And maps can really point to places
Where life is evil now:
Nanking, Dachau.
-W.H. Auden "Collected Shorter Poems, 1930-1944 (London: Faber and Faber, 1950), "In Time of War", XVI, pp.279-80.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
習慣
又在臨睡前,拿起電話.
有些習慣改不了.
我以為,我到最後有把那構思好的簡訊傳出去.
醒來發現沒有你的答覆時, 還納悶了一下.
原來我在猶豫間,睡著了.
那些對話是夢的對白.
有些人活在地球上太久了, 就算將他移到土星上, 他也不知道.
有些習慣改不了.
我以為,我到最後有把那構思好的簡訊傳出去.
醒來發現沒有你的答覆時, 還納悶了一下.
原來我在猶豫間,睡著了.
那些對話是夢的對白.
有些人活在地球上太久了, 就算將他移到土星上, 他也不知道.
Dizzy up me!
I know it's random, but I had a very long day and a longer week ahead. I'm chilling out to Goo Goo Dolls now and having goosebumps. Why why why hasnt anyone sing me songs likes 'Slide', or 'Iris', 'Name', 'Black Balloon"...??! I would've have followed you home if you did. Not anymore though. I've let the cat out of the bag.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
My Story
The audience held their breath as she steadied herself on the thin wooden plank. They let out a soft cry as her knees jerked, threatening to throw her off balance. With both arms spread out to each side, she bended her knees slightly, regaining balance. Then, she straightened her body, lifted her head and made a 360 degrees flip. Sasha landed with both feet planted firmly on the plank. Instantly, the nerve wrecking silence was broken. The crowd went wild, cheering and whistling and clapping. She grinned widely and took a bow, her sparkling white and blue costume gleaming under the bright neon lights.
Brody cheered for her too though she could not hear him. He was still enthralled despite seeing the same act several times. He could memorize each step, each sequence, and knew that the knee-jerk was just a trick to keep the audience’s adrenaline pumping. That was one of the reasons why Brody loved the circus. Everything was coordinated, every move was planned. The performers rarely fell. They never disappeared. They’d entice you; keep you in suspense, made you believe they were gone; then they’d appear again. How Brody had wished his mother’s suicide was a disappearing act too. How he wished she would stand right up and tell him she was reenacting the stunt they had seen at the circus that night she killed herself. But unlike the circus performers, her soul really disappeared into the night, leaving her lifeless body lying in the arms of her eight year old son.
Brody stood up and made his way out of the tent. He was determined to see Sasha Paladie again, the 23-year-old rising star of Ringler Bros. circus. He wanted to tell her she was still beautiful. Sasha was tall and thin, but she was strong. Brody admired her strength and bravery and secretly wished he had the same courage on the battle front.
Sasha was already leaving when he got to the changing room. She walked in a hurry, clutching the oversize trench coat that draped over her frail body. Brody noticed how she contorted slightly when she walked, as if her bright orange stilettos were causing her great discomfort. He decided to trail her home.
They walked for about a mile until she made a turn into a deserted park. In the middle of the park stood a steel freight container, about 20 metres tall and less than 2 metres wide. The blue paint that once covered the container was peeling and light penetrated through the small patches of rust here and there. Sasha pried open the heavy steel door that let out a creak. Then she turned to Brody and said, “Are you coming in?”
Brody was taken back. He shuffled his feet, causing the dried leaves below them to crackle. “H-How did you I was back…?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I wanted you to be back.”
Brody entered the caravan nervously, visually scanning the interiors of the unique makeshift home. It was the same as before. Sasha had managed to fit in a day bed and a small side table. Under the bed laid a brown leather suitcase that functioned as her closet. Beside her bed was a mini fridge, a cordless boiler and that was it.
“Ouch, damn shoes,” Sasha winced at the blisters on her toes. The size 41 Jimmy Choo leather stilettos had been resoled twice and the heel was worn down unevenly. Although they were polished regularly, a small stubborn spot of grease remained on the left shoe. He had given her the shoes before he was deployed to Iraq. They were the only shoes she had and the sweat-stained indent of her foot in the leather base was proof of her physical and emotional attachment to them.
“I knew you hated them. I’m sorry.” He said.
“So what is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asked.
Brody was sitting awkwardly on her old, dusty day bed. “I… just… wanted to tell you, I still think you’re beautiful… and…”
“…and…?” Sasha was the impatient one, never liked surprise or guesses.
