (middle class) acted on the writings, not quite sure if this fantasy world of power to the people would actually work, but they tried anyway. Thanks to the French, we have the freedom of speech today, and social classes are melting away with equal opportunities of advancement through the idea of meritocracy instead of birthright.
It is deeply motivating to know that writing, can indeed change the world. In the book Wired for Story (2012) it shares that “Writers are, and always have been, among the most powerful
people in the world.” When I look back at my personal philosophy of life and how I govern my code of conduct on a daily basis, I can trace it to back to books I have read as a child, or teachings in textbooks, and they are no other, written by writer’s themselves. Their ideology incorporated into their writings, interweaving it into a beautiful theme and central idea that they wish to convey to the unaware.
I naturally am inclined to analyse the idea that the writer is trying to convey in new literature that I read, and to understand them better, I do a biography check on their family history, their experiences in life, and it translates that their greatest fictional works are a reflection of what they are in real life. For example, JK Rowling was a single mother, with a young child in one hand, and at the same time, facing grievances of her own mother who had passed away. In her book, Harry Potter, she portrays a teenage boy who is an orphan and is ill treated by his own relatives, only to find a lost part of his past in the world of magic. In contrast, it is reflective of what JK Rowling feels at the moment of time, she wants to escape into another world, a world of magic, where anything can happen (she wrote about a housewife character who could use magic to wash the dishes!). However, she is trapped in a situation so dire, living on welfare payouts, having to take care of her daughter and being unable to work as a single mother. As university graduate, she wants OUT of her situation, and be independent, but her circumstances forces her to come face to face with her life through her books – her single hood, the lost of her mother, revealed in the pages of Harry Potter, the orphan.
Mark Twain shares, “Truth is stranger than fiction”. It is indeed true that the writer’s works are a reflection of what he or she is going through, or empathizing with at the moment of time. A writer’s greatest gift is the gift of honesty to his own emotions. Without emotions, we are unable to write. After Arthur Miller, a famous playwright, fell in love with Marilyn Moore and was heart broken, he did not write for years. Love can indeed bring the downfall of a writer, whose works are linked with emotions. A neuroscience writer Jonah Lehrer says, “If it weren’t for our emotions, reason wouldn’t exist at all.”
Some of my poetry had been inspired by other movies and experiences of my own, and people whom I empathize with deeply, their struggles, lost of love, their views on the world. Every day is magical to me, I wake up to a world of colours, of different perceptions, different cultures, different values, which interests my senses, and I seek to understand and explore them deeply.
I am finally at peace on accepting my calling, as one.
by | | FlashFiction
It is a twisted numbers game
A game of probabilities and uncertainties
When the odds don’t fall in your favour
You lose it all, in one try.
In the game of poker, like love.
Such is the cruel twist of fate. We think we have all the numbersAll the mental preparation and agility All the analysis and reasoning behind an actOnly to be emotionally compromised.
When the cards are out, and destiny is set.
Just you and me
In Las Vegas, overlooking the fountains of Bellagio
All is in the line.
There is nothing to hide now, only our hands will reveal
The truth.
by | | Her
I made a pact with my Angels.
If they want what they want.
They have to give me what I want.
As far as I could remember,
they entered my dreams each night
chanting in a chorus of voices
“We have endowed you with gifts.. the gift of poetry.
We want you… to reveal something…
We want you… to write a book…”
In my defiance I replied,
“How am I suppose to write a book, when I don’t have the resources to?”
They chanted in harmony,
“We will give you anything you ask. Ask, and you will receive.”
I ignored the voices of Angels, thinking it to be absurdly ridiculous for them to ask me to do something I am not sure of doing.
One day, in my desperation, I made a pact with them.
“Ok Angels. I tell you what, you give me everything I want, and I will give you what you want. Deal?”
They chanted back, “Ask… and you will receive.”
For years, I asked many things.
I asked them to bring me to Paris.
They gladly obliged.
I asked them for a lover.
They gave me one the next day.
I asked for money.
They made it happen by magic.
I asked for the world.
And they chanted back,
“The world is yours. If you write.”
by | | Her, On-Writing
There were days.. I would sit in front of my keyboard with a blank white screen. Nothing comes out from my finger tips. My tormented mind, wanting to reveal the truth, anger screams in my head… “Out with it… OUT with it…” My fingers, frozen still, unable to move an inch.
