Fifth Horcrux: A Sinner's Mirage

The Potter Girl

2009-05-10T20:40:00.002+08:00

The Potter Girl

Once there was a girl who was called the potter girl just because she had a gift with sculpting clay. But in actual fact, she never made pots or vases. but to call her a sculptor or an artist would be an insult to men... only men apparently.

Instead she preferred sculpting plants and animals. And what set her apart from other sculptors (men) was that she had the gift of giving life into her work. Her plants could grow. Her animals could move and run and hunt and feed and kill. Some people call her a witch; others, the devil's child.

She never cared.

One day, she got bored of her clay flora and fauna.

She said to herself, I'm sure I can do better than this! I know. I shall make a clay baby.

And a clay infant she did make. Before it was even done, it started crying! And she did not even bother deciding its gender. She threw it aside.

I can do better. I shall make a man!

She started sculpting. The crying stopped after a yelp and a growl. Her clay lion seemed to be pleased, licking its lips. The sexless baby was nowhere to be seen...

Her clay man was beautiful and well... huge.

Make love to me, he said as his pudenda slowly rose.

Disgusted she turned to her work table and decide once again, she could make a more perfect creature.

The clay man start satisfying himself a stroke at a time.

She took longer with the next sculpture. She made an angel.

It stood tall and silent. Unmoving. Merely glaring at her.

Talk! She yelled in annoyance.

Silent.

Frustrated yet again, she decided to sculpt another level of perfection.

She took seven days. Finally she was done. She made God. God's hair was long and silken. God's skin was white as it was made of the whitest clay. Every curve of God's flesh were defined. Even the breasts. Yes. Breasts.

The girl smiled at God. And her clay replica smiled back. Finally. Perfection. She had created God in her own image....

Weeping Stone Angel

2008-12-10T19:49:00.002+08:00

Weeping Stone Angel

My feet so cold upon the cobbled road
In an ancient Prague cemetery.
With broken lilies and broken roses;
Offerings in broken pottery.

I find myself here today.
I've lost no one, last I checked.
Yet my feet had dragged me this way again
So I could pay my last respects.

There, wings ripped asunder, she looms over me,
With stone body and stone feathers.
Her hands covered her unseen face
Shielding her from the darkness before her.

Her grey body, cold, draped in stone garments.
How pathetic she looks, yet I look at her.
Among the dead, she weeps so silent.
Everyone has simply forgotten her.

Why are you weeping and for whom?
Who is so deserving of thy tears
When I have none offered to me?
Uncover your virgin eyes and see me here!

Is he more beautiful than me?
What has he given you that I can't give?
Does he even know that you exist?
And does he live to see you live?

Or does he too cover his eyes which he whores?
Blind to you as he worships another.
Numb to all the sacrifices you have made.
Making your love for him Hell's torture.

Weep for me you stupid angel! You Winged Madonna.
Can't you see I love you true?
I would trade my heart for your holy tears.
Or am I not Christ enough for you?

I may weep till my eyes burn.
Yet those ancient hands will never move.
Will never break away from her burning eyes.
Her stone head shall never turn to me, and look.
(...at me...)

I walk away unhurt and unhurt. And unhurt.
Except for my heart aching within.
I don't need some stone seraph's tears.
I just need you to weep for me.
(...for once...)

I shall walk away from you one day, as I'd left her,
Then you shall cease to exist in my wretched life.
I shall forget you like the others forgot her.
Then you'll look up, see nothing, and cry... till you die.
(...for no one's there...)

(...So before it's too late, look up and see
And with joy, and love, you shall cry for me...)

The Sleeping Princess

2008-09-20T00:06:00.002+08:00

The Sleeping Princess

Have you heard the legend, that tale of the princess who lies asleep for thousands and thousands of years? Whose hair shines like gold beneath the judging sun? Whose skin shames alabaster? Whose lips are those of a siren’s kiss?

Well, let me tell you something. It’s true.

Not the whole truth but still the truth.

She exists, at least. And the magical coma; that’s true too.

She’s more beautiful than Venus herself but no one can tell underneath all that dried blood. The curves of her body are the fruits that tempted Eve and Adam, yet the way the arch and bend and stretch awkwardly now only disgusts.

Only her eyes, I can safely say, escaped such mutilation; but then again, who can see them when they hide behind shut lids.

Where is she?

Somewhere in Jerusalem; in a cave hidden by her Pontius Pilates and guarded by her Judases.

But let it be know, no mortal can kill her. All those fools could manage was this pseudo death.

Ammo: Poison.

Some said it was a fairy who did it, others, the emperor. Maybe even the Pope.

Who knows.

In the darkness she sleeps unclothed. In the absence of light, her tousled blood mottled hair glows like a weak halo. Upon her head, is a crown, a wreath of rose thorns; her birthright to a throne unknown.

Her hands and feet bleed endlessly, feeding the dark moist earth beneath. Why? Nails. They are nailed onto dark wood; onto a monstrous and ungodly pine crucifix; hung up there like a dead game to her antagonists. Look at them laughing and staring at her naked body thinking they have won.

But know one thing: She Will Rise Again.

And when she does those who have wronged her, beware.

Those who had tortured her, raped her, mutilated her, crucified her, but above all, judged her shall be damned to a hell of ice so cold they burn; where soft winds blow the flesh to frostbites. These are those mortals who believed themselves to be gods; dictating false virtues and condemning supposed unnaturals. They are the ones who brainwashed whole nations to march against our princess and her fellow brethren. These cruel mortals will wander this realm of dark whiteness with no form of nourishment; except for their frozen flesh. They will be forced to eat themselves slowly, very slowly, until all that is left is their pathetic little frigid hearts. Of course, this self-cannibalism will take an eternity.

Those who merely watched and laughed and pointed and enjoyed themselves while she and her people where stripped of their dignity, raped in public and tortured under the blind sun, they too shall be punished. They might not have been the hand wielding the corrupted blade, but who cares? It’s all the same to her. These wretched mortals shall be sent to a hell of knives and whips and shackles. The men shall be castrated while the women will have their wombs torn out off them by hand. There, they shall suffer endless torture. They shall be raped relentlessly. They shall be sodomized cruelly. They shall be given no dignity for they gave none.

Those who did not judge her. Those who did not fight for her. Those who did nothing. Now, they shall be sent to a limbo of nothingness. For, these sad mortals forgot about her; they did not care at all. So, why should she care about them now? She will not glance at them like how they hid their eyes from her when she was dragged up upon the cross. She will not think of them like how they did not think of how she suffered. She will forget them, and when this happens, they will disappear from reality, like they simply never existed to begin with.

But those who are her brethren, her children, worry not. For, salvation is here. Those who were hung for being sodomites. Those who were whipped again and again for using their god given bodies to make a living through prostitution. Those who were treated like dogs due to the color of their skin. Those who were branded infidels because of their differing values. And those who, like her, have been beaten and abused for being a “mere woman”.

Those who have suffered like her and still fought with courage by her side shall be sent to a heaven where the cruel world of before will be easily forgotten. It is a place where beauty is abundant. It is a world governed only by the possibilities of the imagination. Most importantly, it is a world that does not judge. It shall be a new world where life will finally be “life”.

But for now, she is still asleep.

But remember: She Will Rise Again.

Cinderella: Second Chances

2008-08-06T20:48:00.003+08:00

Cinderella: Second Chances

A second chance, a second way
To prove myself and show you who I am today.

A second chance, a second life.
Since you've been gone, I've never had to live a lie.
No more hiding, now I'm strong.
I know where I do belong.
It's in these sweet sweet seconds,
The present beckons
Me to live.

A second truth. A second lie.
Despite the pain you've caused you never left my mind.

A second chance, a second glance.
You had a chance to take a chance on me
But you couldn't
Wouldn't
Shouldn't
Choose me.
Because who could've
Should've
Would've
Loved me.

Yet what lucky chance! A second chance.
A second choice; a way of voicing what we hide.
No more caging what we feel.
No more worrying what THEY'll think.
It's in this hope I trust
Even if it should last
For a second.

A second whisper. The second slipper.
Now that hearts fit the silver gown don't even matter.
It's all I wanted
Wished
And wondered
How it feels.
I merely wondered
Wished
And wanted
You to see
Me.

A second moment. The second time
You stand so close to me, your body pressed to mine.
With your lips upon my ears
As you whispered words so dear,
"I love you so"
Then I'll know
This is it.

Just Breathe...

A second chance. A second dance.
An endless waltz of love, I ask for, just this once.

Me and Mother Mary

2008-06-25T20:55:00.002+08:00

Me and Mother Mary

It was Christmas Eve,

Snow falling on my face.

I went to an old church

Not far from my place.

There was a nativity scene

“When Christ was born.”

It was the most calming thing

I ever saw.

I looked not at the wise men,

Joseph or the baby.

The person who caught my eye was

The Mother Mary.

Her face was a story

Of life, truth and pain.

Her eyes stared into mine;

They screamed of hope without faith.

Were you the child,

Who asked no more?

Were you the child,

Pretty when you were born?

Were you the child,

Who thought you’d never die?

Who never used to think

Of pain and of strife?

You’ve got a child to feed

Back at home.

You had to do what you need.

You need to do what you know.

Mary, Mary,

Hair of gold.

Did you have a choice?

No one ever knows.

Mary, you offered yourself,

So willingly.

Mary, Mary,

Me and Mother Mary.

She’s finished with the Manger Scene.

She’s undressing herself.

She’s putting on her lipstick

For somebody else.

She drops her holy garments

Of royal blue.

She puts on black laced leather

And she’s walking to you.

She’s got a boy back home,

Her bastard child.

She works herself for him.

He is her life.

You hope he’ll be great.

You hope he’ll be smart.

You hope that one day,

He’ll even own a car.

She was swaying her curved hips

As she walked the streets.

Not the minding the pain

From her six inch heels.

And a car pulled over.

He asked “how much?”

She said “fifty a night.

A hundred for SM and such.”

She entered the car

Of the man with the dirty mouth.

She asked, “do you want a head,

Or do you wanna go all out?”

You followed him home,

You brazen girl.

Unafraid for your life.

Unafraid of the world.

He liked playing rough.

He beat her about.

It’s okay since he liked it

Till he came out loud.

She took the money and headed home

As she nursed her bruise.

She said “thank God it’s over.”

But she spoke too soon.

Her door was open.

And a mess inside.

Yet that’s not what scares her.

She only feared for her child.

He’s now fifteen;

Old enough to fend for himself.

Yet she feared for him each day.

Oh how it scared her to death.

She prayed for hope

As she cried out his name.

And that’s when she found him

Lying there dead.

You fell to your knees

And you held your baby tight.

And you bathed in his blood

As you cried and cried.

And that’s when a knife

Appeared before your eyes

And cut open your throat

And extinguished your life.

And there they lay; a bloody mess,

Mother and child.

Their faces spoke of stories,

Hopeful faith in their eyes.

Damned Children

2008-04-28T16:17:00.002+08:00

Damned Children

I am a child, abandoned by my holy mother, though holy she is not.
I am a child, forced into adulthood by the hands of the cowardly lot.

I am a child, inverted and inverted again into a life of a sodomite.
I am a child, traipsing down the streets of Gomorrah, only to be murdered by a temple knight.

I am a child who purges my body of invisible sins; relishing pain.
I am a child, weeping in purgatory, knowing my sorrows will never be slain.

I am a child, silent to the ears, invisible to the eyes, cold to the touch.
I am a child who walks among the dead, not saying, not asking, not begging much.

I am a child who "loved not wisely but too well," oh how I "loved not wisely but too well."
I am a child who dreams of heaven, oh heaven, but caress hell, oh hell.

I am a child who yearns to fit into this world among the saints and the saintly.
I am a child who wants to be heard, screaming "I'm Here!" yet I still speak so faintly.

I am a child, twisted like the devil, bent on bending the world into his own.
I am a child who hears all, sees all yet feel none; for I am alone,

We are the children, punished with sinful pain and punished for painful sin.
We are the children, lost and damned, never to enjoy this limbo of flesh and skin.

The Virgin and The Whore: Chapter One

2008-03-08T17:38:00.004+08:00

The Virgin and The Whore

I come from places and times where hysteria and beauty go hand in hand. Times books aren't meant to repeat. Places dead poets dragged with them to their silent graves.

Was it Venice? Or Paris? Or Italy?

Was it the 16th Century? 17th? 18th? Or was it the 19th?

I cannot recall. But then again, does it matter where you come from?

The only thing that matters is where you end up…

~Chapter One ~

Blood Ties: Parents and Homes

I had… I have three mothers and two fathers.

My "real" ones? What do you mean by that?

Biological? The ones that conceived me?

They lived in the darkest of streets; the heartbeat of the moon children, the beings of darkness. Drugs, alcohol, sex, rape, murder, theft, assault and prostitution were the divine rituals of their damned religion. When the moon shines, they shine. When the darkness dances, they dance. And my "real" parents too joined in these dark dances each day and night of their lives.

I learned the steps of these damned dances at a very young age. And my "real" parents were my first teachers.

Their tango:

Father returns home.

Father drinks from his bottle of rum.

Mother yells.

Father yells back.

He throws the bottle against the wall.

She gasps.

He steps strong towards her with the aggression of a hunter.

She continues yelling.

Yet she steps back, in sync with his steps towards her.

Her tattered dress moves like a matador cape.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Her shoes on the floor.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

She presses her spine against the wall, heaving as her bosom expanded with every breath.

His turn; left foot forward.

Then right.

Left.

Right.

Left again.

The yelling stops.

He is an arms length away from her.

His right hand rises up and falls upon her cheeks.

The contact.

She falls on the wooden floor.

The thud.

He picks up a stool that stood conveniently nearby.

She cries "no, no, no".

He steps towards her.

Left foot. Right foot. Left.

She crawls away from him, dragging herself with her hands.

Left hand. Right hand. Left.

Now the stool dances its solo dance; singing with the swishing of the wind, with each rise and fall.

Up to the ceiling. Swish. Down to her skull. Swish.

The thud.

Up to the ceiling. Swish. Down to her skull. Swish.

The thud.

Up to the ceiling. Swish. Down to her skull. Swish.

The thud.

Up to the ceiling. Swish. Down to her skull. Swish.

The thud.

Up to the Heavens. Down to Hell.

The curtain of crimson blood falls.

End.

That was last their tango. Their last ballet. No more encore.

I can still remember the tiny specks of flesh and meat from her skull, scattered upon the pool of brilliant red. They were like little stars in a sky of red, I thought then. It was like a painting conceived by an artist with skills we know not of; God came to mind.

The awkward, rag doll limpness of the limbs and neck. The blank dead stare of the eyes. The open skull giving birth to the red which grew with every second you kept your eyes upon it. It made me weep. I was in awe not sorrow.

I must have been too young for loss then. Or maybe, I just did not care. He sure did not.

He disposed off her body. Then, he sold me away to Gomorrah.

Poor Li'l Things

2008-01-04T22:10:00.000+08:00

Another fable-inspired story. This time, Hansel and Gretel. It was a rushed work so I expect mistakes and typo,and the standard might not be that good either. But I still hope you enjoy reading it.

Poor Li'l Things

People often spoke of the little house in the woods; a witch's house, they say.

They spoke of Baba Yaga. They spoke of an old woman. They spoke of razor teeth. They spoke of cannibalism. They spoke of feasting on raw flesh. They spoke of the blood of children. They spoke of her.

They spoke of her to threaten children who are wiser than they should be; for what were adults when the young do not fear them.

They spoke of her to rationalize their cowardice.

They spoke of her to retain their ancient traditions of purpose, hierarchy and conformism; the taboo shall remain taboo.

No one dares to enter the woods at night. No one dares to approach the house that sleeps in the heart of it.

But when you are lost, when you are young, when winter seduces you to death, when the only sign of life is the billowing smoke from the little hut in the middle of the woods, you have only one choice; you knock.

The knocking on the door was faint but she heard it, just the same. Her heart raced in anticipation. Her mouth salivates for the life beyond her door. Her nose sniffed the scent of youth, whetting her appetite.

She moved fast for an old woman; creeping like a wolf with the wind. She had a silver cane to keep her from falling and it clicked her wooden floor to a rhythm one could dance to. Her hand went around her door knob. She turned it. She pulled the door back, opening it. And before her stood a boy and a girl; barely eleven of age; skin so fair, flesh so tender.

I shall feast on lambs tonight, she thought. Her lips curled to a smile as she let them in.

You poor li'l things, she said, you must be freezing out there. Do come in. It's warm in here.

She gestured them into her warm home. She led them to a table beside her fireplace where a cauldron bubbled warm soup upon bright flames.

Her guests sat at her table quietly as she scooped the soup into two plates. Then she dropped three drops of poison from a vial into the soup. She did it with such swiftness that no one could ever notice; if they ever did, you wouldn’t know, for they're all dead now. Practice makes perfect.

She set the plates on the table and waited. Waited for the shock in their eyes. Waited for the desperate choking of tender throats. Waited for the cruel convulsion of young flesh. Then she waited for their souls to admit defeat.

It was done. Now it was time to cook.

She raced to her old bookshelf, her cane clicking with insane delight. She drew out an old leather bound cookbook and flipped through it. The book was filled with delightful cannibalistic cuisine. She licked her lips when she found just the right recipe.

She hurried back to the table, her silver cane clicking away. She hurried back to her dinner only to find them gone.

She searched her entire home but it seemed they disappeared. Howling in fury like banshee as she hunted for them. Her stomach and tongue was filled with a carnal craving that was too familiar to her.

But just as she was about lose hope, she saw a movement beneath her bed.

She bent down to look, her spine creaking as it curved.

It was the little girl.

Where is your brother dear, she asked in the sweetest voice she could muster.

The child merely smiled back, revealing her rows of white fangs.

Shock did not even have time to possess the old woman, for the boy had lunged from behind her; sinking his fangs into her frail neck. She was fast; he was faster.

His sister soon joined him in the meager feast.

Once they drank the woman dry of blood, they returned to the winter outside.

The Frog

2007-12-02T14:33:00.000+08:00

Another take on an old Fairy Tale. Not one of my best ones, definitely, but do enjoy it...

The Frog

I am a princess; a beautiful princess; a very beautiful princess.

White alabaster is my skin.

Golden sunlight is my hair.

Two bloodred cherries pressed together are my lips.

I am a beautiful princess, and I know that.

The garments love me. They adoringly decorate my flesh so effortlessly. It is as if they embrace Venus herself.

The mirrors love me. Oh they love me so. My subjects bow down to my being and stare in wonder of my divine image. None can compare to my visage.

Oh, do not get wrong; for I am not conceited. On the contrary, I am warning you who worship beauty and condemn the ugly; for here is my story of how a little frog taught me to see.

I enjoyed countless hours each day in my royal garden. The beauty of the exotic flowers compliments mine. Their intoxicating scents drown me like perfumed drugs. Oh, no hideous plants are allowed to live in my garden; for they blind me so. To deserve a home here, they must bloom beauteous flowers for me.

The sunlight loves me. It hugs me with its warmth and light my every inch so that the whole world can admire me; I make it shine. And the air runs and circles me; dancing with my hair and garments. It gives me cool kisses on my skin. The sun and wind, though rivals, work hand in hand to worship me.

Oh, there is also a pond in my garden. Its water loves me for it endlessly mimics my beauty; imitating my every graceful gesture. And by the pond, I would spend my days staring at my reflection staring at me.

My gaze must be so hypnotic that even I was lost in it as I gazed into the me in the water. And one day while I was lost in my own eyes I fell in. How distastefully clumsy I must have been; slipped on the moss by the pond. Those ugly plants; so wet, hideous and useless.

I drowned that day.

