Watch the hills, or not... ***

I'm irresistably drawn to horror flicks, no matter how cheesy, campy or plain bad they are. After all, I chose to write about Ed Wood's films during my film course at university, and even though his films may not have been meant to be horror flicks, they almost inevitably fulfilled one or more of the above characteristics. Anyone who watches a horror flick with me would probably end up being the horror star by strangling me to death, because I've this quirky habit of shouting instructions to the hunted victims-to-be, which can be pretty damn irritating but I'm quite immune to it, naturally.

In The Hills Have Eyes, I kept shouting to the kid who ran after his runaway dogs NOT to pursue them into the unknown wilderness of the New Mexico desert, NOT to waste ammunition firing in panic or at targets more than fifteen metres away with a pistol (most effective range), NOT to try taking on the sick twisted mutants with amateur booby-trap making skills. I also shouted at Doug (the poor brother-in-law who had his wife killed brutally and baby girl kidnapped) NOT to try tackling all the mutants with only a baseball bat (at least have a shotgun and a chainsaw). Neither one listened. I thought they deserved to die for not heeding my advice but the script was surprisingly merciful.

It is only on this basis that I actually cared a little about the fates of the characters that this flick earns its rating from me. There are too few scares, too few deaths, too few spine-chilling moments for this to be anywhere even close to memorable. Even the somewhat gruesome factor from the nuclear-testing radiation victims lacks punch, especially when compared to the documentaries I've watched about Hiroshima survivors. You won't dislike or be bored by it, but you wouldn't miss anything if you take a detour around the hills either.

Evergreen ***1/2

Like other movie franchises that underwent radical revivals, such as Batman Begins, Casino Royale unpackages a very different 007 from the ones we knew before. Well, actually, I don't know all the Bonds so I'm only comparing against Pierce Brosnan and Timothy Dalton, the most recent actors to play the part. Daniel Craig's Bond is more instinctively confident, athletic and testosterone-charged, and doesn't rely on gimmicks at all. The opening action sequence had me wowed and drawing comparisons with Ong Bak, although it was more the credit of the 'villain' than Bond.

While I appreciate the storyline not being yet another ludicruous it's-up-to-Bond-to-save-the-world caper, the lack of a strongly discernible plot villain with some evil scheme to foil is rather difficult to get used to. After what I took to be the major bad boss Le Chiffre died, I wondered how the story would continue. Would it become a romance? It would have been hard to get interested if not for the allure of the enigmatic Eva Green in the role of Vesper Lynd.

Probably the best parts of the movie were the scenes of the repartee between Bond and Lynd. I have never had much to appreciate in the dialogue of previous 007 movies I've caught, and this was the first that held conversations that intrigued and delighted me. While all these little diversions from what is expected of the Bond franchise were refreshing, on the whole the movie still failed to shine in spectacularly memorable fashion that would have earned it four stars from me. I would watch it again though, and if this is a sign of what we can expect from future Bond movies, 007 may survive to the next generation.

Eva Green, Daniel Craig and Catarina Murino.

Vesper Lynd and James Bond frolicking in the Madagascan sea.

Unarresting art ***1/2

Sara really was all heart, all heart and passion, including sometimes rage, and quite unreasonable rage at that. But he loved even her anger, righteous or not, because it was rich and real. Valerie was too sparse in spirit ever to feel anger like that, but she was annoyed practically all the time in some baseless, unfocused way. Valerie's emotions were a sort of surface irritant, an affliction like eczema, to be lived with or scratched at.

This was my favourite passage from the murder-unthrilling-mystery Fearful Symmetry by Morag Joss. In fact, it pretty much describes the novel, which was more centred on the relationships between different characters and the constant need for illicit sexual gratification than on who-dunnit. It begins quite competently with a quite-intriguingly-described letter-bombing death but the lag between the murders is far too long, and there is not even menace to warrant any interest at all in ferreting out the murderer. The cello-wielding sleuth, furthermore, is far more interested in getting herself laid by a very-married police chief than in finding the murderer.

It has been ages since I picked up a murder-mystery (which has never really been a favoured genre of mine) but I gave this a chance. I should've given that chance to the Three Investigators instead - less art perhaps, but more thrill and mystery.

Mournful Mortality ****

I've always loved epic stories, and this - the epic of Gilgamesh, evoked wonderful memories of months spent during my university days poring over varied translations of Homer's two great epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey. The story itself is an absorbing read, and rendered in verse by David Ferry, this particular text is smooth, almost lyrical, and impresses itself upon its reader. It does not seem to be the most accurate or detailed translation, however, and I found many fragments of verse on the Internet that was missing in this work. Some of these lines I've worked into a poem reflecting my personal feelings about Gilgamesh's story.