“I finally found out what that word meant,” he said, pointing to the Chinese character tattooed across her back. “Pvt. Chen who had just transferred to our station taught me. It means Loyalty.”
Sasha did not reply. She was always reluctant to tell people what that tattoo meant, just as she never told anyone that she had spent seven years bound in a wheelchair. It was the result of a bad training injury sustained when she was on the national gymnast team. They were just pieces from her past, like a bad movie one should, but never could, forget. What matters is that she’s here now, loyal to her dreams of joining the Cirque de Soleil one day. The dream that her gymnast mother had of her winning the gold medal in the Olympics was over.
The only fluorescent light bulb in the small space flickered as a moth circumnavigated around it. Brody chuckled as he observed the moth.
“You know, I always lie awake on my bunk bed watching that little fellow fluttering around the light bulb above me. Sometimes, it will burn it self and fall dead on me...”
“…I used to think, aren’t we all like that sometimes? Drawn to play with fire when we know it’ll burn us? A lot of pain are self-inflicted I tell you. God up there must be having fun watching us make these stupid mistakes” Brody thought our loud.
“I wanted to come back Sasha. I was tired of firing arms, tired of picking up my dead brothers’ bodies, tired of seeing innocent women and children run when our tanks invaded their homes…”
Sasha did not know what to say. It did not matter anymore. It was too late. At least Brody too, was loyal to something. He was loyal to his country.
“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” Sasha said as she turned off the lights. Brody watched as she closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Beside her laid a newspaper cut out that read-
‘Lance Cpl. Brody J. Johnson, 18, was killed while conducting combat operations against enemy forces in Anbar province…’
* * *
Brody cheered for her too though she could not hear him. He was still enthralled despite seeing the same act several times. He could memorize each step, each sequence, and knew that the knee-jerk was just a trick to keep the audience’s adrenaline pumping. That was one of the reasons why Brody loved the circus. Everything was coordinated, every move was planned. The performers rarely fell. They never disappeared. They’d entice you; keep you in suspense, made you believe they were gone; then they’d appear again. How Brody had wished his mother’s suicide was a disappearing act too. How he wished she would stand right up and tell him she was reenacting the stunt they had seen at the circus that night she killed herself. But unlike the circus performers, her soul really disappeared into the night, leaving her lifeless body lying in the arms of her eight year old son.
Brody stood up and made his way out of the tent. He was determined to see Sasha Paladie again, the 23-year-old rising star of Ringler Bros. circus. He wanted to tell her she was still beautiful. Sasha was tall and thin, but she was strong. Brody admired her strength and bravery and secretly wished he had the same courage on the battle front.
Sasha was already leaving when he got to the changing room. She walked in a hurry, clutching the oversize trench coat that draped over her frail body. Brody noticed how she contorted slightly when she walked, as if her bright orange stilettos were causing her great discomfort. He decided to trail her home.
They walked for about a mile until she made a turn into a deserted park. In the middle of the park stood a steel freight container, about 20 metres tall and less than 2 metres wide. The blue paint that once covered the container was peeling and light penetrated through the small patches of rust here and there. Sasha pried open the heavy steel door that let out a creak. Then she turned to Brody and said, “Are you coming in?”
Brody was taken back. He shuffled his feet, causing the dried leaves below them to crackle. “H-How did you I was back…?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I wanted you to be back.”
Brody entered the caravan nervously, visually scanning the interiors of the unique makeshift home. It was the same as before. Sasha had managed to fit in a day bed and a small side table. Under the bed laid a brown leather suitcase that functioned as her closet. Beside her bed was a mini fridge, a cordless boiler and that was it.
“Ouch, damn shoes,” Sasha winced at the blisters on her toes. The size 41 Jimmy Choo leather stilettos had been resoled twice and the heel was worn down unevenly. Although they were polished regularly, a small stubborn spot of grease remained on the left shoe. He had given her the shoes before he was deployed to Iraq. They were the only shoes she had and the sweat-stained indent of her foot in the leather base was proof of her physical and emotional attachment to them.
“I knew you hated them. I’m sorry.” He said.
“So what is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asked.
Brody was sitting awkwardly on her old, dusty day bed. “I… just… wanted to tell you, I still think you’re beautiful… and…”
“…and…?” Sasha was the impatient one, never liked surprise or guesses.