The water pulled me with its icy claws, holding my body against my will. It forced itself into my gentle lungs; my resistance to its intrusion was futile. It plugged my screams for mercy and help. I could not fight back. I could not cry. I was the water's for the taking. The air fled from my body. My eyes darkened as the sunlight vanished. I drowned.

Did I die? No. Of course not; a beauty like me would never die of drowning; it would be too ungraceful a death for a royalty, don't you think? Someone, no, something saved me.

My eyes opened to the glare of the harsh sunlight; it scorched my corneas with contempt. The cold air rushed into my gentle lungs; stinging and scarring my throat as it made its way into me. The colors of the flowers around me were nauseating.

I woke up dizzy beside the pond. My head ached and my body hurt. My hair, my skin, my clothes, all drenched.

A thank you would be nice, a voice croaked.

I looked around; not a soul.

Well, it croaked again, don't I at least deserve a thank you or a kiss?

Where are you? Show yourself, I yelled at the disembodied voice.

Here my sweet child. I am here. Yes that little frog before you, that's me.

Could something so repulsive truly mange to save me, I thought. So I asked him, You saved me, sir?

Well, it took you long enough, it croaked mockingly.

Saved by a frog. How humiliating, I thought.

I did not wish to do it but it was expected of me as a royalty to repay my subjects, especially after they saved my life. So, dripping with disgust, I asked reluctantly, oh sweet gentle creature, how may I repay you?

The vile amphibian thought for an eternity of a moment. Its throat expanded like a poisonous balloon with every breath it took. Those bulbous eyes transfixed upon me. It licked its lips with its long sick tongue; one cruel end to another. I wanted to purge myself with a scream yet my dignity bottled it silent.

It replied with a devious croak, I would like to share a meal and a bed with you for a night.

I object with words that I shall never repeat.

Why not, it asked, after all, I did save thy life.

Cruel creature; cruel guilt. It was true. He did save me.

I had never cast my sympathy to the ugly, and I was not going to start then. Yet I had my reputation; reputation is everything. Why could he not have been a handsome prince instead?

I agreed. I agreed.

I led the foul creature into my palace. It was the only vulgar sight around. Everything within my home was beauty incarnate. Marble walls and pillars ran through every hallway. Alabaster statues guarded the entire palace; my white sentinels. There were gold decorations that rivaled Midas' daughter. Vast staircases everywhere that led one from one heavenly maze to another dizzying one above. Even my nameless servants were children of Adonis and Venus. Yet my beauty reins supreme.

I led the cruel ugly into my dining hall. I rarely ate with my parents and this was no exception.

It was just me and the pestilent at the fifty feet table. I made a mental note to order the servants to clean the table and chair thoroughly after the amphibian was done with it.

What do you wish to have for dinner, Sir, I asked.

Young lamb, rare, it hissed like a serpent with delight.

That is not common for a frog to eat is it?

It merely shrugged at my question.

The lamb steak came; rare. The meat seemed bloody and tender still. I was no longer hungry. But the frog finished his lamb in one giant gulp. My stomach threatened to purge itself out of me at the sight.

Succulent, it croaked, I've always enjoyed young tender flesh.

It licked its lips with its serpentine tongue. Disgust would not do justice to what I felt then.

Bed time came. Unfortunately.

My room was lavished with yards and yards of draperies of silk and velvet. Mirrors everywhere; till no walls can be seen. Each mirror reflects another till my room expands to eternity. They reflect my delicate beauty till thousands of goddesses stood in my presence. Oh yes, and the frog too.

I crawled into my bed like Scheherazade awaiting her execution; trying to buy time. The creature crawled after me.

Then I realized I could not go through with it. It was too hideous!

My hands were quicker than my mind; before I could express my disgust or stop myself or think anything at all, I had flailed the vile pestilent across the room into one of my beautiful mirrors. The sharp shimmering sound and the harsh twinkling sight of glass shattering shook me to my senses; a few of my reflections died with the mirror.

Then from the sparkling shards of broken mirror rose a man; a boy, handsome beautiful, youthful. Adonis himself would have blushed while Narcissus wept. He was naked; not a cloth upon his alabaster skin.

He had a devilish look about him; his grin made parts of me tightened. His body was lean yet muscled. His arms and chest looked delectable. My eyes ran down his defined abdomen, down to the trail of fine curly hairs that led me from his navel to places further down; oh, it led my eyes down, down, lower. It was deliciously ample, I thought. Heat rushed to my face as my heart raced and my body craved.

Who are you, I asked. Yet in my mind, I care not. I wanted him so.

He merely stood where he was; his heavy lidded eyes stared into mine. Then he licked his luscious lips from one corner of his mouth to the other and I knew straight away.

You are the frog aren't you?

He walked towards me, unabashed by his nudity. Like a cat, he moved; every muscle, every part of his body seemed to move like liquid, I did not know which part of him to look at. He seems to have muscles and bones in places he should not have, for how could any human move so distractingly beautiful.

He climbed upon my bed and crawled above me; sliding my night gown up over my thighs. I whimpered in suppressed ecstasy. He moved up until our faces were just inches away from each other. His manhood dangled above my thighs, just touching them; I could feel its tip caress and tickle my skin with orgasmic friction; teasing me like a dagger just about to kill.

I wanted to ask how all this was possible, how a hideous amphibian could transform into and divine angel. But only gasps escaped my lips.

He then pressed his soft lips against mine, sucking the air from my gentle lungs.

But his kisses did not end there. His lips journeyed lower down my neck. It was divine how my body yearned for him.

He must have felt the desire too for I felt him harden and sink himself into my body. I bit my gasps silent. The cruel friction I felt within me was overwhelmingly delightful.

My being wanted to scream.

His lips managed to venture further down to my naked bosom while he kept his blade within me; such flexibility was inhuman. I felt him upon my right breast, kissing my nipple hard. Then I felt his tender teeth bite upon it; upon my nipple, upon me. The sharp pain turned to pleasure then to pain again; no, agony!

Agony overwhelmed me. I looked down upon my bosom. His black silky hair hid my breast. But I could still feel the blood pouring endlessly out of my nipple. I screamed.

He lunged his head back and drove himself deeper within my body. His face was dripping with my blood. He licked his lips then drove straight to my tender throat and sank his fangs into me. Fear silenced my screams.

Within minutes, I was dead and dry.

My servants found me spread eagle upon my bed like a lying Christ; feet together and arms a stretched. My body and bed was covered with my red blood and his white seed; like a gruesome work of erotic art.

The servants screamed at my horrid image. One even hurled her meal before my corpse. And all of term could have sworn they saw a frog hopped out of my window; probably to save another drowning princess.

I was a beautiful princess; remember me that way.

Golden Locks

2007-11-04T20:24:00.000+08:00

Another short story I wrote. It is based on the tale of Rapunzel. I did not get to edit it properly, so pardon any typos or errors. Enjoy.

Golden Locks

The prince climbed up the spiraling stone steps that seemed to rise unending towards the heavens. He could not see the end yet continued still, driven; step after step. His velvet and silk robes glimmered decadently under the light from his candelabra. His rich gentle garments swished in the invisible wind. His loins ached with demonic desire. His lips salivated with untamed lust, an appetite that will soon be satisfied; only to be resurrected when night falls the following night; like a beast under the moon.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally reached the huge oak door. He pulled out a golden key from his pocket. He raised his candle sticks nearer to his face to inspect the key. The gold replied him with light so beautiful. The soft light of the flames danced upon his beautiful face; youthful Adonis. Yet behind those divine ocular delicacies, there lies a beast; and what was worse was that this beasts had a crown.

He slid the key gently into its home in the door. The light painful grating sound of metal filled his ears, making his body tighten with anticipation. He twisted it with utmost care. The agonizing tight click confirmed its perfect fit; the perfect union. The massive oak door swung open.

And before him, lay a piece of paper, upon the floor; innocent.

He hollered a name. No reply.

He picked up the paper. He read it.

Dear husband,

Yes. Husband. My Husband. The Church had made me thy wife. Only thy wife. merely thy wife. I am yours. Your possession. The priest upon the altar had sold me to you on our wedding day. My vow was my reluctant contract signing me grudgingly to you. You own my body, my soul, my heart.

You took me from my home. Where I came from, nobody knows, nobody cares. Everyone knows me as thy wife, thy princess wife. No one knows me.

Thou art a jealous man. Jealousy flows through your veins like venom. It pumps so hard that you lock me up in this wretched tower; this dark needle that pricks the heavens. You fear other men would ensnare me. Well let me tell you this, seeing how you pinned and banged and throttle me like a piece of pork, your fear of my adultery would not have been unfounded. Those cruel nights I was plastered between the cold stone walls and your warm hard body while I cry in pain, I cried to God to help me. Yet the Lord heard me not, only the night did.

You've exhausted me to the brink of inhumanity and breath. Dignity, you made sure, was never mine. I was thy wife. The God's Church and its priest made sure of that.

You gave me only one damned window, from which I could lament like a caged lark. Yes, you lavished this stone enclosure like a palace, yet it was still a cage; no amount of velvet draperies and dark oak furniture could change that. Yet you equipped me with one weapon; a comb.

Each day I would comb my golden locks as I said goodbye to the faithful moon and welcomed the almighty sun. Each night I would comb my golden hair as I bid farewell to the dying sun and sing salutations to the holy moon. I combed my locks, praying for the day it would be long enough to free me. The day has finally come.

If I flee this prison, you will hunt me down with all the hounds you could garner. You shall hunt me down. I shall never be free. And God will cast his loving gazes away from me for I have broken my oath to you, to the Church, to Him.

Yet I am willing to be damned for all eternity. My escape will make sure of that. Yet I welcome it in its full glory; the wrath of the almighty and the caresses of Hell.

Soon I shall be with my brethren; those who have been misunderstood and condemned. I shall meet adulterers who went into the arms of another for their husbands and wives are cruelty incarnates. I shall dine with men and women of the night who sell their supposedly God-given bodies to satisfy the masses' lust, merely to survive yet another day. I shall be welcomed by men who are lovers of men and women who are lovers of women; souls who love purer than many I know. I shall embrace souls who covet their own flesh and blood in lust and love. I shall be hand in hand with women who were men and men who were women; souls who finally found their identity. I shall sing unprejudiced hymns with men and women who merely wish to help those the He threw away. I shall pray with all those who were not given a room in the holy kingdom.

I shall be in a kingdom of flames. Yet I care not.

I shall be with my brothers and sisters, and we shall celebrate in a holy communion.

And above all, the holy Lord of the infernos is not one who is judgmental. His eyes are not cruel; for he, above all others, knows best how it feels to be discarded by his father for his imperfections. And he shall embrace me.

I wait for that moment. I anticipate it with every fiber of my being.

Now my hair is long enough for me to flee. I have weaved it into a golden rope, my savior; long enough to free me. You can have my body. But never again, my soul; for I am taking it back from you. Fare thee well, husband.

Thy Nameless Wife.

The prince crushed the paper and raced through the room; rage swelled within and around him like a storm.

Velvet curtains red as blood hang from every corner of the room. A dark oak four-poster bed stood magnificent, like a great wooden bird-cage. A black armoire stood beside it. A vanity mirror stood across the bed, reflecting the moon. And in front of the window, on the ceiling, hung the golden rope that was her hair; it gleamed gloriously under the moonlight. It was more beautiful than angel's hair. Its end was a noose, which coiled around the girl's neck; like a golden serpent. Her eyes remain glazed towards the blue moon.

Her hand clutched upon something that glimmered upon the moonlight; her comb., her weapon.

And thus, she was free.

Post Crucifixion

2007-10-20T00:26:00.000+08:00

Another story I wrote. It's inspired by Little red Riding Hood. I apologize if it offends some people.

Post Crucifixion

They are gone now. My people are gone. Pontius Pilate is gone. Judas is gone. Mary too is gone. I am alone, pierced onto this titanic cross. They believe me dead. Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. I do not know. Frankly, I care not.

My blood covers my skin like a silken coat; a cape of crimson wine that sticks and dries upon my naked body and becoming one with me. My flesh bleeds and bleeds; holy bread now stale and rotten. My flesh and blood, bread and wine, feed the earth that yearns and yearns for more. Yet I have no more to give.

I pull my nailed wrists and crushed feet off the dark pine. I climb bloody down the crucifix, my nails clawing the wood to hold on. I drag my sanguine cape behind me as I crawl down the cross and onto the cold ground; leaving a trail of blood for the earth to drink to intoxication.

Drink up!

Drink, for my blood is holy wine!

And blood is life!

Thus saith the Lord!

My broken feet carry me to a dark forest. Where my blood sinks, there grow thorns of roses, wild and untamed; beautiful. Yet I continue to tread the wild paths before me.

Look there! Something a quivers!

A wolf, with fur as black as night; so warm and shielding, no cold could pierce it.

I'd gladly trade my bloody coat for a fur cape so warm. Does the beast realize that I yearn for its hide to blanket my bloody skin? Frankly, I care not.

It remains motionless before me; eyes upon mine. He stares at me; I stare at him. Is it guarding something forbidden, sinful? Like the serpent and its fruit? Frankly, I care not. All I want is to be warm; to survive this cold.

I lunge at it with every might I can muster; faster than an angels light. Self preservation always gives one might; praise the Lord!

My hands are both around its muscled neck. The fur tastes delicious in the wind, delicate and sweet. The fur against my bloody skin was a sensation so enlightening; the wonders of god's creation and might.

I twist the beast's neck before it could react or fight back. I twist its neck hard and swift; it must have felt painful. Frankly, I care not. It was a monster after all; a demon that probably consumed millions of helpless innocent children that were unfortunate enough to cross its path. I felt and heard the distinct crack beneath my hands. I felt no guilt. I felt satisfaction. I could have sworn my mouth curved into a smile.

God gives life. God takes it away.

With my nails I dug into its flesh then I rip its wondrous hide. I don it like some warrior trophy; a coat of victory and triumph. It was still bloody inside, where its skin had parted with its flesh; a cape of dark black fur above a red bloody cape upon my naked skin. It was warm like gods embrace; skin over blood over skin.

The skinless naked monster lies dead upon the ground; how disgusting it looks without its fur. My roses continue to spring forth from my blood; they threaten to gobble up the demon's corpse.

Do you hear that? Those tiny yelps.

I turn my head towards the sounds. Five little wolf cubs yelping for their dead mother; that bitch I murdered; no … Killed. The Monstrous beast I killed. How will they survive now without their maternal protection? Will the winter kill them? Frankly, I care not.

My feet continued their journey; leaving the crying lupine babes behind me and leaving my trail of wild demonic thorns of roses to possess everything it touches. Forwards I shall go, into the wilderness; then, and only then can I be reborn into my father's welcoming arms.

The Songbird

2007-09-08T13:16:00.000+08:00

Another short tale inspired by Angela Carter. This one's based on Han's Christian Anderson's Nightingale.

The Songbird

Do you hear it?

Do you hear me?

Do you hear me singing?

Do you hear me and my children singing?

We sing of liberation.

'Tis sing the song of freedom.

I have seen many lands. I have sung many tunes. Yet this song is my favorite. This song is mine.

Here. Up here. Up in the tree. Yes that little bird singing to you. That's me.

Where was I born? I do not know what the human name for the land is but I remember it was a land of cherry sweet cherry blossoms. I was born in springtime. Clouds of pinkish white flowers blanketed the land; east, west, north, south, it stretched everywhere as far as I could see.

I was born in a nest among the white blossoms; their sweet scent had welcomed me out of my egg and into the world. I was born a vast garden of a hundred cherry blossom trees; whiteness everywhere. I was born in the palace of the lands of cherry blossoms. And I was born to the emperor.

I was born ugly; dull and grey. But by the following spring my feathers were beautiful, at least I told myself that. I was velvet midnight black; a shadow in the sunlight.

And I have to admit, I have a beautiful voice. My mother had taught me all she knew. She too, like her mother and her mother's mother and all my ancestors before me, was a royal songbird. My mother took pride in her duty, an honour she said. She would thrust out her breasts with pride, almost arrogance, as she entertained the enthralled courtiers. She said that was our purpose and role in life. She's dead now. Killed by a palace cat; he swallowed her whole, imagine that. What an ungraceful way to die. Yet the old bird had taught me all she knew; she taught me well.

All day I would sing to him. What? Oh. Of course I had meant the emperor. I sang to the emperor. I was after all his songbird.

How was he like? Why even a small bird like me could tell he was handsome. He had long black hair, which when left untied, was like a black waterfall over his back. His skin radiated like the glorious sun that he was. Being so young, his body was lean and youthful, tempting almost. And his eyes, framed by their heavy lids, were intoxicating, erotic, seductive. And as an emperor, he was generous and kind, though he had an insatiable appetite for decadence and indulgence.

Yet, despite all his duties and worries and needs, despite all that he was and despite all that he had and could have, he still called for his little songbird; he called for me to drag him away from this bleeding earth. My voice was his escape.

I was always beside my emperor; almost always at least. He needed my voice. He needed me.

Every morning I would greet him with a tune and every night I would lull him to sleep; he was even more beautiful sleeping, I must admit. Yes, He needed me, until she came.

I was singing to him in his garden, among the white cherry blossoms; have I told you how beautiful they were? Well, they were beautiful, the blossoms. I was singing, enrapturing him, until a voice interrupted it like the dizzying nectar that it was; languid like the poisonous tongue of the holy serpent that seduced Eve.

My, my! I can't believe my eyes! The emperor, enthralled by the squawking of an ugly black bird, she giggled; her giggles were nauseatingly girlish.

I knew who she was. She was the greatest courtesan of her time. She was Venus incarnate. Yet her unrivaled beauty was not what dragged men to her feet. She had skills, tutored by the most skillful of whores, courtesans and geishas; her mentors. She had known it would bring her power. But oh, her gem was her voice. Even I envied it.

Dear emperor, let me show you real pleasure, she said.

Her skin was white as snow. Her lips were red as blood. Her hair was as black as my feathers. She was perfumed like jasmine in spring; it filled the air like a delicious plague. Her rich garments wrapped her delicately, as if they were caressing her; silk and brocade, evidently from the hands of master artisans. Her dress covered just enough that her nipples were hidden beneath it yet allowing the fullness and roundness of her breasts be exposed. They seem to grow with every deep slow breath she heaved. She moved like silk underwater towards my emperor, holding out her tender hand with a smile. He took it. He took it and I lost him.

She sang to him with her divine voice as they walked away from me, the ugly bird, alone on the tree. She sang to him.

You have a voice far beautiful than anything I've ever heard, even the bird, the emperor said in awe. Why, I won't need the feathered creature anymore now that you can sing to me.

She smiled, acting embarrassed. She took him. She took him and I lost him.

Then they were gone. Then I was alone.

I knew I had to win him back. I had to be his little songbird once more.

I spread my wings and felt the wind caress it. I was afraid but I had to do it for my emperor. I had to leave and only return to him when I'm worthy of him once more. I felt the wind pushing my wings, and so I let it; I took flight. I was scared to leave my home; never had I even migrated in the winter for the palace kept me warm. I was scared, petrified, but once I was over the great walls, there was no turning back; so I flew on and the fear left me just like happiness did.

I traveled to many land unknown. I traveled to learn. I sailed the winds alone.

I traveled to dark forsaken marshes where ancient larks taught me their songs of sorrow. I traveled to jungles, dizzying with greens and towering trees, where brilliant birds of paradise taught me their songs of lust and desire. I traveled dark forbidden forests where under the watch of the moon, sad nightingales taught me their songs of love and beauty. I traveled to the lands of pyramids and sand where great phoenixes taught me songs of life and death. I traveled to many lands unknown where my many feathered brethren taught me their many songs.