What this work has done most for me is to stir interest in the history of the first known civilisation Sumer, and myths and folklore of Babylon and ancient Mesopotamia. I'm sure that anyone who picks up this book will be moved by Gilgamesh's passion and exploits, and probably do the same as I do.

Map of ancient Mesopotamia

Restored gate of Ishtar

Standard of Ur

The ancient Babylonian gods: Ishtar, Shamash and Ea.

The sun god Shamash and his worshippers

Ruminations upon Gilgamesh

Gilgamesh mourns Enkidu's death.
___________________________

Great wild Nefilim
two-thirds god, one-third man
where are you hurrying off to?

Weary of wisdom,
wits to match, wish to wrestle
with the wildman Enkidu.

Bright white Nefilim
sons of Shamash, suns of heavens
where do you wish to be?

Haloed by darkness
where no one sees, across the seas
of the ferryman Urshanabi.

Fire-wielding Nefilim
who clear the cedars, who crush the adders
what charms do you see?

All-devouring flames
the woman of vines, the maker of wines
the coiling arms of Siduri.

Long-lived Nefilim
bulls of heaven, wild ox heathen
who else compares to Him?

He lives past
the last great flood, the last shed blood
Lord of the ark Utnapishtim.

Well-worded Nefilim
heralds of gloom, harbingers of doom
what of the beast Humbaba?

His remains feed
the shedding tree, the serpent free
where lies Ningizzida.

Great wild Nefilim
who chose haste to taste of pain
for what secrets do you still look?

The flight we took (and forsook)
to regain what was lost in vain
the mighty ruins of Uruk.

wingsofdeath

Gilgamesh and Enkidu together in battle.

Broken statue of Enkidu.

A stone idol of Humbaba, demon guardian of the Cedar Forest.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu slay Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven.

Aphrodite in Melos

Xquisite chill, how
Ursine Venus she mellows

Eyes obsidian glow

Quiet sulphurous tears

Irrigate orange meadows

Until tHis cloud clears.

wingsofdeath

<--- Venus of Milos, Musee de Louvre, Paris

The Hellenic island of Milos

The ancient theatre of Milos

The famous sheltered harbour of Milos

Prayer for Rachael

Radiant in His glow -
Angelic soul bathed in
Celestial light. They
Hasten to heed her
Arresting nice
Eyes that know
Love, and fiery ice.

wingsofdeath

Apology of Genius

'We are the sacerdotal clowns
who feed upon the wind and stars
and pulverous pastures of poverty.'

Mina Loy --->

My favourite quote from possibly my favourite poet.

Cryacolic **1/2

Ok, I'm sure there must be worse ways to be stuck in the rain than in a mouldy-smelling cinema catching a tepid Thai horror flick. Actually I regretted it before I even stepped into the cinema hall. I had rationalised to myself that Casino Royale was great for catching with half-friends and colleagues as brainless action is never quite disagreeable with most people, and it was too sad to catch a romantic comedy alone, so since it was chilly and gloomy outside it would make the perfect setting for a spine-chilling horror flick. However as I caught the trailer for the dance romance Step Up moments before entering the gloom, I realised that a spot of heartwarming comedy and romance was just what I needed. Too late.

It wasn't boring throughout, and actually the climatic scene when the pretty aunt was attacked by the door was partially gripping. But in retrospect, it really just seemed like a low budget copy of Final Destination right down to the gaseous/vaporous appearances before the sudden deaths, only there weren't as many deaths (only 3 in total!) and too much creepy music that led to absolutely nothing. The movie poster was also downright misleading - there was no scene at all where an invisible hand gripped the baby.

Probably the most disturbing frame was the one of the autistic 20-year old whose face looked deformed, and the most disturbing scene was the one that showed him repeatedly smashing his head against the wall until it became a bloody mess while the doctor did nothing but watch candidly on the camera. Chilled? No. Cry? Yes, from the loss of my seven bucks.

As You Wish ****1/2

S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure The Princess Bride abridged by William Goldman is exactly as it self-proclaims - classic. I don't remember enjoying reading an introduction as much, or side remarks. Goldman has an excellent sense of narrative flow and keeps the pace just right.