On nights like this… I cry myself to sleep…
Nothing is more frustrating than being unable to express my emotions…
On days like this, I hate myself deeply.
I hated myself so much, that I broke my core into two – the Artist and Logic.
—-
Logic tells me, I should be working hard. I should make more money, like all my peers – build a career, acquire the latest gadgets, look pretty and attract the right guys… be socially acceptable like all the others. “Don’t move out of your comfort zone! It is dangerous. It is going to kill you. You have to stay alive!” Listen to Logic, he is always right. He will protect you.
You will be accepted, Logic promises me.
—–
The Artist tells me, break free of control. “You are so controlled, look at your anxiety levels, its spiraling out of the roof. You can’t sleep at night, you can’t write as you used to, you can’t… be yourself. You have to be free… you have to let go. Be yourself. Trust me. I know what your heart wants. I know that not everyone is going to accept you, and see who you really are. I reassure you, you are beautiful inside, and if they can’t see it in you, you should care less.”
You will be happy and at ease, the Artist promises me.
—-
For years, I faced them daily. They are always in my mind. I continued to ignore my the Artist. I grew numb to the emotions. I grew numb to pain. I climbed the career ladder, and played the twisted game of life…
For centuries, I tried and tried
To reach the top of the mountain
The mountain Logic told me to climb,
Thinking, when I get there, I will find my happiness.
I finally reached the top.
I was barely breathing,
exhausted from the tough journey.
To my dismay;
It was empty.
There was nothing at the top.
Just more emptiness.
My reality crashed.
It was a lie.
It was unreal
All the things they taught in school
All the things they told me to do
They all lead to… nothing.
…
That is the story of my life. The pain I went through, seeking for something I did not find. I pressed the reset button. I am back at square zero. I started a new life, and made new resolutions.
You were right all along, Artist. I should have listened to you.
I looked back at my journey, and realise that Logic taught me many lessons:
1) There is no right or wrong.
2) Logic cannot be trusted.
3) I should trust my instincts
4) I should not care less to be socially accepted or whatever.
5) At the end of it all, in the craze of the material world, there is only emptiness.
As part of my new resolution, I drew up several things:
1) I will not hold back, I will be who I am 100%
2) I will not be affected by what people think of me
3) I will continue in my exploration of life
4) I will do what my heart tells me to do, from this moment on.
I am… finally at ease with The Artist.
by | | Her, Red Hourglass
Hi AVERRAL,
I am writing to say, I have decided upon several things.
I have neglected you for so long, that I feel like a serious underachiever.
I am returning back to you, because only you make me feel sane.
The crazy others out there, they just want to watch me burn.
I love being you, AVERRAL.
You are hot with your red bass guitar
You rock my world with your melodies
Your poetry, it feeds my emptiness.
I am only complete with you, without you. I am nothing.
You are my superstar. My one and only true love.
You create worlds that I can’t imagine
You torment me daily with your brilliance
That I am just a shadow of the system that forces me
To make ends meet, to keep you alive.
At the expense of the daily torture
Of not submitting to your wishes
To be the artist you desire.
It pains me to see you unable to be yourself
You are my lady, my mistress of pain
I saw the insignia of the black widow spider
The deadly red hourglass tattoo
Behind your back
I am warned now.
That is why, I submit to you fully.
Before you decide to kill me.
My lady, you are free now
To do what you please
You can whip me into submission
If I ever use my logical senses
And think of doing what is “right”
You give me a new meaning
To do what is perceived as wrong.
Or grey.
I don’t care anymore
I will be you.
Yours Sincerely,
AVERRAL
by | | Prose
Dare your lover to be buried in concrete with you in the name of “eternal love”.
Dabble in medical and law school, and tell your relatives you have decided to write poetry…
Decide to write a erotica novel under a man’s name, only to reveal herself as the true author after 40 years.
Outrageously beautiful… falling in love beside the French Rivera, dreaming in Parisian cafes, walking in castles and museums … mazes of gardens…. making out on top of a car in the eyes of the public and falling asleep to the smell of strawberry fields.