More than a year had passed and I was ready. My voice, now angelic; rivaling the seraphim choir. And on my flight home, I sang to the heavens for God must here me now. I sang with all my heart. I sang.

Soon I could see the familiar pinkish whiteness greeting me; glowing under the setting sun. I would be home soon. I flew on. Slowly the white turned yellow, then gold, then darkness embraced the lands; even under the night sky, they seem to glow, for the moon bathed them in her light; beautiful they were. But none was more beautiful than my emperor. I would be with him soon.

The great walls welcomed me. I was home. I flew over my precious garden and straight to my emperor's chambers. The windows were opened. I sat on window sill, silent. He was naked on his bed, only the white linens guarded his modesty. He was sitting propped up against the intricate golden headboard; gleaming serpentine dragons and screaming phoenixes decorated it. He had a knife in one hand and an apple in the other. Slowly he cut a slice then slipped it between his supple lips. The juice of the fruit lingered on his mouth, making his lips shine enticingly. He licked his lips languorously. Did he know I was watching, I do not know. A thick line of skin exposed seductively under the linens, from the side of his lean torso, down to his hips, then down to his thighs, then even lower to his legs. A hint of hair showed near his pelvis. He was the cruel temptation God created.

I saw the divine whore's garments lay crumpled beside the bed. The courtesan was here was she? Will she return to continue straddling my emperor? I did not wish to know. I flew to his bedside and started singing with my new voice. He smelled like her. Yet I continued to sing; all the things I learnt, all the songs I was taught. I was magnificent.

My little bird, you are back, he said, and you're voice, it's more beautiful now. Even she cannot sing like you.

Pride filled me.

Sing to me, don't stop. Sing me to sleep. This wretched world can be cruel sometimes, he said, I want to escape. Sing to me. Sing me to sleep with your glorious lullabies.

And so I did. I lulled him to deep slumber. My voice dragged him to the land of the sandman. His eyes were shut; blissful. He was smiling. He was beautiful. Yes, he was.

The knife glinted under the moonlight, with the fruit's juice still lingering on it. I flew to it. I picked it up with my tiny feet; those tiny claws clinging to it tightly. I beat my wings hard; the weight of the knife dragging me down. Yet I managed to lift it. You may ask, how could a tiny bird like me achieve such a feat and how silly it would look, a tiny avian carrying the huge blade; awkward almost. Yet I cared not how I look anymore. And when passion burned within you, you can pull down even the heavens and raise even hell.

I hovered with the knife momentarily above the emperor; over his firm chest, his beating heart just beneath it. Then I took a deep breath and plunged the blade into him with all my might, letting gravity assist me. It sank easily like butter. My claws still clutched the handle of the blade; it vibrated with the dying beat of his heart. Blood poured out of the wound like fountain. It soaked the feathers of my bosom. Almost gloriously artful I must say; red against black, without white intruding.

His eyes shot open. He saw me. I saw something on his once fair beautiful face; was it fear, hatred, regret, guilt, I never knew. I never cared.

Blood trickle out of his mouth. He spat out his blood as he asked, why?

Because you hurt me once, I told him, and I won't give you the opportunity to do it again. I hurt you before you could hurt me. I killed you before you could kill me.

Did he understand my little chirping, I never knew. I never cared.

And I flew out of the window. As I was leaving, I heard someone walking into the chambers. Then I heard the whore's scream. It was invigorating almost.

I flew away; away from my home, away to where no one would hurt me. I flew to where I would and will always be free; free of pain. And that was when I started singing my own special song, not those that have been taught to me, but my own tune and melody, my own composition; the song of freedom.

I now live here, where you see me telling you my tale. I have many children. The blood of the emperor never left my feathered bosom, staining it forever; no holy water could cleanse it. And all of my children and I wear the bloodred mark upon our breasts to remind me and my lineage, for all eternity, of my sins; yet I wear it with pride. My children too wear it with pride and my song is their anthem. Ah, robins you call us? Call us whatever you like. I care not; for our titles and names are not important. They never were.

Do you understand me and all that I've told you, I do not know. But I hope you do.

Do you hear it?

Do you hear me?

Do you hear me singing?

Do you hear me and my children singing?

We sing of liberation.

'Tis sing the song of freedom.

The Prince and The Puppet

2007-09-06T21:37:00.000+08:00

I've not been blogging for quite a while now. This is a new story I wrote, again inspired by Angela Carter. It's a little too long I know, but I can't help it. It's inspired by Pinocchio. Pardon me if there are typos, I only ran through it once. Enjoy it.

The Prince and The Puppet

Once there was a prince and once there was a block of wood.

Once there was a prince who was loved by all. He was kind, generous, loving, gracious and charismatic. And oh, he was beautiful. Skin as fair as alabaster, smooth as marble. Hair as black as darkness could possibly yield. Eyes, grey and peaceful; warm. Body, lean and sculpted. Arms, tender yet firm and muscled. Barely eighteen years of age, barely a man. His childlike youth was still resonating from his face; the face of a boy, on the body of a man. A cherubic Adonis incarnate in royal garments.

He was betrothed to a princess of a land so far away he barely knew the young girl. He was the heir to the throne. And no one doubted that he will be a good king, a wise king.

Once there was a prince who was loved by all his subjects. But none loved him more than the young soldier he loved.

He could not remember how or when they first met, but since then, they have spent countless and secret nights in the prince's bed. They would caress each other's white flesh, kissing each other's supple lips, holding each other's strong arms. They would spend whole nights making love. They would share whispered words of love and affection under the watchful eyes of the moon, until the harsh prejudiced sun glared at them the next day.

Their love was so pure and perfect that no one could appreciate it, that they had to blanket their love and trysts in darkness like Eros and Psyche. Yes, it was too pure that God himself had to sever and end it.

The young soldier was unexpectedly sent away to war, leaving his prince all alone. A few weeks later, the prince received a letter announcing their victory. It also brought the news of the young soldier's death; he died in battle, immortalized as a symbol of courage in the prince's mind and heart. The day he received the letter was the day the prince lost his prince. And since then, he smiled no more, and no one knew why.

News traveled about the prince's mysterious depression and about the king's generous reward to anyone who could bring back the smile to his son's face; many tried. Women came from lands unknown; courtesans, prostitutes, country girls and even witches and enchantresses. Performers lined up with exotic acts; jesters to fire eaters, dancers to singers. Many tried but all failed, except one.

Once there was a block of wood, uncarved; pine in fact, the most beautiful pine there was. Its exquisite grains mimicked delicate human veins; its color, rich. It was a beauty, yet to an untrained eye, it was merely a block of wood, nothing more.

The block of wood laid still on the workbench of a master artisan; a puppet maker. He had fingers that would put God to shame; or so it was said. Some, in hushed whispers, said that he was an ancient wizard or warlock, for not only could he create realistic pseudo humanity from wood, he could even animate them to move far more graceful than the most talented of dancers. It was as if the puppets were possessed by some divine souls yearning for physical shells to live in. The puppet maker was truly a marvel but this tale is not about him. It is about the still and silent block of wood on his workbench.

First, he cut the holy pine into numerous pieces, and then from these pieces he carved individual parts. Those who witnessed him working admitted that it was like watching God creating Eve and Adam; even though none of them obviously saw the genesis in action, the comparison was not an exaggeration. Soon distinct anatomically correct body parts could be recognized; digits, fingers, hands, arms, toes, feet, legs, thighs, torso, neck. Its body seemed to be held in place by magic for the iron nails that held it together were masterfully concealed. He carved and joined the wood with effortless ease but the head and face, he took his own time.

The features of the most beautiful seraphim was carved onto the divine wood; a face so beautiful, it rivaled Lucifer. Some said it was Lucifer himself who inspired the artisan; a tribute to his fallen master maybe, they whispered. The lips were painted red, like cherries, pressed together for an aphrodisiac concoction. The eyes were framed in haunting black. The pupils too were black; shadows to a realm unknown. The hair was real, human; collected from whom, no one knows. It was as black and silken as the night sky. The puppet was gorgeous; a boy dragged out of childhood and into manhood, an exotic Apollo immortalized in wood, trapped in an eternal limbo of youth.

Once there was a prince who could not smile and once there was a block of wood carved into a puppet. Well, fate has a funny way of tying two different lives together, so she did.

The old puppet master, with his newest creation, traveled to the castle of the forlorn prince. A little publicity is always good for business and the reward would not hurt either, he thought to himself, his eyes glistened with greed. As miraculous as he is, he was after all human.

The vast doors to the court opened to let him enter. The gothic royal court glistened from floor to ceiling. The walls, arches and pillars were made of white marble veined in black. A great crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Colossal stained glass windows painted the sunlight, illuminating the room with rainbows. Numerous gold-gilded statues of various ancient and forgotten pagan gods decorated the court. And a crimson carpet stretched from the ceiling high doors to three royal thrones at the other end of the enormous room. The courtiers sat quietly on both sides of the carpet, waiting in anticipation. On the thrones sat the king, and on his sides, the queen and prince. Royal guards stood on both sides of the thrones like lifeless statues.

The puppet maker made his way slowly to the throne pulling what looked like a black coffin on wheels. Though his hands never let time sap life from them, age seemed to have taken speed away from his legs. He took his time to walk to the throne. It seemed like an eternity before he finally reached the waiting royalties.

He bowed as far as his ancient back could allow. The king merely gave an uninterested and arrogant nod. The puppet master slowly moved to his huge coffin, run his fingers along the edge of it, and then slowly lifted the lid of the enormous box. His hands sunk into the darkness of the casket. Everyone in the room tried to peer into it, some even stood on their toes. He pulled out what looked like a man. It was the puppet. The puppet was wearing garments that looked like it was from some mysterious land of the orient. The brocade suit fit it nicely, hugging its body well.

A puppet, inquired the king.

Yes my lord, replied the old artisan, it is after all my profession, puppet making.

The king raised one eyebrow in curiosity, yet his wooden features made sure that no emotions could be made too obviously. And this marionette would be able to make my son smile again, he asked. His eyes tried to look at his son but something stopped him; pain maybe, or disappointment.

Yes, it would, the puppet maker replied.

Very well then. Whenever you are ready.

He lifted the strings of the puppet. It twitched involuntarily. This is no ordinary puppet, said the puppet maker, this is a prince from farthest kingdom of the orient. He was handsome and kind. Charity and compassion were his code. Yet his own mother hated him for their people loved him more than her. So she cursed him, her own flesh and blood, into wood and sap. Yet, this tragedy was what kept him alive and youthful even after his witch of a mother's death, a beautiful puppet forever. He has lived through centuries and seen many lands; sold from one collector to another until I bought him from an Arabian magician. The soul of the poor prince still resides within this wooden being, yearning to be flesh once more. Look into his eyes. It stares back, does it not?

With those words, he animated the puppet. He breathed life into it with ease. It bowed. Then it danced and twirled. Each movement and gesture, so fluid that it surpasses humanity. The audience stared transfixed at the moving wood, only the wood, not noticing the bony fingers that led it. Every action made the audience pant. Every pause stopped them breathing. The puppetry display was truly hypnotic. The more the puppet danced the more carnal and demonic it became, dragging its audience further from reality; seducing them. After what seemed like an eternity, the puppet maker stopped.

Don't stop. Not yet.

Every pair of eyes darted to the thrones. The voice had come from the prince. He was now on his feet.

Don't stop, he repeated, with a smile on his face.

I can't, your majesty, said the puppet maker, an old man's limitations. Age and time tend to do that to us humans. But if you would like to see him live again like before, he's yours as long as you promise to take good care of him.

You're giving him to me? Thank you, said the prince with a childlike twinkle in his eyes, as if he had received a new toy, no, a companion.

That was how the puppet maker became rich and famous. But most importantly, that was how two beings, different yet alike, were brought together by the hands of fate. It would wonderful to end the tale here but unfortunately, this is not the end, not just yet.

Since then, the prince spent all his twilights with the marionette, perfecting his puppetry. The vigor of his soul had returned to his once lifeless shell. He the puppet became his one companion for the cloistered life of royalty prevented him from finding true friends; all of the courtiers wear sycophantic masks. And to this lifeless doll, he spoke. He spoke of his future. He spoke of the wonders he would do once he was king. And he spoke of his past. And he spoke of his late lover, the young soldier. And the motionless marionette merely listened, for what more could a puppet do? It sat and listened.

It seems childish does it not? The heir to the throne, conversing with a doll; some might even call it lunacy. But bear in mind, this was a boy, dragged from childhood into the world of adulthood, at mere infancy. Even as a child he had to bear the responsibility of his title; which he did with utmost dignity and wisdom. So, forgive the lost trapped child within him that yearns to be free. And only at night, could he uncage that little boy who longs to be just a boy; no more, no less. His soldier gave him that freedom. Now, the puppet gave him just the same.

Each night, when the might of the holy sun fell, when darkness blinds, when the moon watches with her unbigoted blue eye, the prince would retreat to his glorious bedchamber, alone. He ordered to be all alone, for the lack of isolation in the courts could get a little exhausting. And alone, he would be free. A prince during day, a child at night; a warped yet divine metamorphosis.

Alone, he would practice the art of life-giving; that was what he akinned puppetry to, God's gift of life. Alone, he pulled and tugged at the strings until the oriental doll came to life, dancing a cathartic dance, almost shamanic. The doll twirled, bowed, leaped and waved. Languid as water, the limbs moved; stroking the air, caressing nothingness as if it were a lover. His skills had improved over mere weeks. It was what kept him alive, he felt.

Once he was satisfied, he ended the doll's seductive dance, pleased with himself. He sat the puppet by his side. Then, he would talk to it, expecting no replies; for how could the puppet do anything more than just sit there? The prince would laugh, and he would cry. The puppet would stare, and the puppet would listen. He was contented knowing that it was listening, just listening. Yes, he never doubted that the doll marionette that sat faithfully beside him could hear him. It was a silly thought, but he was right.

When the power of that which is, and forever, holy and divine, fornicates with the fertility and fecundity of Mother Nature, anything is possible; life be their fruit. We shall never know God's dealings and pacts, but something imbued within the puppet, life, even before the chisel fell on the face of the pine.

The prince would retire to bed once tired, leaving the puppet seated on a chair, facing his bed. It watched and guarded over him like a silent sentinel.

The puppet would watch him sleep. His smooth firm chest, rising and falling with every breath. His hair glistening under the touch of the moonlight. His face, smooth and pure. The puppet envied the glories of flesh. Jealousy; that green eyed monster fed like a termite within the doll.

I want to be human, he wished to himself, each night. Now, when you pray for something hard enough, God usually answers; maybe because he loves you, which many choose to believe, or he simply wanted to shut your irritating deafening whining once and for all. Which ever reason it may be, he answers, like he did the puppet.

Like every night, the puppet was sitting still on the chair. I want to be human, he wished yet again.

You can, a voice answered, but why would want to?

The puppet remained still and voiceless.

Something moved in front of him, swifter than shadow. It was a man, larger than most. His waist long curly hair was black as midnight; a harsh frame compared to his white, not pale, but milk white skin. He was handsome, not beautiful, but handsome; the kind of masculine attractiveness that demands both adoration and fear. He was robed in twilight black. Where robe ended and where the shadows started, it was hard to tell. Yet, despite his glowing white skin and inhuman size, not to mention his preoccupation with darkness, he might be able to pass off as a man. What dragged him away from any possibility of humanity were his eyes. They were luminous golden yellow, like that of some ancient feline.

Who am I you should ask, he said with his velvety intoxicating voice, I am the seraph Gabriel, the Lord's hand. And you my child are a puppet.

The angel laughed as if it was a funny thought. That laughter was what death was made of, felt the puppet. He circled the puppet like a demonic shark as he spoke.

So child, why do you wish to be flesh when the beauty of lacquered wood is much more permanent? You long for the warmth of humanity don't you, my boy? The heat of mortal flesh; like the precious youth that lie asleep in front of you. To be able to move and speak as you will, unguided by strings. You yearn to be free? Wonderful is it not? The pleasures of mortality. Well, what if I told you, you little wooden boy, that it could be done? Ah. How? The only way to be human is to be human. To feel it. Now you are merely dead wood, and so is your dead wooden heart; cold. And only cold emotions could a cold heart yield; jealousy and resentment. But I can give it the warmth it needs to burn with passion. Once you've learned to love, cliché as it may sound, you will be wood and sap no more. And you could be loved in return, for you will be flesh and blood. Do you still yearn to give up the permanence of this wooden shell for temporal mortal flesh?

Yes, the puppet thought loudly in his mind.

Very well.

The seraph bent down towards the sitting doll, engulfing it in his glorious darkness. They were face to face now; eye to eye. Oh, those eyes, burned the puppet's hallow ones. Was there fire behind them, the puppet asked himself. The angel moved yet nearer. Incapable of retreating, the puppet stared and waited. Then it happened. The voluptuous lips of the lord's angel pressed against the marionette's wooden ones. He breathed his warm dark breath into the puppet, clasping the wooden boys head tight between his hands. Warmth turned to intense heat; the breath that warmed the puppets hollow body now burned it. Just when he thought he was going to erupt in flames, the seraph stopped.

He gave one last smile that could make any soul yearn for death, before he vanished, consumed by his own darkness. Only the glare of his lantern eyes remained, etched and burned momentarily on the puppets eyes. Then it was dark again.

He was still a puppet, wood through and through. But he felt change. Something changed. Something in him changed.

Could flesh be a reality for him? He did not know. He pondered the whole night. And when the Sun stole the throne of the heavens yet again, he pondered still. And he felt something he had never felt before; hope. Could wood really be flesh?

That night, he received his answer.

After the prince practiced his puppetry yet again, he sat the puppet beside him as usual. He started talking to his wooden friend. His old wounds were cut open once more. Images of his soldier drowned his head. Pain clawed at his young heart. And tears scarred his youthful visage. And for once, the puppet felt something; sympathy.

He wanted to say it would be fine. He wanted to sooth his human friend. He wanted to see the prince's smile again. Then he breathed, in a sense, the puppet breathed.

Cool night air rushed into him through his mouth. It swirled within his chest then out again. This simple movement of air produced the most exquisite sound; like some woodwind instrument. Amazed with himself, he tried again and again; one sound, then the next and another. Soon he was singing to his prince like a magic flute.

The prince did not know the source of the wooden tune yet he allowed it to lull him to sleep, with a smile on his face.

The next night was just the same, and the night after that and the one after that. Each night the prince would bring life to the puppet, tugging on the delicate strings. Each night he would pour out his heart to the motionless doll. And each night, like every other night, the puppet's wooden lullaby would put the weeping prince to sleep. His sympathy for his royal friend grew to care and concern. Until one night, it finally dawned to him; he had fallen in love. After so long, he finally fell in love, with a prince no less.

The heat of the knowledge burned every fiber of his pine body; it was beyond comprehension. The desire to hold the sleeping prince in his arms was too strong to deny. His yearning to kiss him was too cruel to let his heart resist. Love me, sweet prince, he begged voicelessly.

He was lost in his passionate thoughts, that before he realized it, he was at the prince's bed. He had walked all the way there from his chair. Yes, he could walk, finally, he could walk. Wood, he was still, but he could move. Excitement filled him like a drug; consuming him.

Soon I'll be flesh, and soon I'll be loved; I'll be worthy of love.

He crept onto the huge bed, onto the silken linens. He crept closer towards the sleeping beauty before him. He ran his wooden fingers down the prince's pale firm chest, then down his stomach and abdomen, and lower; stopping short of the fine curly hair that hinted the prince's manhood. He then gazed at the prince's face, so blissful. His lips looked delicious. He bent down until his face was right above the prince's. The fear of a terrible outcome was thrilling, temping. Feeling compelled, he slowly pressed his lips to the prince's, breathing in the prince's sweet breath.