As for Morgenstern's original's qualities as a satire, I'll have to judge that when I actually do read the unabridged version, if I do. I'm fully supportive of Goldman's efforts and intentions in making this version palatable and appealing to children instead of literary scholars and academics. It reads exactly like the kind of story I would have fallen in love with if I had read it when I was ten. I'm less generous with my affections now but the story still moves me greatly, being humorous, tragic, poignant, grippingly exciting and full of flair and imagination. In many ways, it outshines the already very-excellent movie starring Cary Elwes and Robin Wright and Andre the Giant, peppered with little details that movies can never quite capture.

Even now, the immortal line "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die" still evokes the unfamiliar but delightful feeling of an amalgam of pride, empathy, comedy and righteous anticipation. This is one bedtime story I'll definitely read to my kid.

E23 Haunted Chalet Pictures

Sneaked a peek at the class blog I think Ian created for the pictures taken at the class chalet. I'm amazed at how terrible I look, as usual. I should cease to be amazed. I guess that's why I'm a teacher instead of a model. Good thing they didn't snap too many pictures of me. Here's a link to all those wonderful-photo-memories-of-everyone-else-but-me for anyone from the class who actually reads this.

http://www.classroom-memories.blogspot.com/

Gosh, why do I even bother?

Not Peeved ***1/2

Well, like the very short-lived blog from over two years back, I shall post reviews of books, movies, plays, concerts and what-have-yous here. The star rating is something new, however. My reviews are all somewhat influenced by pet biases so haha! too bad.

Pet Peeve is another Xanth novel by Piers Anthony, and I have read about seven or eight from the twenty-odd in the series. It retains all of the flavour of Xanth and Pier's idiosyncratic style of using many many ideas and suggestions contributed by his readers, and is overall a pleasant read. I finished it over the three days at the class chalet. However, the main characters are not as adorable or memorable as those from the earlier Xanth novels. Perhaps the novelty has worn off. Piers, in my humble opinion (oxymoron!), still has a tendency to drag the pace in the middle of a novel with a lot of narration that functions more to fill in the gaps than to grip the imagination - a feature I've noticed since the Incarnations of Immortality series.

For those new to Piers Anthony's zany sense of humour and wicked puns, I would strongly recommend picking up a couple of the earlier Xanth novels for a sampling. My personal favourite is The Colour of Her Panties which starred the present King Dor and Queen Ivy as adolescents. More time was spent fleshing out the world of Xanth in those, so readers get a better sense and feel of it. I would recommend Pet Peeve more for loyal followers of Piers Anthony (of which I am one) who want a revisit to Xanth and escape the dreariness of life in Mundania. Think of it as holidaying at a favourite vacation spot you've visited countless times, where you know exactly what to expect and what you get out of it and still enjoy it. Better yet, it's that secluded beach in Krabi you found, away from the tourist highlights that are just around the corner. Experienced travellers (in Mundania or Xanth) will know what I mean.

It's Finally Over

I scored two significant overs today without swinging a cricket bat (hey! I made a Piers Anthony-esque pun!). The first was the class chalet for my form class this year E23 (who are marginally the top class for their stream and year - YES! that makes it the 3rd year running my form class has achieved that distinction - woohoo! ). The second was my MOE teaching career.

By over, I mean just that. The class chalet finally ended late this morning after three days and two nights at Aloha Changi. In the afternoon, I officially tendered my resignation letter. Whew. That is probably a tainted and misleading expression of the mixed feelings I have regarding the overs.

I think the class chalet was quite a success, although I had hoped that everyone would turn up. Still the quieter and in-my-limited-perception less sociable ones like Nicholas, Gavin, big Derek, Khamin and gang did show up, for which I'm glad. Nobody died or got injured, except for the rash Isabel got and Jolene's too-tight spectacles causing migraine-level discomfort. Everyone participated in the activities, mostly impromptu ones I cooked up when I noticed that nobody seemed to have prepared any, in some way or other and appeared to really enjoy them. There was one sleepless night and one semi-restful one, and strictly no hanky-panky, so I guess I must consider myself rather lucky.

The highlight, I suppose, would be the treasure hunt on the second night. It went somewhat like this - five tokens to be retrieved by solving clues revealing their location, with each token placed in a progressively harder-to-reach location. The prize for each token retrieved increased in value corresponding to the difficulty of the location. What made this different from normal treasure hunts were, one: the game would be played in darkness with no lights allowed at all, and two: two of the tokens would be placed in a truly challenging location - inside the haunted and derelict ruins of the abandoned Changi Hospital.