“I finally found out what that word meant,” he said, pointing to the Chinese character tattooed across her back. “Pvt. Chen who had just transferred to our station taught me. It means Loyalty.”
Sasha did not reply. She was always reluctant to tell people what that tattoo meant, just as she never told anyone that she had spent seven years bound in a wheelchair. It was the result of a bad training injury sustained when she was on the national gymnast team. They were just pieces from her past, like a bad movie one should, but never could, forget. What matters is that she’s here now, loyal to her dreams of joining the Cirque de Soleil one day. The dream that her gymnast mother had of her winning the gold medal in the Olympics was over.
The only fluorescent light bulb in the small space flickered as a moth circumnavigated around it. Brody chuckled as he observed the moth.
“You know, I always lie awake on my bunk bed watching that little fellow fluttering around the light bulb above me. Sometimes, it will burn it self and fall dead on me...”
“…I used to think, aren’t we all like that sometimes? Drawn to play with fire when we know it’ll burn us? A lot of pain are self-inflicted I tell you. God up there must be having fun watching us make these stupid mistakes” Brody thought our loud.
“I wanted to come back Sasha. I was tired of firing arms, tired of picking up my dead brothers’ bodies, tired of seeing innocent women and children run when our tanks invaded their homes…”
Sasha did not know what to say. It did not matter anymore. It was too late. At least Brody too, was loyal to something. He was loyal to his country.
“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” Sasha said as she turned off the lights. Brody watched as she closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Beside her laid a newspaper cut out that read-
‘Lance Cpl. Brody J. Johnson, 18, was killed while conducting combat operations against enemy forces in Anbar province…’
* * *
My Elements
Characters:
1. Brody, 18, Soldier.
Brody is a skilled soldier. He is shy and at night he lies awake and watches the moths circumnavigating the light above him.
2. Sasha, 23, Circus Performer.
Sasha is very tall, thin and strong. She has never told anyone that she spent 7 years of her life in a wheelchair. She refuses to translate the foreign words tattooed across her back.
Location: Frieght Container
A freight container, the kind that can be seen stacked on top of another at a port. Inside the container, light penetrates through small patches of rust here and there. A repetitive thumping noise can be heard in the distance.
Object: Shoe
An orange stillttoe shoe, size 41, once expensive. The shoe has been resoled, and regularly polished. The heel is worn down unevenly and there is sweat-strained indent of a foot in the leather base. There is a small spot of grease on the leather.
1. Brody, 18, Soldier.
Brody is a skilled soldier. He is shy and at night he lies awake and watches the moths circumnavigating the light above him.
2. Sasha, 23, Circus Performer.
Sasha is very tall, thin and strong. She has never told anyone that she spent 7 years of her life in a wheelchair. She refuses to translate the foreign words tattooed across her back.
Location: Frieght Container
A freight container, the kind that can be seen stacked on top of another at a port. Inside the container, light penetrates through small patches of rust here and there. A repetitive thumping noise can be heard in the distance.
Object: Shoe
An orange stillttoe shoe, size 41, once expensive. The shoe has been resoled, and regularly polished. The heel is worn down unevenly and there is sweat-strained indent of a foot in the leather base. There is a small spot of grease on the leather.
Writing Media Text Short Story Assignment
You have randomly chosen four story elements; two characters, one location and one object. You need to go to Blackboard to check the briefs of these elements. You will then construct a short fictional narrative using all four elements. You need to stick to these elements – your teacher has made a note of what you chose. Let the elements speak imaginatively to you.
The situation does not have to be ‘real’, but seek emotional honesty. Avoid cliché. Try to make plot grow out of character, not the other way around. Think about how each character will respond to the other – stories work best with conflict. Sketch your story outline before you begin.
Have a beginning, middle and end.
Make your story between 500 and 1,000 words, but briefer is often better.
Feel free to edit and re-write for as long as you like, and be cognizant of the process that you go through. Your musings and process will make an ideal journal entry.
The situation does not have to be ‘real’, but seek emotional honesty. Avoid cliché. Try to make plot grow out of character, not the other way around. Think about how each character will respond to the other – stories work best with conflict. Sketch your story outline before you begin.
Have a beginning, middle and end.
Make your story between 500 and 1,000 words, but briefer is often better.
Feel free to edit and re-write for as long as you like, and be cognizant of the process that you go through. Your musings and process will make an ideal journal entry.
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