The sleeping eyes opened showing not affection but fear. He threw the wooden boy off himself.

The puppet was alive, he thought, how can this be.

One and only one explanation forced itself into his head like a venom; witchcraft and sorcery. That was all he thought as he watched the wooden demon moving towards him.

Guards, he yelled, guards!

It was almost immediate, about ten guards swarmed in; muskets in one hand, lanterns in the other.

The puppet! The Demon! Burn it, he yelled with fear threatening to crack it. Burn it now!

Lanterns rained upon the wooden child. He tried to flee but there was no escaping the fire clinging to his wooden body.

Why, he thought, why? I love him and I was there for him. Why? Did I not love enough? Why does he not love me back in return? Why am I not human? Why? Why am I nothing more than wood? Why?

Then the familiar velvety voice of the dark angel answered, I lied!

The seraph's cruel laughter rang within his burning head. Funny how the strength of one's hope can be destroyed so easily. Funny how one could feel invincible one moment, and vulnerable the next. Funny how you could feel beyond human one moment and something would make you realize that you are merely wood; and that is all you ever will be, wood, nothing more. Funny is it not?

He gazed at the face of his Adonis; his eyes, fear swam in them. And at that very moment, the puppet let go. He let go. He let go to the fire's insatiable appetite. He let go to death's demanding call. He let go for he knew no more reason to live.

He felt the metal nails that held him together melt; his body threatening to fall apart. He felt his body burn. His exotic garments did not protect him; they merely fed the undying flames. The pain was cruel and relentless towards him. What a way die. Yet his gaze was still on his beloved.

The prince watched the puppet blanketed in flames. His eyes were transfixed upon the marionettes face. There was sorrow upon that wooden visage. The darkness of the eyes sank even deeper, like an abyss of agony. And the puppet's lips uttered three distinct words, obvious to anyone who saw them move. Then, the inferno ate him whole.

The flames burned for ages until someone had the decency to put it out. It left a huge burn mark upon the floor of the prince's bedchamber. All that was left of the once beautiful doll were ashes.

The prince knelt before the remains of the marionette that was once his. Among the dull grey ashes, something glistened beneath the dark light of the moon. He picked it up. Metal; iron in fact. All the melted nails are now fused as one.

The might fire had destroyed, burned and melted all that was the puppet, leaving only a bit of melted metal, which lay lifeless in the prince's palm; an iron heart.

The Passion of The Poisoned Apple

2007-07-10T20:08:00.000+08:00

The Passion of The Poisoned Apple

Guarded by the Wise Serpent.
Touch me...
I seem to whisper...
Touch me...
Eat me..

SEIZE ME YOU DARING EVE!

Tear me off my tree Like how
You were torn from Adams Ribs!

Let my sanguine skin pierce
Your Snow White fingers.
Let my intoxicating flesh
Poison your Rose Red lips.
Press them against me
And let them bleed upon my being.
Sink your pearly whites into my
Skin as Red as Blood,
Flesh as White as Snow
Seed as Black as Ebony...

Then see if your soul can take my existence...
Will your body be enlightened,
Seeded by the vigor of my dormant wisdom..
Or will your mortal shell decay and wither
In the venom of my cruel knowledge...

Eden shall be lost to you forever!
But a land far richer, you shall earn.
Or in blood your soul shall burn.

So young Eve, greet the Serpent
And accept his gift.
Let Adam rot in your triumph and glory.

You shall be Snow White;
Reincarnated by your pain.
Resurrected, transformed,
Reborn...
Break out of your glass coffin
To find the Beauty
Of the Complexity
Of Reality...

Thus Saith
The Apple, The Snake and the Holy Tree!

‘feə.ri.teIl

2007-06-19T18:46:00.000+08:00

‘feə.ri.teIl

Many of us read Tales of Old
Hoping that our lives would be as Fairy Tales are...
We need them for hope that we too
Will be granted
Our Fabled
Endings...
That we would find
Our Glass Slippers
And Charming Princes...
That we would live in
Beautiful Castles
And be waited upon by
Servants...

We read these tales with the Need and Desire
To Believe that we would find
Our Saviors...
That we would have our own Fairy Godmother
To bring us to the ball...
That our seven friends would always be there to rescue us
In times of great need...
Or a Prince who will kiss us back to life...

But most importantly, we indulge in these tales
Because deep inside, we crave for
Justice and
Vengeance...
We hope that our Nemesis and Villains
Will be punished in the end...
We secretly hope that our stepsisters would gouge out their eyes...
We secretly hope that our evil mothers would be made
To dance in Red Hot Iron shoes till she be dead...
We secretly ope that our witches will be baked alive in an oven...

We al crave for the fantasy of
Fables and
Fairy Tales...
We read them with hope that we too
Will live
Happily Ever After
After years of crwling in
Soot,
Cinder
And Ash...
We read them with hope that we too
Will have our own
Deus Ex Machina
To save us...
But most of all,
We read them with hope that we too
Will witness
The Torture,
The Pain,
The Demise,
And The Death of
Witches,
Stepmothers,
Wolves,
Our Villains...

But what we forget to consider
Is that maybe,
Just maybe,
We are the
Villains of the Tales...

Solitary Soliloquy

2007-05-31T21:09:00.000+08:00

Solitary Soliloquy

I'm walking down this path again
Not knowing when it'll end.
Oh Solitude, please stay with me.
You'll forever be my friend.

Oh Hope! Have you forsaken me again?
Oh Love! You have broken me again!
And I bleed.
And I breathe
The stench of yesterday,
When you went your way,
When you went away...
Away from me...

I'm walking down this path again
It tells me that it'll never end.
Oh Solitude, please set me free.
Or to my Hell I will descend.

Oh Hope! Can you make me feel again?
Oh Love! Can you make me live again?
And I'll breathe.
And I'll bleed
No more until the day I die.
I'll smile and only god knows why.
I'll smile and only you know why.
Because to my heaven's gate I'll fly.

Mummification

2007-05-05T22:54:00.000+08:00

Mummification

Drain my Body of Blood
For Life, I have none!
(blood is life... blood is life... blood is life...)

Remove my Innards!
Force them into Empty Vessels with Heads of Animals...
As if my being worth less than
Common Beasts...
Yet they Smile!
Those Bottles smile after they Consume me...
Yet even those Canopic Jars don't want my
Wretched Heart...
Let it Wither Painfully within me...

My brain?
Oh!
Discard It!
Drain it through my nose with
Vulgarity!
Destroy my Encephalon!
My Thoughts mean nothing!

Drown my Cadaver in Salt
In an attempt to Dehydrate me of
Pain!
Yet you merely sting every Open Wound!

Then, Wrap and Engulf me
With strips of White Linens of my
Agony!
My Skin shall never Escape them now!

Finally, encase me in a Sarcophagus of Shame
With a Painted
Smile...
Like that of a Clown...
The Joker...
The Fool...
Or maybe The Cheshire Cat...
I don't really care...

Okay then...
I'm all done...
Embalmed and Preserved
So that the Whole World can Laugh
At my Humiliation...

I'm merely
An Empty,
Lifeless,
And Cold
Mummy...

Coppelia

2007-04-24T14:41:00.000+08:00

Coppelia

A soulless marionette.
A doll of lies
And facades. Yet my body,
This vessel, it tries
To live
To feel
To breathe
To bleed.

And you old puppeteer
Who breathed life into me.
The undead, now resurrected,
Yet I wasn't meant to be
Alive.
Inside
I'm empty,
So empty.

Not flesh. Not human.
Not dead. Not living.
No heart for pain and tears.
No mind for dreaming
Of heaven
Of love
Of life,
Oh! Life.

Beauty, I am not!
A tool, I'll always be!
No will to call my own!
Why did you animate me?
For me?
For you?
For whom?
FOR WHAT?

Faustian Fantasy

2007-04-06T20:59:00.000+08:00

Faustian Fantasy

Tired of walking barefooted
On the wretched sands of fire.
The smell of melting skin
And burning flesh, kill all desires
To bleed
And to breathe
And to live
A life, now that I'm in Hell.

The pitch black flames engulf; consume.
They crush and they devour.
The silent yet piercing cries of sinners
Echo here forever.
The torturing,
Unending.
There's no escape.
No messiah to save my soul.

The eternal realm that sinners conquered.
Now I'm in the Devil's land.
I've embraced all seven sins,
Now I cannot make amends.
I'm stuck here
Forever.
I can't repent,
Now that I'm damned.

God of heaven, you've forsaken me
Like I've forgotten you.
Now no one hears me crying,
All alone. Just trying to
Rewrite fate
But it's too late.
I had one chance
But I wasted it.

So for your treasured soul's sake
Learn from my execrable mistake.

The Rose

2007-03-25T11:26:00.000+08:00

The Rose

Let my fingers, dripping with blood,
Touch the beauty of your throbbing red.
Are your velvet petals truly wonderful
That your sinful beauty possesses my cracking head.

Shed your deathly leaves that barricade
You from the bloody human touch.
Let me warm your thorned cold body
With bloody pain. I ask not of much.

Your flower threatens to succumb to darkness
And cease its ghostly image, so haunting.
Its murderous perfection is so near to death.
Let me kiss it to life, or die trying.

Do I Have To

2007-03-10T23:18:00.000+08:00

Do I Have To

Do I have to move the World
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to perform Miracles
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to be Someone Else
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to demand for Attention
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to sacrifice My All
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to be crucified to a Cross
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to lose my Humanity
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to cry Endlessly
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to bleed an Ocean of Red
Before I'm Seen?
Do I have to Die?

The Broken And Burnt Out Fairy

2007-02-26T15:46:00.000+08:00

The Broken And Burnt Out Fairy

Do you believe in fairies?
Do you believe in what you see?
Do you believe in my stories?
Do you believe in me?

If you do, clap your hands.
If you care, clap your hands.

Poison trees of Neverland.
Painted faces of the indians.
Piercing hooks of the pirates.
Painful voices of the sirens.

The place I used to call home,
That twisted hollow tree's now hell.
My Peter Pan's forgotten me.
How the heck am I going to get well?

Do they know
I hurt so?
They left me
Completely
In pain.
Again,
I cry
And lie
To myself that I'm okay
Today.

Now I'm alone inside this cage,
Cold iron prison. Locked by fear.
I know I've got no place to go.
Yet I know I cannot stay here.

The racing shadows have numbed me
From the happiness I knew before.
What's love to me? What's life to me?
Now that I cannot fly anymore.

The flame of my candle heart
Is dying. So faint the flickering.
My waxen organ threatens to eat
And consume and drown its own beating.

My spark, glow and glamour are fading.
I know I'm dying, yet I try.
And in defiance, I still live.
Though I know that I must die.

Tried so long
To be strong.
Tried to part
My caged heart
From the pain,
The stain
Upon my soul.
My whole
Life is shattered completely.
Help me.

Do you have faith in fairies?
Do you have faith in what you see?
Do you have faith in my stories?
Do you have faith in me?

Clap your hands, if you'll help me fight.
Clap your hands or put out the light.

Anti-Flesh

2007-02-26T15:26:00.000+08:00

Anti-Flesh

Just drink up the wine from my veins
And taste the pain. My blood and flesh,
Venomous and red. May it never stain
Inside you. I'm the mute, the blind, the deaf.
Oh, I am the lame. And I am the dead.
Resurrect me not. For you'll want someone else instead.

Heaven, Hear Me

2007-02-25T16:35:00.000+08:00

Heaven, Hear Me

Cry to heaven. Hear me cry to heaven.
Even the darkness demands that it should choke me.
Let me live and let me love forever.
Let me be the one to set you free.
Open up your eyes, heaven, can't you see.
Death may make me mortal, but I can be more.
Rest your burden, if you need to, on me.
Even if it means to cry like you never did before.
Ask how much my heart can contain.
More than any vessel you've seen before.
Even as it bleeds, it still remains.
Ready to live and love and love evermore.

Prayers

2007-02-21T23:43:00.000+08:00

Prayers

There is a Prayer intended to give strength to people faced with circumstances they don’t want to accept.

The Power Of The Prayer comes from it's insight into Human Nature.

Because so many of us Rage against the hand that Life has dealt us.

Because so many of us are Cowardly. And Afraid to stand up for what is right.

Because so many of us give into Despair when faced with an Impossible choice.

The good news for those who utter these words is that God will Hear you and Answer your prayer.

The bad news is that sometimes the answer is...

No.

~from Desperate Housewives~

24

2007-02-15T23:21:00.000+08:00

This is a song by Jem... I've got a thing for cool lyrics... So here it is...

24

Been given 24 hours
To tie up loose ends
To make amends.
His eyes said it all
I started to fall
And the silence deafened.
Head spinning round
No time to sit down
Just wanted to
Run and run and run.
Be careful they say
Don't wish life away,
Now I've one day
I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time.

In 24 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight.
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free.
Please do it for me.

Is there a heaven or hell
And will I come back
Who can tell.
Now I can see
What matters to me.
It's as clear as crystal.
The places I've been,
The people I've seen,
Plans that I made
Start to fade.
The sun's setting gold
Thought I would grow old,
It wasn't to be.

I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time.

In 18 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight.
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free.
Please do it for me.

13 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight.
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free.
Please do it for me.

I'm not alone, I sense it, I sense it.
All that I said, I meant it, I meant it.

I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time.

In just 8 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight.
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free.
Please do it for me.

Just 1 hour they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight.
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free.
Please do it for me.

Windows

2007-02-09T11:24:00.000+08:00

Windows

Many of us wake up each morning and look out of our windows to greet the new day; bad or good. We need these windows to bring the fresh air of today into our homes while letting the bad and stale air of yesterday out of them.

Some of us prefer to leave our windows wide open, welcoming sunlight and the gentle breeze; nature in all its beauty. We accept everything that may enter our homes.

Some of us choose to curtain our windows to blur what we see. It makes our visions of the outside world vague while veiling us from that outside world. Somehow, we find comfort in the deluding shadows and indistinct shapes, seen through the thick layers fabric, that seem harmless, yet far from it, and anything but real.

While others, would rather have their windows shut to keep out the storm and harsh chills; hoping that one day, it will be safe again to open the windows. Sometimes, that day never comes.

Yet, there are those of us who wish not to have any windows at all and neither wish nor find the need to view or link ourselves to the outside world; keeping us in and keeping them out.

However, whether we prefer to have our windows opened, shut, curtained or not have them at all, it is still a fact that before any of this is possible, there must first be a solid concrete wall that divides and separates us from the world outside.

La Lune

2007-01-23T22:55:00.000+08:00

La Lune

She rises up to her nightly throne
Above. O lord! O Woebegone!
The stars welcome her. O, she is here
To shine and shake me with sanguine fear
And crimson pain. I fall to tears
That cannot end till dreamland nears.

O my familiar of misery and sorrow,
Make me not lycanthrope! Do it tomorrow!
Or never at all and let me smile
Till death comes visiting, to make me a vile
Corpse. Then in limbo state, I'll rest a while
Before the lord up there checks my file.

Then down in hell, I'll suffer soon.
So, don't torture me now, O Great La Lune.

Suffering

2007-01-16T22:15:00.000+08:00

I just heard this song from Jay Jay Johanson... Okay the words aren't that great or poetic. But they are true and raw somehow. Something that many of us can understand. The simplicity is somehow able to create such complexity in emotions. There is a sense of helplessness and pride that I think is so human. And the melody's cool too. So do try to find it and listen to it...

Suffering

Autumn is here inside my heart
When there's springtime in the air
Loneliness, tearing me apart
Being lost makes me scared

I keep on asking the gods above
To send my love back to me
Oh please let these days and weeks
Pass by so quickly

Nobody suffers like I do
Nobody else, oh no
Nobody suffers like I do
Nobody else but you

You had to leave, I know
And we knew it would be tough
You said you would be back soon
Soon is not soon enough

Through this waiting in vain
All this darkness and pain
I've been crying for you, now I'm dying
When this test is at the end
I hope you'll understand
That you're all that I've got
Oh darling

The Spinner

2007-01-11T11:47:00.000+08:00

Okay... I know I've been away from this blog for like an eternity. Well, now I am back. I've written another fairytale inspired story. Try to guess which story it was inspired by. I didn't really have time to check it for errors, so, do forgive me if you find any. It is much longer than the previous two, so do try to bear with it. I hope you enjoy it.

The Spinner

Once there was a man and his wife, who were in debt, serious and terrible debt. So they did what any couple in their situation would do; they sold their one and only daughter to the sultan.

Our daughter was touched by the almighty and the divine hand offered her a gift so rare, they told the sultan. In our daughter's virgin veins flows the blood of Nicholas Flamel, they told the sultan. With a spinning wheel, she can turn worthless straw to fine gold thread and it would be such a waste to waste her gift on anyone other than Your Majesty, they told the sultan.

And the deal was made.

Remarkably, not a single witness to this cruel bargain accused the couple's daughter of being a witch. Remarkably, not a single witness to this negotiation questioned how a family with a gifted daughter could sink into a debt so low. And, remarkably, not a single witness to this deal spoke on the poor girl's behalf while she remained silent.

So, once there was a girl who was dragged from her life. Once there was a girl who was shoved into a dungeon with mountains full of straw, with only wooden spinning wheel as her companion, yet she kept silent. Silently, She knew that her parents would have fled the kingdom by then with their money, for they feared that the sultan would find out the truth soon enough. She was silent and alone. And in that dungeon, silently, she wept.

You will spin all this straw to gold by sunrise tomorrow, the sultan had ordered her. Or, it'll be off with your head! If what your parents have told me are but mere lies, it'll be off with your head!

There was a brief silence before she spoke. But if I am gifted you'd need me to give you gold and thus you cannot kill me, she bravely said.

It’s true little girl but see it this way, then, I may have no gold. Yes. But you, you'd have no life; I wonder who's in more of a loss, he sneered and left, slamming the dungeon door behind him, leaving the girl to weep alone and silently among straw.

That night, she hopelessly spun the straw yet all she produced was straw. Fear overwhelmed her. I'll die tomorrow, she cried, I'll die.

Why are you crying child, asked a voice.

Startled the girl looked up to see a humanoid being staring at her. His eyes showed pain intertwined with compassion. Scars of torture covered his body and face. His skin was that of burnt hide. Even his silhouette threatens to defy the very humanity that only the language, which his horrid mouth utters, attempts to defend. His image shocked her more than his course voice did. He looked utterly demonic.

Where did you come from and how did you mange to get in, she asked him, trying to not scream lest he should attack her.

I came from lands of chaos and torture, and I got in with my gifts and talents, replied the creature. So, how may I help you?

You cannot help me unless you can spin straw to gold thread.

At those words, he sat on the spinning wheel and spun like a spider. The yellow straw went through the wheel and the product that was produced seemed to shine so gloriously. It gleamed like heavenly light. The girl saw it, she did not have to go nearer to know what the bright thread was. It was the light of hope. And the creature continued spinning, creating more golden shimmer.

Somehow, despite his repulsive appearance, she felt that she could trust him. She felt that they had an affinity. And she felt compelled to share with him her pain and suffering, her life. She told him everything about her ill fate, her miserable life and her blasted parents. Her voice filled the dungeon with the mechanical sound of the spinning wheel setting the rhythm. The two sounds harmonized in a duet that lasted all through the night until she fell asleep.

She was rudely awakened the very next day by the clanging of keys and the slamming opening of her dungeon door. Then, entered the sultan.

By the might of Allah! It is true! You are truly gifted, uttered the speechless sultan as he stared at the incandescent mountain of fine and exquisite golden twine. Even the girl seemed shocked at the creature's produce.