The first token was hidden in one of the drawers inside the double-storeyed terrace house we were staying in. Surprisingly, all three groups of four took an unexpectedly long time to find this one, which I had anticipated to be the easiest to find. I suppose groping about in the dark needs practice heh. The first clue read "Slide me open, and there I am."

The second was hidden under a bush in the large courtyard fronting the terrace, which was rather easy to find since the inextinguishable streetlamps helped immeasurably. I truly enjoyed watching them frantically throwing themselves on all fours and peering under every bush. The second clue read "Under the cover of leaves" or something like that, I can't quite remember.

The third was at a barbeque pit attached to one of the rows of abandoned houses adjacent to our plot. There were three rows, all shrouded in darkness. The first group were extremely tentative about venturing out of the lighted safety zone of the streetlamps, and took far too much time deliberating and searching at the wrong row. They ran out of time and was the only group to fail to return with the third token (each group was given 15 minutes, with a minute added for each token they returned in order). The third clue read "Where there was once coal, now there's only dust in a hole." Rather easy, I think, since all the groups headed straight for the barbeque pits although the second group did mention searching for a fireplace in the houses.

The fourth was the first to be planted in the haunted ruins of Changi Hospital. For two groups, the token was in the first room on the left after the staircase, on a windowsill bathed in moonlight. It was meant to be easy enough to retrieve, yet still requiring a certain degree of courage to step into the dark, shadow-filled (and God knows what else) compound. For the last group, I placed it in the "ventilation shaft" overlooking the main stairwell on the second floor, where lurkers had hidden themselves to scare us the previous day. The clues read "1st chamber left beyond the stair, sitting under the moon's glare" and "Up the stairs, at the entrance of the airy lair" or something like that.

The final clue lay deeper, sitting right in the middle of an open elevator on the second floor in pitch darkness. This one could not be sighted, but had to be found by blindly groping about in the dark confines of the elevator. It was quite funny watching the second group balk, standing in the corridor staring into the dark space where they knew the elevator was. After some encouragement, they took deep breaths, held hands tightly and carefully made their way in feeling with their feet. Pamela's surprised squeal of delight after she kicked the token, and the subsequent sounds of frenzy when everyone groped about to find out where she had kicked it away to, will be etched for some time in my memory, stored under the "Funny Moments archive". Anyway the clue read "Upstairs dead centre is where I am found, pray when you enter I do not plunge to the ground."

Now most people who read this will probably think that I'm a sadistic teacher with no concern whatsoever about safety who played with the lives of my charges. Perhaps. After all, it was never confirmed that all that we experienced and saw the previous day when exploring the ruins was really the actions of pranksters or paid actors so there was still the possibility that the ruins were really haunted, or that an accident could happen in the darkness. Well, I did consider that when placing the tokens in darkness and experiencing for myself the conditions that would challenge the groups. I decided that I would follow a short distance behind, within sight, to observe and watch over the wandering group, providing hints and encouragement when necessary.

Something nearly went wrong with this plan of mine. I missed the last group when they entered the hospital as I had just escorted a group of students from another school (Innova JC, I think)who wanted someone to guide them to the 'chapel' on the top floor. I had walked briskly back to the main entrance (without the aid of a flashlight using only ambient lighting to navigate) but, seeing no one there, walked down to the barbeque pit where the third token was. I almost panicked when I saw no one there. The idea that my kids were wandering without me keeping an eye on them somewhere in there was frightening. I called the others waiting at the starting point and confirmed that they were indeed in the hospital, and dashed right back and started shouting for them.

The first shouted reply came from Guru somewhere in the main block above the dentistry ward. but I could not quite place them. I ran over to the winding stairs on the hillside nearby that led directly to the 'chapel' block and kept shouting for them to reply, intending to pin down their location and run up to meet them. Their replies came only intermittently and from different locations each time. As I stared up at the eerie concrete walls and windows that seemed to be mocking me silently, I had the wild notion that 'something' was now awake and mimicking the voices of my students to lure me back inside to someplace I hadn't yet explored - somewhere evil. The voices began to sound sinister. Haniz called me from the chalet and informed me that they were forming a search party and coming up with flashlights. Half an hour had passed.

Then I saw movement on the second floor. I had been shouting for the 'missing' group to make their way to the elevator on the second floor where the last token was and it appeared that they had finally made their way there. Haniz called again but I reassured her that I had found the group, and ran up to meet them. They were searching on the third floor elevator landing. I called them down, pointed them in the right direction and they swiftly located the last token. Time taken: 35 mins and 4s.

The second, and champion, group won entrance tickets to their choice of either Escape, Wild Wild Wet or Fuji Ice Palace, plus an assortment of snacks and drinks. Everyone else won goodies according to the number of tokens they managed to retrieve. While the two groups that managed to retrieve the tokens from the hospital ruins actually exceeded the time limit (maximum time is 19 mins including time added for retrieving first 4 tokens in order), I decided to reward them for being such good sports and successfully achieving the objective of the activity - to work together to overcome their common fears and obstacles. Hopefully this experience will teach them that no matter how daunting the obstacle appears, courage and cooperation can pull them through.

For those who missed the chalet, I may probably not see you again so here's a quick rundown of some games you should find out about from the others - the very popular Werewolf-vs-Villagers game, the I-love-beetles-but-I-hate-bugs game (which no one has been able to solve yet) and the Black-Magic game (which everyone solved very quickly, congratulations). Play them next time you guys get together!

Hmm, I had quite a bit to say earlier about the second over but I'm quite exhausted so I'll just quietly announce that my last day is 31 Dec. The future looms uncertain, but as I keep saying to concerned colleagues "Hey, I'm not someone that needs to sleep at night with a security blanket. No worries."

Way past bedtime

Okay, that was tiring but I suppose it'll pay off eventually. Managed to retrieve and upload quite a number of my old poems onto this new blogspot thingy. Now I can finally throw away all those scraps of grimy paper I used to scribble on. Haven't written anything for a long while I've quite forgotten what it's like to feel the words flowing through your veins. I wonder when I'll start writing again. And whether I should finally begin on my short stories or stick to poetry. Smsed some closer colleagues whom I hope might be interested in reading some of them but I wonder if they'll get anything out of them obscure and whimsical bits. Sigh. So much for postmodernism - we don't understand anything we do at all.

I'm roughly four hours past my bedtime and cursed with a bio-clock that'll still wake me up somewhat imprecisely before eight - urk. Good thing the kids will handle the whole barbeque and chalet tomorrow; I don't care if they burn all the food - the Changi Village nasi lemak is just a short walk away heh. I still kinda wish there was a female adult to help me chaperone - the parents and kids may trust me but I don't trust them! They may rape me! Especially if they make me play LAN games or PS2. I hope they don't try to get into too much trouble for me to get them out of...

Lullaloola

Sweet, sweet dreams
sweep you up
above the stars
away from cars
and buses
and daytime fusses.
At night, everything's alright.
So go on, switch off the light.
Goodnight.

wingsofdeath

Intermission

Flooding foyer full of food
in yellow styrofoam boxes.
A sea of mouths
chewing
spitting spittle
and words
into a churning white foam that crests
and breaks over you.
GaSp!
gRaB!
GuRgLe!
The tide retreats
leaving on the brown-tiled beach
a wake of grimy salad weeds.

wingsofdeath

Dead Light

Light
swims blindly
through the dust of space
A scorching surging wave
flooding the vast emptiness
in a rabid rush
towards its infinite end.

wingsofdeath

Infatuation

My waking moments
slip away
dreaming of you.

My sleeping moments
stay away
thinking of you.

Like a fog
clouding my mind
lifted only by Sann'shine,
when you beam
a smile or glance my way,
my heart simply melts away.

Speak again, and ease my pain!
Your words on the fire raging within
drizzle down like rain.

wingsofdeath

Alone

Alone
Being alone
Crazy being alone
Going crazy being alone
Going crazy alone
Going crazy
Going
Gone.

wingsofdeath

Hoilun

How sweet the sound
Of your laughing eyes
In the still waters of my mind
Like spangled stars screaming from the skies
Until they hit the surface
Now dancing, alive with waves.

wingsofdeath

We

I just want to be with you
It doesn't matter what we do
where we go
who we are
Coz there's
no 'u', no 'i'
in 'we'.
Just two of you
and one of me.

wingsofdeath

Valentine's Late

Hey dear, before
the magic of this day
fades into the night
I just want to say

to you
three little words
before you sleep...
Goodnight, sleep tight.

And if you find the sheep
jumping over a brown fence,
don't count them,
count these -
look out the window at each gem
sparkling and smiling
for each time I thought
I love you.

I know I should have bought
roses,
chocolates,
a pretty card or two
but I was busy
filling the sky for you.

wingsofdeath

Unspoken

Love is best left unspoken in the heart.
Once it is formed into words, just a part
remains whose purity
is tainted by absence,
robbed by charity.