He must have spun every last bit of straw all through the night, she thought silently. Yet the creature was nowhere to be seen.

Fine then little girl, we'll have another huge mountain of straw for you tonight, mocked the old king. Fail this time, then bid farewell to your pretty little head. Then, with a wave of his hand, a line of servants appeared to remove the pile of gold replacing it with a huge heap of straw, which the girl could have sworn was larger than the one before.

The wretched sultan gave another royal wave and this time a humble serving of gruel was placed before the girl by a servant. Eat up, you'll need your strength tonight, he mocked her. With the slamming of the dungeon door, she was once again alone, to weep silently.

That night, he came again. You weep again my child, the familiar voice said.

She looked up at him, jumping slightly; she still had not gotten used to his appearance. Without a reply, the creature went straight to his job, unasked. More brilliant thread of light was produced, slowly engulfing the shadows of the dungeon, bit by bit. She started to talk to him again letting her voice melt with the rhythm of the spinning wheel.

Thank you, sir. How can I ever repay you for saving my life, she asked him.

Without pausing his spinning, he replied, you are welcome my lady, and for now, I require nothing and so, I shall ask for nothing of you.

The whole night again, he spun straw to gold, dullness to light. The whole night, her voice filled the void of the dungeon's silence, telling him all her pain. The whole night, his tempo intertwined with her voice, making music to the night. She woke up the next day to find all the straw turned to gold. She woke up to the sight of the sultan, who then again gave her more straw and a pathetic plate of supposedly food.

This routine repeated itself over and over again. For a thousand nights the creature spun gold for the girl. For a thousand nights, the girl told him everything, each night thanking him and asking him how she may repay him. For a thousand nights he asked for nothing. However, on the thousand-and-first night, he made a request.

Will you give me your heart and be my other half in life, he asked. Through his eyes, which were about the only things that seemed remotely human, she could tell that he had fallen for her. It was true. All the nights, listening to her sad tales, made his sympathy for her grew into a deeper emotion; one that he had never felt before; not where he came from. And that night, he asked her to love him.

The request was absurd of course. How could she wed a monster like that, she thought. Such a request was impossible. God knows, what he is, but he's definitely not human, she breathed silently. The thought of a consummation with this being made her feel sick in the insides until the gruel she just ate threatened to force its way out of her stomach. All this thought took a fraction of a second to run through her mind that she was actually about to decline the moment he asked her. However, self-preservation stopped her.

He might refuse to help me if I decline, she thought, then it'll be off with my head. Her mind thought it through well and hard before she replied him.

All right, she replied at last, however, you may have my heart only after I am freed from this place. Then, we may be wed. The creature was pleased and went straight to work on the wheel. She knew she would never be freed from this prison. She knew, thus, she would never have to repay him. She knew she was safe from such a vile future. Yet, she still feared it. And she kept silent the whole night. Only the sound of the wheel filled the silent night.

She slept in fear. Yet fate always has a way of materializing people's fears. And she was not spared.

She awoke the next day to the presence of not the sultan but his young son, the heir to the throne. He looks deliciously handsome, she thought to herself, blushing. The attraction seemed to be mutual, for the young prince too blushed. Even though the girl was clearly covered in dust and dirt from the dungeon floor, he was attracted to her and she was attracted to him.

I have heard of your tale from the whispers of the servants and I cannot help but think that you have been put through such an injustice, said the prince, and I have requested from my father that he free you.

Oh, my lord, how can I ever repay you, she asked him.

Be my wife.

They were all alone among soft and bright threads of gold. He stepped towards her. He was so close to her, she could feel his breath on her face. His face was flawless and youthful. Even in his royal garments, she could imagine the white flesh of his beneath the clothes that conceal it.

He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other around her delicate neck. He craned his neck forward. His lips pressed against hers then his mouth sucked the very breath she exhaled. His moist saliva flowed into her. Soon, as if by innocent instinct, they ripped each other's clothes off, assuming the biblical roles and images of Adam and Eve.

Their white flesh intertwined with each other. Their skin caressed one another. He kissed her from her lips, then down to her youthful bosom, licking her nipples as he went. Then down to her stomach. She gasped trying to suppress her moaning. She clawed slowly on his youthful muscles and his powerful arms that held her. She can feel his phallus sliding against her inner thighs, tickling her with a cruel friction of pain and delight. They made love the whole day on the twine of gold, till the faithful sun set.

He slowly pushes himself into her. Only a light trickling of blood was proof that she just lost her innocence. She could feel him expanding within her. Pain and ecstasy could have never united more perfectly. She felt his seed flowing inside her. Their innocent frame cannot suppress it any longer. The fusion of pain and pleasure was too much. Soon, their cries filled the dungeon. Their cries broke through the dungeon walls filling the endless silence of the night.

But the old moon was not the only witness to this. The creature watched silently in the dark corner of the dungeon where light dared not intrude and where darkness blanketed and hid him.

He had appeared just as the sun had set only to find and image that tore his nerves and flesh. Every moan pinched and crushed his palpitating heart. Their pleasure was his torture. Yet he remained until the two figures before him slept.

The marriage of a prince and a commoner was unheard of. Remarkably, not a single witness to this union questioned it. It was a grand celebration indeed. Everyone who was anyone was invited. Yet like all great celebrations, uninvited guests were unavoidable.

The creature appeared before the newlyweds. Of course, the prince and everyone else were puzzled and shocked. Some fainted at the sight of such a hideous being.

Congratulations, my lord. However, I have come here today to claim your bride as mine, said the creature.

Preposterous, yelled the prince, who the hell do you think you are, monster.

I am the savior of this lady. I am the one who laboriously spun straw to gold each miserable night while listening to her sad tales, he replied. And I did so because I love her and she had promised me her heart. Ask the divine apparition beside you whom you now call wife, if you doubt me.

The prince did not have to ask his new bride to find out the truth, yet he cared not. She is my wife and I shall defend her. The girl remained silent.

Fine then, the creature said, I will release her from this contract, if she could tell me my name, the creature said. If she cannot, I will take her by force. So my lady, what is my name?

Her throat felt dry. She knew not what his name was. Yet she was not going to go down that easily.

Abraham, she said.

No, the creature replied.

Isaac.

No.

Solomon… David… Ishmael… Mohammed… Moses… Jacob… Joseph… Adam… Noah… Aaron… She said all the names of the men of God and all those who were not. She tried the names of saints and sinners. She even read from a huge book of names that the royal librarian gave her. Yet not a single one was right. She could not think of anything else. And the sun had set hours before.

I shall leave you now, my lady, but tomorrow, I shall return and it will be your last chance at freedom, he uttered then vanished before her eyes.

Her husband felt her desperation and so sent men in search of this creature or anyone that could give its name. And one of these scouts was lucky.

In the blanket of darkness, in the middle of a forest not so far away from the palace, he saw the creature singing before an open fire. The song was that of melancholy and loss and pain. The royal scout listened attentively as if his life depended on it.

The creature sang with a voice so unlike his speaking voice. It was a light yet strong tenor tone that made the scout shiver feverishly. It was the voice of pain and depression forced with languid pleasure. It sang. The creature sang.

O night after night I labored on the wheel
To save her soul from death and destruction.
Yet all I begged for and asked in return,
Was her heart. Her love. Her devotion.

The straw of dullness I turned into gold
Of light so bright. It became her salvation.
And I was her savior. Yet now that she's free
She left me alone, this beast full of passion.

I am fair my love. And my heart beats for you.
Yet yours soul and heart was never my possession.
You ponder my name, which you never bothered to ask
My name my dear lady is none other than…

Once the last note of this song was sung, the scout left the sulking creature with his fire, as fast as lightning, due to both duty to the royal couple and fear of the creature. Throughout his journey the song refused to leave his head. Hauntingly, it threatened to drive him insane; the words, the tune. Ah, the tune. The tune was near demonic, inhuman and possessing and sucked the very existence of his soul; the tune of death and depression. Even Orpheus' music could have struck such cords in the human soul. He cannot remove it from his skull. It screamed yet hummed within his brain.

His steed was tired and almost dying by the time the scout reached the palace. At once he requested for the presence of the prince and his wife. In their night garments, they appeared before their faithful servant. The exhausted scout told them everything.

That was what it said its name was your majesties. Ah! I cannot get the tune of his demonic chants from my brain, cried the scout who was on his knees by then, crying like a baby, covering his ears as if to block out the sound that in fact resonated from within the recesses of his memory. Get it out! Get it out!

The prince and princess could not do anything to save the withering soul before them, neither could their servants.

End the sound! Bring the silence and bliss infinite! Help me Allah, same me from this torture, he cried. If no one can save me, so be it! This hell on earth I cannot bear! With those words, he stabs himself with his dagger.

The prince and princess merely watched then went back to bed satisfied, ordering the servants to give the dead scout's family some money as compensation and give him a proper burial. They slept well that night, in each other's arms, knowing that they have at last won.

Everyone who was anyone was there the next day; all waiting before the royal couple. However, it was not the newlyweds that they were there for. It was the hideous creature. And as he promised, he returned. Again, there was a wave of gasps of horror and fainting audiences; the usual. The creature must have been tired of these reactions for he sneered at those who were present.

My lord, my lady, he greeted the couple.

I know your name, creature, said the young princess without hesitation and a note of satisfaction.

I know you do. And send my condolences to the family of your faithful servant who spied on me last night, he said with his eyes fixed on hers, staring into through the vessel that is her body, right to her soul.

But before you utter my name, do note, that how remarkable it is that you knew not my name and never once cared to ask me for it, even though I spent a thousand and one nights faithfully spinning straw to gold for you, in an attempt to save your life. Never once did you ask or try to find out. Never once did you bother. All the nights I spent listening to your pain, your life, not once did you ask for my name; the name of your companion through your imprisonment. You know nothing about me, while I know all about you, reflect on that my lady, the creature said. It stung the girl a little, but this was an issue of her fate and future; she must not yield.

My lady, my name is also my curse. I have escaped from the realm I came from; a realm that only Lord Dante managed to map successfully. It is a realm of chaos, of pain and torture. Once you utter my name, I will be dragged back forcefully to whence I came; to where beauty such as yourself exists not. Uttering my name means my damnation, my lady.

Is that all beast, she asked. He nodded. Very well, she said nonchalantly, your name is Legion. She smiled.

He smiled at her and said, fare thee well then, my lady, fare thee well.

The ground cracked where he stood. No. The very fabric of reality cracked where he stood revealing darkness that seem to not only be devoid of light, but seem to consume light and eliminating it. Fire so black spewed out from it licking the creature's already burnt skin. The fire emitted no light, only darkness, if it were ever possible to emit darkness. Yet the creature did not scream or beg for help. He merely stared at her; his eyes tearing. His lips seem to continuously mouth the words, fare thee well my love. And with one final surge of the hellish flames, he was dragged back to the kingdom of Lucifer where he belonged.

The fire was gone. The crack of the gates of hell was sealed. It was over. The only trace of the horrific scene was the space where he stood, which light seemed to neither exist nor dared to enter. That space of darkness lasted for a few days. The last words of the demon lingered and swam through the palace halls, reverberating off the walls, until it faded away like the memories of its owner, leaving the silence to heal everything.

Everything was as it should be. The sultan died not long after that. He chocked on fishbone at royal banquet. The girl tried to hide her satisfaction; she had always hated him for his treatment of her before. The prince became sultan and the girl was made sultana. They had a few children, which secured them an heir to the throne. They ruled justly and magnanimously till the end of their service to their people.

Rain, Rain

2006-12-31T00:08:00.000+08:00

Rain, Rain

Rain, Rain don't go away.
Cleanse my realm this very day.
I've tried to love, to laugh, to play
But I just can never find a way
To smile.

Rain, Rain come away
With me. Please drown and wash away
My pain. With my soul I'll pay
Your fee. So go and take away
My heart.

Rain, Rain send floods. I pray
That you'll remain with me and stay
To crush my hopes. I'll drift away,
A floating corpse. So then I may
Live again.

Rain, Rain come away
With me.

Recipe For Pain Stew

2006-12-18T13:06:00.000+08:00

Recipe For Pain Stew

Ingredients:

1 drop of self worth
4 gallons of tears
1 broken heart
Isolation

Garnishes:

1 fake smile
1 cheerful voice
Gesticulation

Method:

First, drop a tiny drop of self worth into the pot. Only a tiny drop is needed, almost insignificant. You can choose to not use any at all. Then, let it sizzle and reduce for a few minutes.

Add 4 gallons, yes, 4 gallons, of tears. No salt required. This is healthier. Then, bring it to a boil.

Next, add a broken heart. Make sure it is diced into a million pieces. Stir for 15 minutes until they throb with pain.

Then, add a generous dash of isolation. Continue stirring the stew for another half an hour.

Garnish with a fake smile, a cheerful voice and a generous sprinkle of gesticulation. Remember to use the genuine garnishes that would last and none of those cheap ones that will lose their effect and colour very easily. I think you know what I mean.

And your Pain Stew is now ready to last you an entire night. Enjoy!

If I Were A Painting

2006-12-16T15:00:00.000+08:00

I heard this song by Kenny Rogers a while back. Its words are beautiful. The Art and Painting imageries and references are wonderful and apt... I found it interesting how it uses many aspects of painting yet they all can tell different parts of the story and still be linked. Okay... I've said enough... Here's the lyrics... You all should listen to the song...

If I Were A Painting

If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portrait I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.

Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.

I imagine the colours
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.

It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldn't be breaking my heart...

A Letter To Self

2006-12-13T21:32:00.000+08:00

Just a little play called...

A Letter To Self

(The stage is pitch black and smoky. It feels cold and almost ominous. Nothing seems to exist on the stage until a lone figure steps into the foreground. The lone figure speaks)

Lone Figure:

Dear Self,
Life is Splendid now! It's beyond marvelous! Miraculous in every nature! Not once has the Plague of Loneliness afflicted me.
(While he says these words, he hugs himself as if to keep himself from freezing in utter coldness. he stands alone in the darkness)

Lone Figure:

Oh! And I found Love! Love and Be Loved in Return as they say in those movies! My heart remains warm... No! It burns with passion!
(While he says these words, he removes a heart from his breast pocket. It was cracked and broken. He squeezes it tighter and it crumbles to a million pieces)

Lone Figure:

So Don't You Dare Worry About Me! I'm as perfect as perfect as perfect as perfect as perfect can be! Haha! Tears shall not flow from these eyes... Ever!
(As he says these words, tears scoured their paths down his ghostly visage. He took out a penknife from his pocket and gently rests its blade on his wrist. He looks up for his last words.)

Lone Figure:

Here, I end my letter to you, Self.

Yours truly,
Me.

Step-Sisters

2006-12-09T21:08:00.000+08:00

This is another short story I wrote, inspired by Angela Carter's writing and how she beautifully warps fairytales. This story is slightly longer than the previous one so do bear with it and enjoy...

Step-Sisters

Once there lived a daughter of baron. She had a cruel mother who never loved her. Not once. Never. One day, the girl's mother dropped dead after accidentally and stupidly consuming the poison she had prepared for her daughter. It took them, both father and daughter, only a day to move on; a few minutes of mourning sufficed and the rest of the day was spent preparing and conducting the woman's funeral.

The next day, the baron married another to replace the dead wife.

The baron married a widow, a baroness, who had a daughter herself. The baroness' daughter was about the same age as the baron's. However one thing differed. The baroness' daughter was beautiful while the baron's was, well, ugly.

Despite everything, the girls grew to love one another like sisters should. The beautiful sister grew to love her step-father like her own father. The ugly sister grew to love her step-mother like her own mother, though not like her late mother, if you know what I mean. Everything was as perfect as perfect should be. It would be wonderful to end the tale here, but this was merely the beginning.

One fine day, a count and his family moved into town. The count had a son, a handsome youth, who was lonely and in need of, shall we say, companionship. So the daughters of the baron and the baroness made it their duty to be his friends and to show him around.

Soon, as expected, the count's son fell head over heals for the beautiful sister. They, of course, became quite an item. And the ugly sister, well, she could only watch in envy. She was happy for her beautiful sister. And she was happy for the youth. However, she wasn't happy for herself. She merely watched them being in love, like an ugly nightingale watching two white doves in their coy mating rituals. She watched silently.

Yet perfection always had bumps and flaws. The ideal couple soon had a major argument, like all couples do. And like all arguments of young couples, the source was never certain. Yet it was enough to do some serious damage. The beautiful sister vowed to never speak to the count's son ever again.

With no one else to turn to, he asked the ugly sister for help. He told her the every pain of his shattered heart. She listened, slowly falling for him. Sympathy always has a way of evolving to something more. And so she listened.

Can you persuade your beautiful sister to meet me tomorrow night, he asked the ugly sister. If she refuses, I'll kill myself, he added.

Like that would change my sister's mind, she thought to herself. I can't promise anything, she replied. But I shall try.

He thanked her, and then he left.

That night, she tried persuading her sister. I refuse to meet him, the beautiful sister said.

But he might kill himself, said ugly sister.

No. He can die for all I care, that son of a bitch, yelled the beautiful sister.

Afraid that the count's son meant exactly what he said, that his life meant little to him now, the ugly sister decided to seek help from a peculiar source.

At the break of dawn, the desperate girl went in search of the hag people often spoke about in whispers. Some called her a witch, others, the daughter and servant of Satan himself; though the old woman herself preferred the term, "herbal entrepreneur" for it sounded nicer. But everyone else agreed that she was not good, not good at all and that it was better to stay away from her. Yet, every now and then, a helpless soul would wander in search of her hut, in search of help.

The ugly sister knocked on the old woman's door. Who is it, a croaky voice asked from within the hut.

I am just a girl and I need help, replied the ugly sister.

Doesn't everyone, sighed the voice sarcastically. Come in, the door's unlocked. And so the girl, with just enough courage, entered.

The hut was unique, to put it nicely. Amulets hung on every wall. Bluish flames crackled as they boil a huge cauldron full of green thick liquid. A sickly fume filled the entire house, fusing with the stench of death and decay. The hag was herself stranger than her home; dressed in clothes and thick shawls that would put a gypsy medium to shame; jeweled with emerald necklaces and amulets and earrings the size of palm. So what do you want little girl, the old woman asked.

I wish to become my sister, said the girl, to look like her.

I have just the thing you need but have you the price to pay?

I have gold, said the ugly sister.

What do I need gold for, stupid girl, said the hag. Have you had sex before, child?

Stunned, and slightly offended, the girl asked what the old woman meant.

I meant, are you a virgin, answered the hag. The ugly sister nodded; embarrassed. Good, uttered the old woman with a glimmer in her eyes, I need a tiny bottle of your blood. Desperate, the ugly sister agreed to the cost.

The old woman took her knife and sliced open the girl's tender virgin palm and collected the blood in a phial. To call the experience unpleasant was indeed an understatement. This had better be worth it, thought the girl.

After the ordeal, the hag gave her a bottle of what looked like vomit. It is a potion, said the old woman. Drink a portion of it with a bit of your sister, instructed the hag, a strand of hair would do nicely. But remember child, come midnight, the witching hour, Satan's hour, my magic is useless, for mine is not of the black magic. The effects of potion will wear off, warned the old woman. Now leave, I'm busy, yelled the hag. And the girl left.

That very night, the ugly sister took a strand of hair from her sister's hairbrush. She then drank a tiny portion of the potion with it. It tasted like vomit too, she thought. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The stupid old woman cheated me, the girl thought to herself.

Just as the thought came, it happened. It burned. Her skin burned. Her hands burned. Her feet burned. Her body burned. Her face burned. But most of all, her heart burned. However, her heart, it burned not because of the potion's effect. Instead, it burned because she realized that to be loved, or even anything remotely close to being loved, she had to be someone else, someone beautiful, someone like her sister, someone she was not. And that burned and hurt much more than any pain the potion could put her through.