Don't ask me why
I don't tell you
a million "I love you"s.
You know you're too smart
to fall for that ruse.

wingsofdeath

Stolen

The rain was cold and it pelted my heart
Each drop piercing like a silver steel dart.
But even Noah's storm could never tear
a chasm so deep that every care
hurtles into oblivion, and what's left?
A hungry void. Your cheek. My heart. A theft.

wingsofdeath

The Invigilator's Eye

The stare
of
a hare
Pinned
and
partially eaten.

wingsofdeath

Insomnia

It's late now
Night's staring at me
Sitting on the sill
Only stars for company
My thoughts linger on you
Not good
I can't fall
Asleep.

wingsofdeath

Happy Birthday

Have a wonderful day, year
that's in every way dear.
Every sunray, every day clear
find their way here
into your life to brighten
and always stay near.

wingsofdeath

Grey Day

Even a day
to see you smile
and nothing else
All this while,
all these hells,
let them stay.

wingsofdeath

Are You?

Are you a raindrop
come and gone
for the briefest moment
touching my cheek
then disappearing in the heat?

Are you a rainbow
end to end
for the brightest moment
joining our worlds
then fading with the fall of night?

Are you a sea wave
on my shore
for the warmest moment
tickling my toes
then ebbing with my blood flow?
If you are, please let me know.

wingsofdeath

I Hate

I hate it when we fight
hate it when we say goodnight
hate it when you cry
hate that you don't tell me why.

I hate it when you let me wait
that you take calls on our date
hate it when you're pissed at me
hate it that you don't miss me.

But mostly, i hate it that when things turn bad
I can't forget what we've shared
hate knowing when we're apart
you'll still be breathing in my heart.

wingsofdeath

Not There

Doubt not that I care
for was I not there
when you felt unwell
had a fainting spell
or sat dejected
that night on the stair?

Do I not listen
to all that happens
during your day?
Do I turn away
from all your criticisms
that make my eyes glisten?

I'm not always sensitive,
I don't always read your mind
but I hope you'll forgive
these little faults of mine.

More often than not
I've rushed to your side,
given you all I've got
I've really really tried.

So before you say that I don't care
I hope you'll think again
of all the times when I've been there
and how those words will bring me pain.

wingsofdeath

Slipping Away

I left
while you were away.
My hands were empty.
I used my last breath to pray
that though you were not with me
perhaps it was meant to be
that somehow
you still loved me.
I'm sorry.
I left
loving you.

wingsofdeath

This Time We Say

This may be goodbye
but please don't cry
don't sigh, don't deny
that you and I
shared all we had.
Nothing will die
with this goodbye.

Words cannot say
or speak my dismay.
Can't think, can't pray
just hope one day
my heart will heal
and my tears may
wash the pain away.

wingsofdeath

Please, don't

Don't give us up, please
don't let go.
Don't give up these
you'll miss them so.

You'll miss the poems
You'll miss the songs
Don't give us up
I'll right the wrongs.

You'll miss the kisses
You'll miss the hugs
Don't give us up
I'll squash the bugs.

You'll miss the teasing
You'll miss the tickling
Don't give us up
I'll keep on trying.

What about the laughter and the tears?
Why not forever forget our fears?
Where is together if not right here?
How can I ever make it clear?

wingsofdeath

* Every time I read this, it sounds like lyrics to a song. Perhaps I should write music to this.

Bleeding

Gonna close my eyes and walk away
and never see again.
It only hurts when I try to stay
there's nothing here but pain.

I needed you so much today
I walked out in the rain.
I know I tried to get my way
Couldn't you just catch my train?

Perhaps it was just tonight
I needed more than just a friend
I hoped of everyone you might
hold me till the very end.

I'd never needed so much before
and still you would not give.
And if it really is such a chore
I guess
I'll just drip
Away and leave.

wingsofdeath

Cold Shower

Winter is coming
I feel it in my teeth
the goosebumps on my skin
the hairs standing in my lungs.
I breathe deep
gulps of powdered snow.

Freeze breathe

freeze breathe

freeze breathe

freeze

I drink deep
from the icy river of life.
Above me the pipes swell as if to vomit.

wingsofdeath

D-evil (unfinished)

Is love flowers and cards and sugared words
from the talented tongue of a devilish flirt?
Not a sentence, not a word
but just a slender syllable more
Honest affection
simple and sure
now becomes artful amour.

Open affectation!
Promises of passion
from the fiery bed!
Heathen heaven

SATAN - a shape poem (unfinished)

If you
ask my name
I would say
I am
everywhere
the grass grows
the wind blows
the sun shows
the moon glows
Everyone knows

I am
a vast circle
of iniquity
expanding in every direction
concealed and congealed

*sadly, this blog format doesn't allow me to indulge in futurism. It's supposed to spell S.A.T.A.N. Sigh.

Mirage

My life is an oasis of dust
stretching out before my mind
Dune
after dune
after dune
of dreary dryness.
Nothing stirs
except the memories at my feet
trampled into watery oblivion.
My blistered feet
soak up the corrugated sludge
while I watch
and wait
without wincing.

Tiny tendrils of gangrenous growth
grip my festering flesh and feed
relentlessly reaching upward
devouring voraciously
my dead meat. Soon they will eat
the heart - it does not matter.
The brain is the centre of my pain.
When it ends
it only begins again
Over
and over
and over.
From nothingness to nothingness.
So lies the desert of my mind.

wingsofdeath

Ark

My heart cries to hear you speak
of love and sweetness turned to dust
and shadows rising from the deep -
The past has snatched all, left nought but rust.

You keep your sorrows in a jar
and every night it grows.
My heart is parched to hear you speak
but not a trickle, not letting go.

The jar will burst its walls someday
This river will be dead
waiting for the unpromised flood
the waters will have come too late.

wingsofdeath

D911

The Christmas lights still line the street
but the wintery sparkle has fled our hearts
The city sights that my eyes meet
crumble and start to fall apart.

My gaze falls on a pair of towers
looming large across my mind
Wreathed in flames and writhing with flowers
Till only cold ash left behind.

I stare into the dying flames
the fires of old blaze
like a wave echoing echoing my name
as i walk into the burning grave.

wingsofdeath

Starstruck

My heart's dearest - princess
incandescent and radiant
Splendid in your iridescence
Star of my soul that dims
and renders all else seeming facetitious...
Your solicitous shimmering
like the amatory glance of a lover
illuminates the trajectory of my orbit
As I hurtle forth
into the uncertain gloom.

wingsofdeath

Goodnight

Goodnight, sweetheart.
Be mired
not in the swamps of anxiety
smothered by noxious fumes
of malediction
But frolick instead
in epicurean pastures
where your stern cuirass may
succumb to subliminal onslaughts
of lascivious intent
scouring the depths
of your ineffable mind.

wingsofdeath

Chosen (unfinished)

We are the chosen
of a truncated immortality
Pebbles
of aqueous form
Making monumental ripples
in the river of our unmaking
Each a corpuscle
clear to the eye

Untitled

The sacerdotal fear
not the malefic putrefaction
of a moribund existence
that devours our wills
and our minds
surreptitiously.

wingsofdeath

Fallen

Angelic abomination
of the Anti-I
overflowing with insatiable lies
upon wings of death
and tainted breath
in placcid pursuit
of a heavenly demise.
Die. Die. Die.

wingsofdeath

Desert Dew

Wanting you too much to waste
in a sinful soulful needful embrace
So caressing instead, my gaze
denies my tortured tongue the taste

Of your perfect pristine lips
preserving the promise of paradise
Oh! you make my dreams crystallize
and throw my world into eclipse.

Denied my dreams, all is dark
within - without
that which guides my life
cuts lovingly like a knife
branding on my soul
a perfect little hole
where I drink in the sight of you
the desert's only drop of dew.

wingsofdeath

When We're Both Cats

The sweetest girl ever
to love a kitten
floor by floor
and door to door
Please,
would you adopt this kitty
and her mummy?

Little mind the bundle she bore
Little claws tearing what she wore
Little to imagine once it tore
Her heart revealed
in her eyes
those pools of liquid love
pouring out
soaking the fur
and drenching my soul..
Yet never quite
filling the hole
inside.
Until perhaps
in another life
when we're both cats.

wingsofdeath

Sleepwalker

Somnambulic daze from
Saturday night craze.
Meet my twin
through that door with the silvered glass.
His inebriate gaze lingers
on my incorporeal flesh..

I blink .-.
He disappears.
What if he blinks? I wonder...

It's almost transcendental, isn't it?
A trip beyond the senses before
falling flat on your face.
Ouch?
His cheek turns purplish blue
A rather unhealthy hue
that crawls on his skin.
Now I feel quite sick - he looks worse.

He looks at the floor and I follow -
his shadow begins where mine ends..
a palpable connection.
We both look up at each other
A smile of austere understanding
lights our faces.
Of course.
It's only a dream.

wingsofdeath

Happy Rain

The rain makes music all day
but no one goes out to play.
"It is wet," they say
"It is mad to stray
from my warm woollen blankets
and a dry dry house
I can hear the rain just fine
I can see it coming down."