Slowly, her skin melted into that of her sister. Her dark hair started to shine like the golden hair of her sister. The mirror showed her not her face anymore, but a mask, that of her sister. And so with haste, she donned her sister's garments, jewels, perfume, but most importantly, her sister's shoes; her own were far too big for her new, far daintier, feet. She was her sister now.

She then went to see the count's son. The lovesick youth was simply glad to see the divine image of the beautiful sister. They talked long. The ugly sister's love for the youth grew. Soon midnight neared and she had to leave.

Meet me again tomorrow night, requested the count's son. The girl agreed with a simple nod.

The next night, the ugly sister took the potion again and it burned her again. She then met him again that very night, and the night after that and the one after that. It went on for quite some time, remarkably, unnoticed. Even the beautiful sister noticed nothing of their trysts. The ugly sister's love for the count's son grew even more. They spoke of many things beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

But one night, one fateful night, fate frowned upon the girl's actions. Why did they have to talk too long? Why did she not notice that midnight neared and came? Oh, but the ugly sister did realize it, only that it was a second after midnight then; it was too late. She felt it, like she did every night she took the potion, she felt herself changing back to her skin so familiar. She felt it, and she knew she had to leave.

She ran without a word, leaving the puzzled youth chasing her. She ran as fast as her sister's dress allowed her to. She even tripped and fell along the way and one of her sister's velvet slippers came off. She was forced to leave it behind. She did not care about it anyways; it was too uncomfortable to walk in, what more run, now that her feet were hers. They were just hindrances. She ran home as fast as she could.

Only in her own home, in her own room, in her own bed, in complete darkness, in her own body, did she finally breathe properly. She was alone and she could breathe properly then. I'm safe now, she breathed those words to herself, I'm safe.

The next day, the desperate youth visited the baron's house uninvited. He appeared with a velvet shoe in his hand. Shocked, the beautiful sister asked, what on earth is the meaning of this?

Here, in my hand is the slipper that caressed the dainty feet of the woman I love and I cannot live my life without her living it with me, spoke the youth. His voice rang through the halls of the baron's home. Without you, without love, there would be no life at all.

The beautiful sister was clearly moved for she teared at these words. Will you be my wife, my love, he then asked her.

And in a voice, gentler than a whisper and sweeter and more beautiful than a flute singing, she merely said yes; never had a single word been uttered more musically and its affect on the youth was extraordinary.

While the couple excitedly went to inform the baron and baroness, the ugly sister vanished silently into the kitchen, where she wept silently. Why the heck am I crying, she asked herself, he wasn't even in love with me, never mine to love.

She saw a dead wolf her father had just killed in his recent hunt. She saw it hanging on the kitchen wall among dead stags, deer, and foxes. Her heart whispered to her, you have to leave, escape, for I, your weeping heart can take the pain no longer. End it please. Yes, her heart told her that; it really did.

So she took out her potion and plucked a strand of the wolf's fur. She drank this new concoction. And the burning began yet again. Her lips grew into enormous jaws. Her hands distorted into massive paws. Her bones broke and twisted and contorted into a wild bestial form so strange. Her hair grew longer on her body until she was covered in sleek black fur. She even had a tail. She slipped off her dress. She was beautiful now.

She thought, I'll run away, somewhere far and when I return to my true form, I'll find someone who'll take me in and pity a helpless, naked and ugly girl. I'll start a new life now, she breathed.

Moving in her new form was easier than expected. She ran out of the kitchen. She had to find a way out. Her paws, she noticed, were not made for opening the front door.

It was then that she heard a scream; her sister's. She was screaming something about a wolf in the house. It must be magic or it wouldn't have been able to get in, she yelled, it must be a witch.

The ugly sister tried to calm her sibling down but only a deafening howl was produced. It only made her sister more terrified.

And so, with the love for his lover as his strength, the gallant of the beautiful sister grabbed one of the baron's hunting guns off the wall, to defend his hysterical maiden.

No it's me, the wolf howled. No. Stop.

One deafening shot reverberated through the house. And one painful howl accompanied it. One bullet to the heart of the animal ended everything. They were safe, they breathed to themselves, they were safe. The baron and the baroness, who were hiding and watching from behind the banister, were proud of their to-be-son-in-law's courage.

The entire family must have agreed with the beautiful sister's idea that the wolf was a witch, for they quickly burned the corpse afterwards. Maybe, they feared it might reanimate itself. But surely it could not.

Since the corpse was completely reduced to ashes long before midnight came, it never returned to its true form. So no one knew what happened to the ugly sister. Maybe she ran away, they thought. Why she did so, they never knew. However, like what we have already established at the very beginning of this tale, the family was fairly good at moving on. After just a day, it was as if they never had another daughter. The beautiful sister and the handsome count's son grew old together, happy, and had many children.

Midnight Phone Call

2006-12-08T11:44:00.000+08:00

Midnight Phone Call

(dialing...)
(ringing...)

Uhm... Hello, God, you there?
Oh... Oh sorry...
Sorry Lucifer...
I must have dialed the wrong number...
Sorry.
Bye.

(dialing...)
(ringing...)

Uhm... Hello, God, is that you?
Uhm, God, sir... Ya, I need to speak to you about...
Yes... Yes, I know its late, but...
Yes... Yes, I know you're busy, but...
Yes... Yes, sir... Uhuh... Yes...
It's just that the pain, it's... I know but...
Yes... But... Yes I know you're testing us all but can you...
But... yes... I guess...
It's just that it's too much and... Uhuh... Yes...
Can you do anything to.... No? Oh... Okay...
Yes... I understand...
It wouldn't be fair to others but... Yes...
Sorry? What was that? You've gotta go? Now? Oh... Okay...
Okay then...
Bye, sir... Yes... Uhuh...
Yup, I will...Okay...
Bye.

(pause...)
(dialing...)
(ringing...)

Uhm... Hello? Yes...
Yes, Death, it's me...

Mirror Mirror

2006-12-07T19:56:00.000+08:00

Have you ever watched a show on the television and thought how it seems so familiar somehow... How you seem to think "Hei! That's how I feel." or "I've been through that." It seems to somehow reflect your reality. Thus, it cannot be called the proverbial "portal to another world". Instead, it's a Mirror reflecting your own world. So, I wrote a poem that describes this... should we say... phenomenon.

Mirror Mirror

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,
Through your cracked glass, I see me fall
Into abatement. But most of all,
I still remain in the Silenced Hall
Of Pain, still waiting for the call
From my Star. So let Death befall
Upon me now, to end it all.
O Great Mirror, Mirror on that Wall,
Show me Beauty, or nothing at all.

The Guardian of the Rose-Bush

2006-12-04T18:40:00.000+08:00

A little story I wrote... inspired by Angela Carter's stories on wolves...

The Guardian of the Rose-Bush

Transylvanian nights are always the dwellings of shadows. When the pale moon decides to expose her full glory, the wall that divides man and beast gets torn down. What is man? What is beast?

Every village girl knows well enough than to venture deep into the forest when darkness reigns supreme; they know well enough then to trust a stranger in any guise. To the villagers, Satan is as real as any beast that dwells on Earth and that the night belongs to him and his children. Witches were not just stories, neither are vampires and werewolves. The villagers vulgarly worshipped the Holy Cross and the Madonna statue along with the garlic wreath and silver bullets, in hope of protection that is often non-existent.

An old woman with a black cat and a knack for herbal remedies would be hung or burnt the moment she stepped into the village. A man with nocturnal behaviors would be kept under watchful eyes and when any sheep were to die strange deaths, fingers would almost always point to him. Then he would be killed; a silver bullet to the head. Human oddities were treated with utmost distrust and fear. While beauty and light are worshiped by all.

In every village, there will always be a girl with the most exceptional beauty. She was always envied by the others. She will always be courted by the most dashing and handsome youth of the village. They will be worshipped in silent agreements by the rest of the village as the ideals. Yet ideals never existed.

One night, the young girl, with her blue teary eyes, was seen running straight into the forest; letting eternal darkness engulf her. No man would dare enter the devil's kingdom under the dim light of the moon, yet that was where she was heading. She only had her crimson cape to guard her from the cold and anything else that decided to harm her. She cried her dying heart to forget the sight of the handsome youth she loved copulating with another girl in a bestial frenzy; crying with demonic ecstasy to the night. She ran and ran; dropping shiny pebbles as she did so, so that she could find the path back later… that is if she wanted to return at all.

She ventured deeper than any man ever dared to even during the day. She ran as far as her weak legs could carry. She cast away all the foolish superstitions about the forest that her old grandmother had told her so often. She ran until she found a rose-bush.

It was growing in a little clearing, with the wild and untamed trees and vines protecting it from every side. Even in the darkness, she could see the vivid bloodred petals of the flowers. She could see it clearly as if her eyes were transformed by the night. Nothing was more beautiful. Nothing. She stepped forward; her hand outstretched. Of course she wanted one of them. Just one though; the most beautiful one. But just as her pale fingers touched one of their petals, something lunged at her.

She retreated the moment her mind processed what just happened; any slower and she would have her throat being torn out by the beast. Its eyes were that of Satan; with the heat of hellfire burning within it. Those eyes, they glow with brighter than the moon. A grown man, unarmed, would have died instantly looking into these eyes. Yet, the girl stared straight into it. The beast moved no closer to her. It merely circled the rose-bush as if guarding it; like a dragon guarding his treasure. It moved no closer. It merely watched her. She merely watched the wolf.

It was only when she realized that the reign of the sun was approaching that she garnered enough courage to run away, leaving the beast alone with his rose-bush. She followed her pebbled trail back not daring to pick them up. No one would even dare to take their own sweet time in the forest, even in daylight.

The beast had frightened her, yet, the creature's strange behavior intrigued her. So that very night she disappeared once again into the forest, looking for its weird inhabitant.

She found it of course.

Why didn't you kill me before, she had asked it, realizing how stupid she must look talking to an animal.

Yet the beast tilted its large head slightly, as if it understood her. As if it was listening. Realizing that the creature would not harm her, unless she touched the roses, she continued talking to it, telling it everything. She told it about her tragic love story. It watched and listened. She told it everything; even things she would never share with another human being, what more a beast. And it listened.

Before long, dawn came again. She had to return to the village soon. Just as she was about to leave, she felt a tug on her cape. It was the wolf tugging her with its massive jaws. But she was not afraid. The wolf retreated slowly to the rose-bush then circled it, like it did the first night but this time, it was not guarding, but inspecting.

There it was, the most beautiful, the reddest of the all the roses, and wolf plucked it with the gentleness of a babe with its jaws. It handed the flower to the girl who accepted it unquestioned. And then, she saw its eyes again, it still burned like fire yet there was sorrow and compassion, maybe even love, it them; they looked almost human. Then she left the beast once again again.

She took the flower home. The flower stood in her room, lone, singular, yet magnificent.

She returned every night. And every dawn she left. She told it more than she ever told anyone else until no one knew her better than the wolf. Yet during one visit, while she was engrossed in telling the beast her plight, the sun rose without her realizing it. And when she did notice the harsh light intruding into the blissful darkness, it was too late.

The black fur of the beast withdrew within itself to reveal skin as pale as alabaster. Its tail disappeared into it revealing fresh and youthful flesh. Its claws retracted and only tender, gentle hands were left behind. The jaws contracted while the head shrunk, leaving only a face of young man. And now, before her was no longer a beast but a naked man who. He's beautiful despite his sickly and pale skin, she thought. He rose up to his feet revealing his endowed pudenda.

Then, realization sunk into her rapidly. She had spent her nights with a man, not a beast, but a man. The horror overwhelmed her maiden body.

Stay back, she told him.

It's me, he said. I'm the wolf. I planted the rose-bush. I gave you the flower. And I love you, he said. But she had heard enough. Her honour is at stake here.

She ran back to her village with the agility of the wind; her untouched pebbled road as her guide. She needed to find help fast, but who? Afraid and confused, she asked for help from the dashing youth she had once loved, and still did. She told him everything. He still loved her, she realized.

With the fury of a lover, he garnered the force of the entire village to kill this beast. That night the men went into the forest like an ancient plague bent on destruction. They naively followed a single virginal girl with a red cape to lead them to the demon; guided by her pebbles. They entered the realm of darkness armed with torches, guns, silver bullets, superstitions and worthless religious symbols. How blinded they were.

She brought them to the rose-bush but the wolf was not there.

Come out you beast, she yelled to the forest. Spurred by emotions so wild she could not comprehend, she grabbed one of the torches and lit up the rose-bush before her.

The rich sanguine colour of the roses melted into the flames, forming a demonic hue. And there they were, those eyes; hiding behind the roses; lurking in the darkness. She could here the pain in its growl; she could here its pain.

Was it crying, she asked herself. Of course not. Its kind have no emotions.

With a swift movement of her virgin hands she ordered the men to fire. Her voice echoed like God's wrath and her eyes burned with a single emotion; hate. The thunderous sounds of guns filled the night until everything ended with a single pathetic cry. A single silver bullet to the heart of the beast did the job, well. It was quick and easy. But it wasn't painless. No, it sure hell wasn't.

There was no wolf anymore. All that was left behind was the naked corpse of a pale young man. And right before that corpse, the youth the girl loved, and still did, asked for her hand in marriage. And right before that corpse, she said yes.

They brought the naked body of the young man and hung in the village square, stoning it despite the fact that it was dead. The beast's corpse was stoned till the villagers got bored, then it was merely forgotten by everyone. The wilting rose that once stood in the girl's house was discarded and replaced by flowers her lover, her husband, offers her. And she lived happy until she died.

A Fool's Cyclic Mumble

2006-11-28T21:43:00.000+08:00

A Fool's Cyclic Mumble

You saw my Pain
Immortalised and Entombed
Within a Box
Of Words...
Meaningless to you and everyone else...
You wish not to see that I,
This Mumbling Fool
Knows the nature of
Agony too...
You wish not to see this
Pantomime Visage
Crack,
Bleeding Tears
That challenge the
Red Sea...
And so, like it,
Part my Core
And Scour its
Sinewy Foundations,
Like Moses did with his feet...
Step on me like all
The Ashen Feet
That have Trudged on me
Oh so many times...
Like a Slave without a Deliverer,
A stone
Or a rock,
Or sand,
Or dust,
Or dirt...
Insignificant as my Pain...
Insignificant as a Fool...
I'll be that Clown,
That Jack-In-The-Box,
That Smiles for people
To Smile...
While inside,
My Box of Words
Is starting to
Explode...

P.S. If you didn't understand a thing... It's ok... It's not meant to be understood... like all Gibberish... Don't even bother trying...

Star

2006-11-19T19:52:00.000+08:00

Star

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star...
I weep for you yet you're so far...
I constantly live my own lie...
I'll be with you, Diamond. I have to try...

Okay...

I know... It's kind of corny...

Well do bear with me a little while here...

I bet many of you know how it feels to not get what you so often Dream about...

Unattainable...

Intangible...

Divine...

A Star...

Farther than anything can ever be from you...

Farther than even the Mocking Moon...

Or Sardonic Sun...

No...
You want that Star...
But you know you can never get it...
Never embrace it...
Be it a thing...
A symbol...
Or even a person...
Yet you indulge yourself with

Blind and Baseless

Hope...

Why?

If not you'll Die...
Rot...
Decay...
Without that
Dim and Distant
Light...

So Twinkle away

That Little Light of Yours...

Lucretia Intruded

2006-11-15T09:01:00.000+08:00

Another little poem... This time, it's based on the story of the Rape of Lucrece or Lucretia.

Lucretia Intruded

His phallus digs its path within me
And I resented
Him, hearing me cry out to the night.
His face contented.

He pinned me down. My arms were shackled
By his hands.
I tried to scream. I tried to struggle,
To defend
Myself.
But,
I wasn't strong enough to fight it.
I wasn't strong enough to fight him.

He left me begging for my honour.
Now I had none.
He left me like a lifeless rag doll.
He had his fun.

And now I lie here used, exposed.
I lie intruded.
I see myself in glass, reflected,
I feel disgusted.

Oh! The blade, my one friend, one companion.
My only salvation.
Save me from dishonour's dominion.
Begin execution.
Mine.
For,
I just don't have the strength to take it.
I just don't have the strength to live.

The blade, it sinks into me with ease.
My flesh accepts it.
My blood, it flows, so red. So blissful,
The Pain, I welcome it.

So here I stand before you, a symbol
Of sin and virtue intertwined.
So paint my pain with ecstasy, oh, artist dear and see
That you are no better than he.
And with no honour, me,
I chose death, a final plea.
And yet I left with honour's grace,
My truth I never left behind.

Broken China

2006-11-09T22:07:00.000+08:00

Broken China

I just read a very moving children's book, "The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane" by Kate DiCamillo. It's a simple tale about a Rabbit made of China who finds out about love but has to venture through the seemingly unending Darkness in search for it.

I think everyone should read it. I'm posting the Coda that was placed at the end of the book, which sums up the entire tale... I hope it'll persuade you to read it...

~CODA~

ONCE, THERE WAS A CHINA RABBIT who was loved by a little girl. The rabbit went on an ocean journey and fell overboard and was rescued by a fisherman. He was buried under garbage and unburied by a dog. He traveled for a long time with the hoboes and worked for a short time as a scarecrow.

Once, there was a rabbit who loved a little girl and watched her die.

The rabbit danced on the streets of Memphis. His head was broken open in a diner and was put together again by a doll mender.

And the rabbit swore that he would not make the mistake of loving again.

Once there was a rabbit who danced in a garden in springtime with the daughter of the woman who had loved him at the beginning of his journey. The girl swung the rabbit as she danced in circles. Sometimes, they went so fast, the two of them, that it seemed as if they were flying. Sometimes, it seemed as if they both had wings.

Once, oh marvelous once, there was a rabbit who found his way home.

Eros Murdered?

2006-10-30T19:36:00.000+08:00

I wrote this poem earlier today...
When inspiration comes you just have to write it down...

Eros Murdered?

Oh god, just look at him
Lying there, limp and lifeless.
Just sprawled there.

No one,
I mean, no one cares
Do they.
(Only an angel watches over)
No one,
I mean, no one cares
Do they.

Do You? Care?

The cynics told him to reflect
And the Gorgon's mirror he did see.
Oh! But that tragic irony,
The one he was forced to see,
It didn't kill him.

You saw it! I know did.
You saw the contents of that box!
His Pandora's Box!
(Yet Do You? Care? At All?)
You saw how no hope
Existed within it.
Merely pain.
It now lay open
But that didn't kill him either.

So what did?
Simple.
(Elementary my dear Watson,
Elementary)
An Arrow. His very own.
You beautiful Psyche
Shot him down.

Conclusion:
Eros Dead.
Not Murdered.

~fifth_horcrux~

Valium And Lithium

2006-10-29T23:11:00.000+08:00

Valium And Lithium

I just want

Voluptuous Vials of Valuable Valium...

I just want

A Life, Lying Lost in Lovely Lithium...

I just want

To Submerge in Silent Slumber...

And Slip into Sane Simplicity...

Heck, I just want

Bliss...

Oh God, is that too much to ask?

Symbols And Signs

2006-10-26T16:24:00.000+08:00

Symbols And Signs

I've got two things to ramble about this time, so bear with it for a while...

Symbols:

Can people truly live as just mere Symbols?

Flat Characters...

Constant...

I Hate it...

I hate having to pretend that I'm on perpetual Smilex!

Has it become everyone's reality that I'm supposedly Happy?

What I'm going through may be Different and Foreign...Yes...

But why must people pretend that it's not happening?

Brush it aside... As if it's Tabooed...

I want to be Human too...

Not a One-Dimensioned Being...

Not a Symbol...

Signs:

I can see the Signs everywhere...

Some Direct...

People arrogantly showing which Path I should take!

You Should Do this! You Cannot Do That!

Some Indirect...

People using Silence to tell me to stay away from them!

Glares used to show how they Disagree with what I do!

I'm unsure whether to follow these

Selfish Signs...

Or cornily follow

My Heart...

~The White Rabbit apologises to those he offends with this Mental Soliloquy~

Oneiroi

2006-10-19T21:31:00.000+08:00

Oneiroi

Sons of Hypnos...

Offsprings of Nyx...

Help me Escape this world...

Morpheus...
Bleed your Poppy Sap into my Eyes...
Sticking them Shut...
Then, let its Scent Drown me in your Realm...
Ungrounded by Sense and Logic...
Let me find Refuge there...

Phobetor...

Leave my Sleep...

No more of your Creations...

My Heart can't take anymore of them...

Phantasos...

Help Me...

Fill my Mind with your Inventions...

I need them to Numb my Palpitating Organ...

But Please...

O Divine Oneiroi...

Give me none of the Nightmares you Presented Nostradamus...

I don't want them...

Sons of Hypnos...
Offsprings of Nyx...
Help me Escape this world...

For if you cannot Aid me...

I'd have to beg Assistance from your half-brother...

Thanatos...

Poisoned

2006-10-14T22:14:00.000+08:00

Poisoned

The Arrow,
Dipped in the Venom of Serpents...
It has Pierced my
Palpitating Heart!
Contaminating and Corrupting
The Organ
with the Fatal Toxins...

It Numbs my Nerves
Against all Beauty...
Happiness...
Hope...
Yet Burns my Corpus
With the Flames of Agony...
A Painful Paralysis!

It now Courses through my Veins...
Polluting my Blood...
Intoxicating and Deluding my Brain...
Have the Hallucinations started already?
It's Destroying the Encephalon...
The Temple of Rationality...

I'm Poisoned...
It's only a matter of
TIME...

Tick! Tock!
Tick! Tock!
Tick! Tock!
Tick! Tock!
Tick! Tock!

Mad

2006-10-05T22:56:00.000+08:00

Mad

But I don't want to go among Mad People....

...Alice Remarked...

Oh, you can't help that...

... Said the Cat...

...We're all Mad Here...
...I'm Mad. You're Mad...

...How do you know I'm Mad?...

...Said Alice...

...You Must Be...

...Said the Cat...

...Or you wouldn't have come Here...

~Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll~

So... Are we mad?

Are we?

(what a stupid question... of course we are...)

This Inhuman Place Makes Human Monsters...

Cloak and Mask

2006-10-01T13:11:00.000+08:00

Cloak and Mask

Every Morning...
Of Every Day...
I Don it...
That Pantomime Mask...
Of Comedy...
Not of Tragedy...
No... no... never Tragedy...
Never...
Hide my True Contorting and Crushed Innards...
Viscera in Pain...
Bleeding Heart...
The Sun marks the Daily Masquerade Ball!!!
That Monotonous Grand Event!
Swirling and Dancing...
To Fixed and Faked Routines...
Dance till you're Dizzy...
Nauseous...
Tired...
Worn Out...
In Pain...
Then Luna will give you the Permission to
Unmask!!!
Unmask!!

The heavy Fabric drags me...

Yet hugs me with Painful Melancholic Comfort...

For no one sees me...

Haha!!! No one at all...

Yes, the fabled Cloak of Invisibility...

I Swirl in its Dark Warmth...

Funny how the Pain it brings is so...

Familiar...

So Day by Day...

I cloak myself...

Let the Cursed Fabric fuse into me...

It'll become my own skin...

One that might no be Husked or Shed...

Let No One Join Me...

In This Cloak And Mask...

Masquerade Ball...

Of Pain...

Of Misery...

Of Isolation...

Of Facades...

Seeing Yet Blind

2006-09-26T22:27:00.000+08:00

Seeing Yet Blind

I was a Child...
Like many, Naive...
Innocent and Pure...
Monsters Haunted me...
Shadows Taunted me...
Yet I Believed...
In many things...
In Beauty...
Pain was only temporary...
Nothing More...
I may be Blind then...
I didn't See...

Now I am a Child No More...
More Knowing and Wise...
Corrupted and Tainted...
Monsters now Crawl all around me...
Shadows now Claw me...
I have no Faith now...
Not in anything...
Not in Beauty...
Pain is a Constant Companion...
It's More than enough...
I See now...
Yet I'm Blind...

Is The Seeing of Reality...

Truly Worth...

The Blindness To The Beauty...

Where has my Heart gone...

An Uneven Trade for the Real World...

Oh I...

I want to go Back to...

Believing in Everything...

And Knowing Nothing at all...

~Evanescence: Fields Of Innocence...

The Music Box

2006-09-21T23:06:00.000+08:00

The Music Box

Inside...
Deep Inside...
Twisting Springs...
Coiling...
Constricting...
Contorting...
Spinning Discs...
Turning Cylinders...
Rotating...
Cogs and Gears Revolving...
Metallic teeth combing...
Scratching...
Clawing...

Utter Agony!!!

Inside!!!!

Utter Agony!!!

Yet the Sound produced is Beautiful...

Melodious...

Comforting...

Sweet...

All this is just a Facade!!! Like Duh!

When can the Faking end?
When can the Music be allowed to stop?
When will the Agony within cease?

Every time the Song is about to end...

Every time Bliss and Peace seem near...

Somebody has to Wind the Damned Thing...

Somebody has to Turn the Stupid Key...

And it starts all over again...

The Wiccan Silence

2006-09-17T17:22:00.000+08:00

This goes to a friend of mine who has been suffering in silence for so long due to unrequited love:

The Wiccan Silence

In a strange frequency...
Your pain Screams to me...
Your mellow whispers...
Beg of me...
To do your biddings...
To comfort your wounds...
To satisfy your curiosity...
To guide you...

I'll gladly shed my Blood for your Miracles...

You own my heart...
I don't want it back...
Not yet at least...
Consume it if you want to...
It matters not...
That is the Nature of Love...

Unrequited...

I am obsessed...

Possessed...

The constant Mental Visitations of your Image...
It makes my optical waterfall scour my pathetic visage...

The thought of your Pain, and mine, Satanically beats my heart... Percussively...

Beating it...

Striking it...

Hammering it...

Crushing it...

Killing it...

Yet no audible comforting rhythm was produced...

Only the Ritualistic Painful Silence

I try to suppress all agony for your sake...
Yet it only makes me guilty of Fake Stigmata on my palms...
That Blood I offer you...

The Misery of Unreciprocated Affection
Burns me like the Devil's Inferno...
When Luna rules, I sink into Spasmodic Fits of Pain...
Like a possessed contortionist...

Yet I care not about my Wiccan Punishments...
I only care for the Gratification
Of this most Perfect Angel...
I'll even burn at the stake for the Reign of your Smile...

This Damned Creature is always at your service...
But do you hear what the voice of my pain says?
Of course you don't...
It's Silenced...

The White Rabbit Wishes

2006-09-14T16:52:00.000+08:00

The White Rabbit Wishes

I wish I could be like the Cheshire Cat...

Smiling Endlessly...

Despite the Pain that's seen... that's felt...

I wish I could be like Tweedledee and Tweedledum...

Never Alone...

Always having a Companion near...

I wish I could be like the Caterpillar...

Opium Addicted...

Able to live in Solitude... Drowning Pain in Drugs...

I wish I could be like the Mad Hatter...

In Perpetual Teatime...

Never having to Care about things that Matter... that Hurt...

I wish I could be like the Queen of Hearts...

Ultimate Authority...

Always enforcing Personal Significance... Always Important...

I wish I could be like the Dormouse...

Insignificantly Small...

Thus able to stay Hidden and Protected in a Teapot... Never getting Hurt...

I wish I could be like the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle...

Freaky Pair...

Yet ultimately... able to Accept all Personal Imperfections...

I wish I could be like the Great Lady Alice...

Just Strong...

Able to find a way through Anything no matter what... Out of this Twisted, Painful Realm...

Yet I am Just A White Rabbit...

Living to Serve...

I am not what I am... yet I am hurting still... But I'll Survive...

Cardiac

2006-09-13T21:08:00.000+08:00

Cardiac

How much Blood must a Heart Bleed before it heals...

How much Pain must pump through the Blood Vessels before

It's too much for the Heart to take...

When will my Heart cease to hurt...

When is that impending doom...

That silencing Cardiac Arrest...

All this Poisonous Blood coursing through me...
Yet I don't have the Heart to resent it...

Let It Beat

In hushed weeping...

Doors

2006-09-09T22:09:00.000+08:00

Doors

We walk down the hallway of Doors...
Like dear little Alice...
And like her corridor...
Mine is filled with mostly closed Doors...
And I ain't got no freaking Key...

They say that God opens another Door when he slams one in your face...

What if it isn't true?

What if sometimes he misplaces the Key and so...

No Door!

And even if he does open another Door...

What if you don't want to enter it...

Because it isn't the same as the first Door...

What if you want to open a Door yourself!!!

Worse comes to worst...

I'll break down the Door that was slammed shut in my face

In the first place!

So this also goes to:

Lady Luck!

Old Providence!

Little Miss Serendipity!

Mister Destiny!

And of Course, The Classic Fate!

And to little Lucy...

Though I might not accept the Great Architect's Door...

I won't sell my soul to you to open another Portal...

I'll break down that Door...

Even if there's something better

Waiting in the other...

Willow

2006-09-07T22:10:00.000+08:00

Willow

The Poor Soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree...

Sing all a Green Willow must be my garland...

Let nobody blame him...

His Scorn I Approve...

Sing
Willow,
Willow,
Willow...

Satine's Enlightenment

2006-09-05T23:52:00.000+08:00

Satine's Enlightenment

Many around me seem to be cynical about Love...
I'm not here to tell them that the Pain doesn't exist...
Yet they must know that there is Joy in it too...

To those in mortal agony due to a wondrous malady called

Love....

These were Satine's wise words...

Before and(then) After she realised the

Painful Nature of Love:

(when she found love:)

If I should die this very moment...

I wouldn't fear..

For I've never known completeness...

Like being here...

Wrapped in the warmth of you...

Loving every breath of you...

Why live life from dream to dream...

And dread the day . . .

When Dreaming Ends...

(when she found pain:)

I was a fool to believe . . .

A fool to believe. . .

It all ends today. . .

Yes, it all ends today...

Today's the day...

When Dreaming Ends...

~Moulin Rouge!~

I Thank Thee

2006-09-04T22:05:00.000+08:00

I Thank Thee

Oh! God!
Strike me Now!
Strike me Hard!
Hurt me with Pain that will last me all Eternity!
Let me hear those words that will tell me
That I am Damned...
That I am Cursed...
That I will always have a place in the kingdom you created for
Your Once Favourite...
Most Perfect...
Angel...

I Thank Thee, Lord!

For all this pain...

For preparing me for what lies ahead...

After Life...

After Death...

Hell...

I Thank Thee, Lord!
I Thank Thee, God!
I Thank Thee, My Creator!
I Thank Thee So!
I Thank Thee With All My Heart!
I Thank Thee!

~Your Most Imperfect Yet Humble Creation

The White Rabbit~

A Pointless Plea

2006-09-02T22:46:00.000+08:00

A Pointless Plea

Oh! Deus Ex Machina where art thou?
Where the bloody heck is my Freaking Fairy Godmother?
There is no Puck to join Unions!
I wish I could buy a Pathetic Magical Sitar that only tells the Truth so it can guide my screwed up life with its Blatant Honesty!
I have no Time Turner to set things straight!
Notice that somehow... I didn't call for God...

I guess I have to follow one of the Commandments of the Cynic Creed:

"If You Want Something Done Right...

Do It Yourself!"

But wouldn't it be nice to get some assistance every now and then?
This is not only a Pathetic Pointless Plea...
It is also an advice...
But then again.. who am I to give advices?

Words Of My Heart

2006-08-31T08:30:00.000+08:00

Words Of My Heart

Okay...
I know people often tell me that if I utter the Words of My Heart...
They say that I will be liberated...

The Liberation...
The Freedom...
The Satisfaction of Knowing that others Know your emotions...
The Lightness of the lessening of Burden afterwards...
The Ecstasy of feeling Loved...

ALL CRAP!!!

I am still in the same part of this freaking Abyss, if not Lower!

I'm sorry to all the non-cynics in this world...

But in my case...

All this is true...

I'm Sorry...

So Sorry...

I'm Sorry...

It's Like this...

The Pendulum

2006-08-29T21:29:00.000+08:00

The Pendulum

Swing...

From

Utter Ecstasy

Absolute Pain

My Heart oscillates like the Pendulum!

Bipolar shifts!

Like a Clock, just waiting...

maybe for the pain...

maybe for the ecstasy...

Tick...

Tock...

Tick...

Tock...

My Tragic Flaw

2006-08-26T23:46:00.000+08:00

My Tragic Flaw

I guess I've always known my Tragic Flaw...
The thing is...
I don't ever want to face...
Change it...
Fix it...

It is my ability to make everyone around me flee from yours truly...

I seem to possess the Ten Pestilence and Plagues of Egypt within me!

My arrogance forces me to try to help others in need in a desperate attempt to prevent this Routine Tragedy to recur...

But it always does...

People will leave me...

No doubt about it...

Then, my Body would feel the pain from this emotional self-mortification!

When I meet my Creator, I will be questioned...

(In my voice, ironically...)

Why on earth did I do all those atrocities???

I'll reply that I was merely attempting to help others...

(Hear that? The arrogance...undeniable!)

Who am I, the Divine being will ask, to decide

Who needs Help?

When they need Help?

Did they even ask for Help?

(I'm just a self-righteous, damned mortal!)

And all I can reply is... But... But... But...

Then... I will realise that the almighty is in fact merciful!

I will realise the reason why I go trough all this Pain in life!

It is just an appetiser for what's ahead for me...

My Destiny...

My Fate...

He wishes to prepare me for My Future...

For HELL.

I will then be Drowned and Melted in the lava of Lucifer's Kingdom...

That is My Story...
The Rabbit's Tale...
The White Tragedy...

Haunting and Possession

2006-08-23T21:33:00.000+08:00

Haunting and Possession

To Be or Not To Be...

That is the Question...

I know that the context is different but the words fit...

It's as if there's this Demonic yet Enticing being within me...

Should I embrace it...
Let it Possess me...
Control my every action until I evolve into this creature that is so unlike me...
While my former soul watch what it does with my body from a great distance, within the abyss of my being...

Or should I run away from it...
Try to escape...
While it tails me constantly...
Just there...
Waiting...
Buying its time...
Just Haunting me...

It is Cruel in Nature yet

Comfortable...

Satisfying...

To Be or Not To Be

This creature...

To let it Haunt or Possess me!

The Clay

2006-08-20T19:52:00.000+08:00

The Clay

I am made of Clay

Thus, let me choose my form...

Everywhere I go...
Everything I do...
Every choice I make...
Every word I utter...
Eyes tail me!
Lips scar me!
Let me choose My Path...
You damned beings...
With your selfish and stereotypical
Reasons and Views!

Though I serve as the White Rabbit,

I still (wish to) choose my Destiny,

My Wretched Form!

Let me mold my freaking self!

Even if it hurts to watch my person evolve!

For now, I am like a whore,

different in duty yet similar in nature,

I am made to be what you

Egoistic and selfish Mortals want me to be!

Your Satisfaction and Pride in me is my

Supposed Reward!

Don't make me go
against you
just for the sake of going
against you!

I am made of Clay

(Clay with a brain!)
Thus, let me choose my form!!!

Clarity

2006-08-19T22:57:00.000+08:00

Clarity

Nothing seems Clear anymore...

Blur...

Vague...

Hazy...

Distorted...

Dark...

It's as if a large Raven taunts me...

Its black wings softly beat against my face...

I can't see a thing anymore...

Understanding... Reasoning... Answers...

Those are impossibilities right now...

I cannot even see the workings of my own Heart!

What more others'!

Topsy Turvy! Insane! Wild!

O great Raven!

I so wish for you to take me away!

To a place where I don't have to worry about Understanding!

Where I don't have to search for Answers!

A land ungoverned by reason!

Where there's no Clarity!

Is that place...

Dream or Death?

The Words Of Iago

2006-08-16T20:43:00.000+08:00

The Words Of Iago

Iago:

...I will wear my Heart upon my Sleeve

For Daws to Peck at.

I am not what I am....

~Othello by William Shakespeare

Kill the Beast

2006-08-14T21:52:00.000+08:00

Kill the Beast

Jekyll to Hyde...

Imperfection to Utter Ugliness...

I've lost control of my transformation...
The more I Change...
The more Destruction I cause...
The more Pain I bring...
The more Anguish I feel...

I'm a Beast Incarnate....

A monster from Lucifer's Kingdom...

Perverse in Nature...

Yet I so wish to don a Halo...

I actually wished for people to Kill That Beast...

But it seems that the mercy killing has already begun,

without me needing to beg them...

Insults...

Accusations of Atrocities I didn't commit...

(I must sound so arrogant!)...

Isolation...

They chose wonderful weapons....

They chose Poisonous Hell...

Thank You...

Mirror Mirror

2006-08-13T12:46:00.000+08:00

Mirror Mirror

Mirror Mirror on the Wall...

Who's the fairest of them All...

My reflection says:

I don't know about fair or ugly but I don't like what I see...

I'm Changing!
A Metamorphosis I've never felt before!
I'm scared yet excited!
The idea of doing something tabooed...
doing something against what our self-righteous society deems as norm...
doing something simply not me...
it satisfies me emotionally like
an Intoxicating Drug!

I'm not sure whether I like what I'm becoming...

Neither can I say I hate it...

It doesn't mean that when Jekyll saw Hyde in his mirror,

he'll stop the whole transformation process...

A part of him welcomes it...

enjoys it...

I'm starting to do things on Impulse...
Suddenly acting, unbridled by my Conscience...
But then Again, when your Body starts to do things on Impulse and its own Instinct,
that's when you are most true...
The Real You...

Mirror Mirror, hear my Cry...

Who the Bloody Heck am I...

My reflection says:

I am not what I am...

A New Cycle

2006-08-09T21:46:00.000+08:00

A New Cycle

I need to Cleanse my Spirit...
Atone for my Sins...

I need to achieve Tranquility...

(not exactly Peace, but Tranquility)

A state of possibility...

A fertile state for the evolution of the soul...

A state of purity

Tabula Rasa...

Only then can I do my Job well...
I would have to go through the agonising process once again...
Face the pain once again... in the future...

Only then can the New Cycle

Begin...

Numb

2006-08-08T21:34:00.000+08:00

Numb

I think I've become Numb to the Touch of Comfort...
Or is there absolutely nothing to feel in the first place...

So many people around...

So many comforting hands caressing me...

Yet some of them feel like claws dragging me through the Seven Hells!

Never have I felt so

Alone...

The Broken Pocket Watch

2006-08-04T21:06:00.001+08:00

The Broken Pocket Watch

The White Rabbit's Pocket Watch Is Broken!

He can't tell between Day and Night!

Both wake him to weep!

The concrete reality of his Life and Duty has started to lose its momentum.

The Ticking and Tocking is all screwed up!

He wishes so much to help all the helpless souls he meets...

All the Lost Alices...

It is his job isn't it?