Put on your bathing suits!
Go outside and splash around!

wingsofdeath

Starless (draft)

A starlit sky now starless
overshadows
a place in darkness lit
by tears from the sky
sHaTtErInG not upon my face
from my memory to efface
but impaling my eyes
Daggers of ice
piercing the portals to my soul
showering shards of sentiment
littering the limbo of being.

They sparkle so.
Those missing stars from the sky
blind me, burn me, bathe me
and dissolve.

Now sightless eyes stare
into pockets of emptiness
discovering the same sad space
that multiverse of loneliness
and in between
Still
Reality and mortality
that heartless moon
crystal cold
and perfectly pale.

wingsofdeath

Untitled

He promised
forever;
She settled for
together.
He promised
to change, to try
She would only sigh,
sometimes cry
while he sat and wondered
why.
Why wHy whY
did she have to cry
did he have to lie
did it have to be goodbye

He watched the light
fade from her eyes
and he knew death
comes to all things -
even flocks of immortal dreams.

wingsofdeath

Butterfly Feet

The last time we meet
Make it be
'neath butterfly feet.
Though our thoughts be
our memories BITTER-sad,
We can at least be glad
We leave smelling sweet.

wingsofdeath

Blog Nicht!

I don't blog. Ha. That is what's called a paradox - a statement that contradicts itself (why do I sound like I'm explaining to my students?) A paradox is often confused with an oxymoron, usually by dumb testosterone-filled male quadropeds or by their younger clueless acne-ridden teenage versions. An oxymoron is a phrase of two words that contradicts itself. A good oxymoron is much harder to come by than a good paradox. A good one I've come across is happily married, but that will be the subject of another blog-nicht.

My last blog post was back in August 2004 (I think) and as I reviewed that smattering of writing, I realised that I only started the blog as a means of finding a way to connect with my students then. Blogging is not in my nature. For the friends who know me, this will seem semi-paradoxical as well. Blogging, to me, is akin to going out to a bar, sitting down next to a stranger and reeling off your personal history and the events of your day, week, whatever. I have no problems speaking to a complete stranger, or even being friendly, or relating personal experiences to help others relax and open up. However I derive no personal gratification or sense of release from that, which I assume (possibly wrongly) is what most bloggers are after.

Why then am I blogging now?? It's obviously not my style. I'm the face-to-face talk kind of person. I love to read body language and subtle vibes and signs and spend exciting waking and sleeping moments deciphering the nuances and possibilities of interpretation. In fact, I'm actually pretty much of an alien to the whole Internet generation, not that I'm incompetent at it - I simply choose to exist outside of its influence as far as possible: I refuse to read email, I surf the Internet only for lesson research (approximately once per school term), I NEVER read blogs and never watch tv (okay, this is irrelevant). Well, God sure pulls a funny sucker punch.

I recently read a blog, or rather, parts of its entirety. I don't know how it happened but a colleague was insisting on showing me her pretty friend's wedding photo, and since she couldn't remember which archive the photo was in we pretty much skimmed through the different months searching for that elusive frame of feminine photogeniality. Rather inadvertently, I read the few scattered poems that littered the blog. They were simple, but honest and true (tautology). Most importantly, I was intrigued. The blogger wrote well (I was informed that she was an English teacher - very elucidating) and I liked what she wrote and the way she wrote - from the heart. I liked that she chose poetry to express herself, that her poetry was unpretentious. Every time we chanced upon a poem on that haphazard search, I asked politely to pause and read. More intrigue. We didn't find the photo but saw quite a few others. The one that left an impression was of the pretty friend in a flowery apron holding up pineapple jam-stained hands.

We postponed the search for another whimsical time and I didn't really think much about it, but the pull of poetry was strong. The following day, I surfed her blog for more poems and just out of curiosity checked out her profile. What she listed as her occupation touched, or rather plucked, a chord in me and the reveberations persist even now. Wonderer. And I, His chosen wanderer and exile. I had appreciated her sense of humour and wordplay before, but this went deeper. It felt like a sign. The first post on her archive was a poem. It was written to another guy but the heartfelt words reached into me and stirred something deep within. A simple rhyming couplet, but so very effective.

I am writing all this now, because if I am unable to be introduced to her in this little window of opportunity that will close soon, and I cannot tell her this face-to-face, I want her to know. I think she's special. I think that God willing, I would like to be the one that holds her heart, and cherish it.