He just needs to find a proper watch...
Set his pace again...
Then he will do all he can to help those with silent pleas...
He will even sacrifice his life to try to help others...
The white rabbit will attempt to set the World in Motion once again...
not only will it spin...
this rodent attempts to cradle it...
rock it...
he will attempt to do miracles with his tainted little paws...
In the Cleansed Iago's name...

Give him Time!

A Working Watch!

P.S. The White Rabbit is glad to be of service... and will continue to serve...

Seeing

2006-07-31T20:35:00.000+08:00

Seeing

I'm not talking about one of the five senses. I'm talking about Oracular Sight...

Seer's Vision....

Everybody's life is chaotic nowadays that it would seem great to be able to Unfog the Future or tap into knowledge you usually won't get to know by yourself... without people telling you... Life would be simpler wouldn't it?

I don't know about that, though... You would think that you would always know what to do. But that's the thing, it wouldn't matter what you do would it? I mean, since you've seen what's going to happen... it's bound to happen... and it does not even matter shits, what you do... right or wrong... It'll matter not! It all would be preordained by some Divine Being!

It will be a Heavenly Joke!

Now... Would you call that actually having control over your Life!

It is terrifying to know that you cannot even determine what happens in your life. You cannot change things... They would happen...

And let us not forget the obligations (to yourself and others) that come with knowing these Damned Knowledge... Uncle Ben's lines to Peter says it all:

With great power comes great responsibility...

I don't know about people, but I wouldn't want to feel obligated to do anything...

Many seek help from psychics (in their many proteus-like forms... some true...mostly fakes) but if I were them... I'll never want to feel that vulnerable... EVER!!

Many of you would think that this entry is sort of sudden or weird. It's just the White Rabbit's preoccupation with time... Tick! Tock! Tick!Tock!...

PAST...

PRESENT...

FUTURE...

I See My Hell

2006-07-27T15:49:00.000+08:00

I See My Hell

In Hell I reside

Near my Damned Being
Everyone screams (pleas?) for
Eternal Salvation. Hoping their finest
Dreams Will come true...

How I tried (So Hard) to help
Everyone in need... Answering their
Laments... Then it struck me... I'm in this Hades too!
Pleading within me, (I finally hear it) a voice whispering...

Black Dahlia Wannabe

2006-07-26T22:08:00.000+08:00

Black Dahlia Wannabe

Okay... Every living person around me seems to be able to find at least one thing pleasant about their lives. And despite all their pain, they are able to be happy and simply... Smile.

Oh! How I yearn to have that skill... to be able to see the mythical microscopic silver lining on the perpetually grey storm cloud. How pathetic! Urgh! I mean, even Black Dahlia was able to literally smile from ear to ear after being murdered in the most barbaric nature.

I Want To Even Be Able To Laugh With Jubilation In Hell!

maybe only then can I truly be happy

This little Rabbit merely wants to smile with the greatest sincerity and not just do so as a pantomimic facade.

"Smile Though Your Heart Is Aching...

Smile Even Though It's Breaking..."

Okay... Okay... I'll Freaking Try It!

but just remember... I don't do those corny smilies!

Goodnight Folks!

Frigid Heart

2006-07-22T16:24:00.000+08:00

Frigid Heart

I've never felt so alone in my entire life. (I'm sure you can tell by this line that this is going to be another pathetic entry, right?) I feel isolated, yet I don't know why? I've got so many supportive people around me.... yet my palpitating heart feels so empty. I was just at the library... alone... the silence mocks me further.

Everyone asks me if I'm fine and all... but those words seem worthless. It's not because their words of comfort are shallow or anything. They may be filled with sincerity and kindness the moment they left the speakers' mouths but when it reaches my heart, it's empty... It's like fetching water home from a source, with only your hands. By the time you reach home, there's nothing left in your palms.

I'm just too freaking sensitive.

It's just that I've opened up to alot more people this year. I bared my heart (flesh, blood and all) and like a Voodoo Doll, it gets pierced again and again by people. Don't get me wrong, it is not their fault! It's just that I've kept this organ of mine behind a shield, that once exposed, will be very vulnerable. I should have immunised it instead of protecting it. ( but I just want my heart to be embraced by... Compassion? Love? Empathy? they seem to be rather foreign to me that I myself am unsure.)

I'm so freaking weak and sensitive!

I feel all alone and still without its reason... sometimes I just wish that the right person... at the right time... at the right place... would do or say the right things... and even in the right way... and all will be so much better. People might call it a dream. but to me this dream is worth much more than my reality...

(a Reality I don't wish to be Real.)

I'll still try to learn to trust people more... and maybe one day, I can see the world in less cynical light. I'll continue to bare my Frigid Heart.

P.S. I wish to thank everyone who stayed with me even though I am a pathetic bastard. Thank You.

Smile

2006-07-21T20:06:00.000+08:00

Smile

Okay... I know my blog has been filled with an endless supply Self-Glorifying Pathos. Even Edgar Allan Poe would have been disgusted reading this melancholic shit. I know how annoying this is to those who actually bother reading this.... I'm so sorry.

I do wish to be Happy!

Shallow as it sounds, I do....

But being able to see vividly the harsh side of this world,

this dream seems impossible.

a sinner dreaming of heaven.....

I'VE BECOME A CYNICAL BASTARD!

I've seen people suffer...
I feel their every wound...
Like an Empath!
Scoff and Laugh if you want!
Even I find it ridiculous.

Then there is my own pain... what pain, the White Rabbit asks himself... we do not have that luxury... hehehe... no, not us, deary... we are not significant enough... (*giggles*)... ooh... look at the time... I'm late... I'm late... I'm late....

I know... maybe I'll continue to don that Smiling Pantomime Mask!

The Joker's grin on my face I'll Carve and Tear,

from ear to ear,

Like Black Dahlia, My Dear!

That is my life, I fear!

P.S. The White Rabbit apologises again for these arrogant words...

Lock It Up

2006-07-18T21:27:00.000+08:00

Lock It Up

I've always told people to talk about their problem... telling them that this simple act will achieve miraculous results. Oh! I'm such a freaking hypocrite. I don't practise what I religiously preach.

It's not that I'm scared to tell people my inner agony... maybe a little... ok, alot. It's just that I feel that it is selfish for me to burden others with my insignificant troubles. They have far greater issues to conquer. On top of that it will be arrogant for me to think that they must sit through all my complaints about how pathetic my life is! It is my Piscean duty to help others but things do not (CANNOT!) work the other way. It's a question of who needs help more. Never me... haha! Pathetic huh?

The White Rabbit Lives to Serve!

He Has No Rights!

A wise person told me today that we have to talk about our problems to ensure that we do not get deluded! It's true! But I'd rather be a deluded bastard than a selfish and arrogant bitch.

Maybe... maybe I am scared to lose people when they find out about what is behind this White Fur. What if they do find me arrogant to expect that they will listen to my ramblings? THIS BLOG IS ARROGANT! I don't wish to lose people.

So I Keep My Agony Locked Up!

At All Times!

though secretly it hurts unlike anything else... oh god... it hurts...

"Deep In My Heart I'm Concealing...

Things That I'm Longing To Say...

Scared To Confess What I'm Feeling...

Frightened You'll Slip Away..."

~Evita

The Void

2006-07-16T13:16:00.000+08:00

The Void

As I sit here typing this nonsensical crap, the feeling is still there. That emptiness... I have no idea why I feel this way but I do...

There's like a Void within my seemingly palpitating heart.

(Because there's no Choir? I don't know.)

It's as if I have no purpose anymore.

I'm no use to anyone anymore.

No one depends on me anymore.

They move on, while I cling on!

Pathetic Little Me!

A used stuffed Rabbit....

Every now and then that
Blasted Blood Pumping Organ
would pinch itself,
crush itself...
My misery and emptiness are its catalysts!
Then the damned salt water will start carving paths down my horrid visage.
Ugh! I'm so ashamed!

That Void continues to engulf me.

I feel insignificant....

worthless...

pathetic...

" Just Give Me a Number...

Instead Of My Name...

Forget All About Me...

And Let Me Decay"

~ Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat

The Pariah Oracle

2006-07-09T21:37:00.000+08:00

The Pariah Oracle

I've said this before... I see things in a far different light than others... The Piscean Pariah's view... almost like a delusioned Fishy Oracle.

The thing is, I've got no Life. So I enjoy studying humans, Homo Sapiens! I used to think that it will be useful in whatever life I've actually got... left. I believed that I could help other Poor Unfortunate Souls... sort of like misunderstood the Sea Witch.

Lately I was proven wrong.

I know sometimes we have to Hurt to Heal!

But the things I know can destroy lives!

Should I keep it from people... protect them from the truth... let them hate me afterwards when things do not turn out as they planned... thinking I didn't warn them.... hating me for it...

Or should I save myself from the mortal agony of keeping secrets... and cruelly inform them of the painful truth of their seemingly perfect lives... knowing that they'll resent me for crushing their currently perfect image of their existence... for merely splatting the truth into their faces without serving them any solutions... some might even think that I'm butting into their lives...

And I don't Blame them!

I do not want to lose people this way...

though, I know that either ways, I might...

Call me paranoid! I don't care... not anymore at least...haha!

I know things others may not or cannot comprehend because I live a life of an outcast.

But am I a Oracle or Bloody Busy Body...

Oh!!!!

All that Blood of the innocents!

Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip!

A Bleached Rodent's Life

2006-07-06T21:59:00.000+08:00

A Bleached Rodent's Life

I feel like I'm living the White Rabbit's Life! Ahh! Time seems to be moving erratically... sometimes agonisingly slow... sometimes horridly fast... Tutorials... Rehearsals... Lectures... Practices... School... Panorama... Esplanade... Monday... Wednesday... Saturday... Monday... Teusday... Thursday... Friday... Sunday... Teusday...

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! Tick!

Tock! Tick! Tock! Tick!

Tock! Tick! Tock!

Tick! Tock!

Shit! I think my Watch is SPOILT!

And around me... things seem more twisted than even Alyss' Wonderland! People with problems and issues that I dont have the capacity to aid... Yet they cry... Justice herself is in misery! Like that Blasted Bunny, I can only watch... and sometimes assist...

Ugh!!! I'm a Damned Bleached Rodent!

Exorcised

2006-07-02T21:09:00.000+08:00

Exorcised

The Rabbit says:

Time was my Holy Water

Silence was my Prayer

Distance was my Exorcist

I've suppressed that Demon. That ugly creature is still within me...waiting to come out again...In my body it Hydes, still. I fear it. I want it to never manifest again. I own Jekyll's fear. I'm Not Free But Fine.

I never want to hurt you with my capacity to wound others.

To the Resident of our Hundred Acre Woods:
I'm so very Sorry.

I'm Sorry.

Possessed

2006-06-29T18:41:00.000+08:00

Possessed

To SOME of the residents of the Damned Hundred Acre Woods:
Beware! Your Resident Rabbit Has Been Possessed!

He Says:
While I stare into the mirror mirror on that wall, With eyes tearing the Dead Sea, I found myself laughing. And in that moment I Saw a Demon staring through my eyes!

And it felt familiar!

It wants to hurt, to torture. YOU are smart, to hurt me when I'm most vunerable, just as I was opening up my soul. You struck me hard! Hurt me hard! Wounded me hard! Pain I don't think I've felt before. Now this Demon inflicts my body because of this and it want's blood! Your Blood! And in my voice it says:

I WILL HURT YOU LIKE YOU'VE NEVER BEEN HURT BEFORE!

WITH ALL THE KNOWLEDGE I'VE GAINED ABOUT YOU,

I CAN RUIN YOUR VERY EXISTANCE!

YOUR ONLY SANCTUARY WILL BE SUICIDE!

I WILL RIP YOUR PATHETIC LIVES APART,

DROWN THEM IN GASOLINE, THEN BURN THEM. THE FIRE...

WITH LIGHT FAR BRIGHTER THAN

HEAVEN...

WITH FLAMES FAR HOTTER THAN

HELL!

YOU WILL REGRET EVER KNOWING ME!

and then I say to you, my friends:

Stay away from this Rabbit until he is exorcised, or I might hurt you. Let me heal. Give me Time!

Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock...

Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock!

The Gift Of The Gap

2006-06-25T19:21:00.000+08:00

The Gift Of The Gap

Yes...you read it correctly. And No, it isn't a spelling mistake. I did mean the wonderful Gift of the Gap...Not Gab! It's the ability and skill to keep one's mouth shut!

You see, I often see things in the perspective of a Pariah, an outcast. So my views often differ from others. And being a Pisces, I enjoy studying the human behavior. So, since I've lived most of my current life as a Fishy Outcast, I am able to understand people better. How arrogant this might sound, Huh? I learn that I can understand other's motivations, problems, emotions, needs, behavior, actions, pain, sorrow, love... I truly love psychology. I understand more about people that way.

But one problem. This scaly Mermouth of mine doesn't wish to shut! I found out recently that I can hurt people with what I tell them. I was also told by a little Pink Piggy (And I thank her for telling me that... before it's too late.) that my insightful words (There's that arrogance again! Ugh!) end up ringing in the heads of my listeners, haunting them, and hurting them. Tortured by the truth! I hate myself because of that! Now you know why I wish to learn how to shut up?! I don't want to hurt anyone with the things I know.

I think I've Angered and Vexed many with the my Piscean words, especially recently. I would like to really apologise for that.

What I fear more now, is that they might misunderstand me, especially since my babbling can be quite cryptic. And when that happens, I end up not only angering and hurting others......

They'll Hate Me!

A Wicked Witches Lament

2006-06-21T21:34:00.000+08:00

A Wicked Witches Lament

I'm a cruel bastard! I poison people with the same venom that infected me. The utter atrocities I've done! Hurting others with them! I share my pain; it acts like a contagious plague, afflicting others as well! I don't even know what I want by doing this...Definitely not sympathy! Maybe understanding? But I fear being understood! Ahh! I don't know anymore!

What I know is that I'm selfish. I find other's happiness a mockery to my pain. Disgusting, huh? I'm so embarassed about it! I feel like those fairytale Wicked Witches who hurt others because they themselves have issues. Like Snow White's Mom who is insecure since her little daughter is prettier. Like the Insecure Fairy in Sleeping Beauty who decided to ruin the royal family just because she didn't get a freaking invitation. Like Cinderella's Stepmom who just feel that no one else should be happy since her life sucks!

But do you really blame them? For acting thus, out of insecurities caused by high expectationed societies? Also, in the end, they are punished with more horrid atrocities! Cinder-gal's Stepmom got shamed and abandoned. The fairy, well I think she died, right? Snow White's Mom, well... her daughter tricked her to come to a wedding party then make her dance on red hot iron shoes until she died. Now isn't little Snowy sweet....

These people are humans too aren't they? Were they supposed to torture themselves by hiding their pain? Or do what they did in those fairytales? Either ways, the Social system tells them to suffer! And I feel for them... I feel like them... I Understand Them!

To my victims, I'm so very sorry. I'm ashamed of my inability to hide my pain. I'll try to wear to a more Opaque Mask from now on, that even the witch's disguises seem amateurish!

Humanoid Metamorphosis

2006-06-20T11:34:00.000+08:00

Humanoid Metamorphosis

I used to believe that humans’ most tragic flaw is our inability to change, I guess I was wrong. We Do Change!

I myself have become someone that I would not have known years back. Now I have this cruel need to aid others, fully aware that I would suffer in the end. I say things that I would normally keep inside for the sake of self-preservation. I say things that will allow people to discover the true me (Hei! this blog is a major example of this.) when I know fully well that my greatest fear is t be known. Just yesterday I did something that I would normally never do, something that many would perceive as a risk to one’s reputation, yet I went with it anyway. I might be becoming suicidal. Not in the literal sense but rather in a self-destruction kind of way. I guess Poe was right about his Imp of the Perverse!

In fact, I’m not the only one who is changing. Everyone...Family...Friends...Relatives...Everyone is undergoing this Humanoid Metamorphosis. I see
The Innocent becoming The Wise
The Naïve becoming The Manipulator
The Virgin Madonna becoming The Lady Marmalade
The Saint becoming The Sinner
The Angel becoming The Devil
The Meek becoming The Bold
The Lamb-protecting Lion becoming The Wooly-Babe-eating Carnivore!

Eve Has Finally Consumed The Blasted Apple Of Wisdom!

What I want to say in this entry is that I am changing. It is not comfortable. I do not know what its outcomes are. I am scared! Very Scared! Yet excited.

I AM NOT WHAT I AM!

Queens

2006-06-16T21:00:00.000+08:00

Queens

I found Hope today! Like Aurora Borealis amongst the perpetual night sky!

Pure Light In An Abyss Of Eternal Darkness!

They are merely three beams of light. Not perfect but still Good! They are Queens in their own right! These entities were sent to me. The same way I received the divine gift; the society called family! (OHANA!)

These are all God sent beings! They subtly but surely let Hope seep into my Blackened Life!

Todays meeting with the Three made me realise that life is not as cruel. God is not that cruel! They (God And Life) both Hurt you and Heal you. I guess it is a Yin and Yang rule or something!

To the Three: You gave me more than I gave you! and for this The White Rabbit salutes and thanks Thee!

To: Ladies J, S & T

Land of Bleeding Hearts

2006-06-15T18:58:00.000+08:00

Land of Bleeding Hearts

Lately, I've seen Hearts bleed! Mine bleeds with transparent blood.

Pain immortalised in simple smiles, drugged with self- mutilating words.

They try to lick their poisoned wounds yet more salt is smeared on instead!

Their Blood as red as thorned Roses but mine clear as Virgin tears. (The Madonna's silent tears)
Are theirs more painful? I shall not know.

An Outcast like me, a wandering Pariah, is never allowed to weep (BLEED) aloud!

What utter arrogance I have, huh? To write such a monstrous thing like this.

What Arrogance I have!

But one thing is for sure,

I'm a Nothing among the Bleeding Hearts!

Back Out That Cursed Glass

2006-06-14T13:46:00.000+08:00

Ya,I'm back out that cursed looking glass.
Back from that twisted wonderland!

Okay, if I don't seem to make sense to some, what I mean is that I'm back from my choir's Europe trip.

The sceneries were speechlessly magnificent! I think even Red Queen would be jealous! And the food were so good they were sinful!

On top of that, we did good in the competetion. (even though we got no lego blocks for the finals)

As good as this Freezing Oasis sounds, its desert essence can still be felt!

Pain, agony, suffering!

People around me seem to be in perpetual pain, blinding me of mine. Friends lost, wounds carved on relationships. ( If any of you learnt anything from Lilo And Stitch, it has to be Ohana! It means Family and that no one is left behind or forgotten!)

People around me seem to be hurting each other. I tried to help them! It worked, I guess. things got better, I guess. They talked, they apologise. The stitching up began!

But one problem...... I'm not in the equation in the end! Left behind by those I needed to help. Oh God!How selfish am I Huh! I neededto be accepted! I'm such a selfish beast! I even cried in this bloody park when I saw a mermaid statue. The story of the little mermaid came to my mind. How she never quite fit in. How she saved people, sacrificed alot for others.
HOW SHE FREAKING COMMITTED SUICIDE FOR THE PERSON WHO DOESN'T EVEN LOVE HER!

Oh God! How bloody selfish am I!

That trip keeps reminding me that I should never help others! But then again, not all of them are like that huh? People crave for help silently and it's an Outcast like me that can hear these inaudible cries, since I have got no life of my own! How can I turn them down? How can anyone else for that matter, right?

So That's why its like wonderland! A beautiful land with Tainted hearts, Worthless Diamonds,
Back "clubbing" Clubs, Grave Burrying Spades! Time seems worthless and perpetually too late (I'm Late!I'm Late!) to patch realtionships up! Everything seems cruelly distorted! Thank God and Sadly I'm Out!

Back Out that Cursed Glass!