An ultimatum:
Leave your mom, or I'll leave you
no ifs or buts, period.
Based from a true story...period.
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The Secret Corner
6 years ago
Haiku Tuesday #4: Lover's Spat
Based from a true story...period.
Like Father Like Son
When people ask me what I miss about you, my answer varies:
Your hand holding mine, a softball mitt, a rough paw.
The hollow of your neck where body showers always smell better.
You running your fingers slowly through my hair. The most romantic act ever.
Your faith in me: I am a nice person, said you.
I also remember this one moment in the car, when you told me that sometimes, when we fight, you felt like hitting me. And you hated that; both the wanting and the resisting of the act. There's nothing that could be done, you said, voice cracking, I am my father's son.
Your hand holding mine, a softball mitt, a rough paw.
The hollow of your neck where body showers always smell better.
You running your fingers slowly through my hair. The most romantic act ever.
Your faith in me: I am a nice person, said you.
I also remember this one moment in the car, when you told me that sometimes, when we fight, you felt like hitting me. And you hated that; both the wanting and the resisting of the act. There's nothing that could be done, you said, voice cracking, I am my father's son.
Haiku Tuesday #3
(late, sorry! in more ways than one, when it comes to this haiku)
the baby's a girl
just so you know, so one day
you won't sleep with her
Yogilates
She was tiny with big breasts. She wore a tshirt which says Girl Power and they stretched taut across her chest. Her hamstring was the focus of my attention, as was her calves when she demonstrated the frog pose, a fluid act of motion. My thighs burned all the way while she counted to five, I thought of of similar my lungs felt when I came up too long after a dive. We breathed a loud sigh of relief when she dropped to her mat, until she turned to us and said, "Hey what're you guys doing following me? I said NOT YET."
Haiku Tuesday #3: Freewrite
I'm racing with time
two thousand in ten minutes
marathon of words
I try to attempt ten minutes of writing everyday
Haiku Tuesday #2: disarm me with a smile
Love is not a crime(my boyfriend grew up in an abusive childhood. his dad, after a beating, will tell him that he loves him.)
so don't blame him for loving
your skin and your soul
Haiku Tuesday: Run
You'll never know what
the loneliness of a long
distance runner means
This was taken of a short story titled 'the loneliness of a long distance runner' (also a poem by a different author), and written in reference to my boyfriend who feels running is not a 'sport'. I thought of this line continuously during my first attempt of long distance running (21km). There's something very therapeutic about it.
re: exhibit 7: supinate
i was with my parents, and you were working at the shoe store on third floor. I wanted running shoes, my dad wanted running socks. you were just hoping that i didn't recognize you since the shop gave horrible hourly rates and was an attraction for high-school dropouts.
years later, we met again, and this time the both of us wanted a pair of shoes. you had a deep tan and a wolfish smile. we caught up for a full ten minutes in front of 35 shoes on display - all lefties that play either tennis, running, or football. I ran my fingers over them as you explained to me that different shoes have different soles. what these ridges and curves mean.
tonight, with you glasses on and laptop on your lap and the tv is mute i squeeze on the sofa you were stretched on and park my legs on your lap. very slowly you place your laptop to the side, and massage the arch of my right foot. you said i have a high arch. you could tell from years of bringing people their shoes. you said that I supinate, whereas you are bordering over-pronator. running terms that only obsessed runners like me would know.
"say it again," i say, while the rain pit patter outside.
"what?"
"that i have a high arch. and that i supinate."
you gave me that wolfish smile again, your thumb making slow lazy circles on my arch.
"you have a high arch," you say, lifting my foot to your mouth you kiss the spot. "and you supinate."
later, way later, we finally slept.
couch
they've been together 378 days and 12 hours. he lost count on the seconds.
it's funny, he thinks, as they are sprawled across the brown ribbed couch of his brother's, his hand lost in the jungle of her hair. he could practically hear what she thinks whenever she furrows her eyebrows but their kisses are as awkward as ever, like a pair of mormon lovers. their noses bump and their teeth click and movements are startled and jerky. still, it's amazing because it's like they've never really settled, never really crossed that 'institution' level where most couples older than 7 months are called. everyday is still a discovery. he still doesn't know exactly where and what that makes her gasp and go breathless.
but today is different.
Challenge 5 is back on!
I thought I lost my Melbourne photos forever, but since my hard drive resurfaced, CHALLENGE FIVE IS BACK ON. Wait for it. Let's swim together. Hearts you rocket.
random exercise of the day
I just made a huge massive purchase in my entire life yesterday. Not sure if it's sinking in yet.Here is a list I have made of things I'm imagining it could be!- Rocket, on Twitter
- a wedding!
- an apartment in new york city!
- a round the world ticket that I dreamed of last night!
- a pole dancer who is also a stripper and charges double!
- a farm of your own with orchard and livestock!
- your own jumbo jet!
- an island!
- bisexuality!
- all the channels on Astro, forever!
- a submarine!
- (submarine, sinking in, get it?)
challenge 6.
(since I already kind of did it)
rocket! find a video, any video. preferably one taken by you or someone in your life. go through the frames and pause at one. preferably slightly after the halfway mark, but not important. take a screencap. insert and write about it. doesn't have to be related.
rocket! find a video, any video. preferably one taken by you or someone in your life. go through the frames and pause at one. preferably slightly after the halfway mark, but not important. take a screencap. insert and write about it. doesn't have to be related.
Challenge 5
Dizzy Li,
I don't need to hear about who what where.
The city you are in is a living breathing art form.
Respond, in any form (except for #4), about:
1) one particular shop that caught your attention
2) the shape of a dish/meal and the mood it represents
3) sidewalks
4) anything you want, in a single picture.
I don't need to hear about who what where.
The city you are in is a living breathing art form.
Respond, in any form (except for #4), about:
1) one particular shop that caught your attention
2) the shape of a dish/meal and the mood it represents
3) sidewalks
4) anything you want, in a single picture.
The aftermath of the party:
It is a promise, she assured me, tucked inside her rainbow colored sleeping bag, a cocoon of contentedness and dignity, like last night's party where everybody skinny dipped in the pool, and the fireworks Chase brought leaped out from the bushes like secret surprises, where her reaction to the chaotic madness was nothing but calm - but not during midnight, our first kiss, her nuclear reaction to it, the heat from our bodies, no dialogue needed.
exhibit 9
"This is my youngest on the swing and she is in intense concentration trying to go as high as she can"
dear model-inspired-by-vargas #3
if I didn't turn your next page
I would free-fall into the sea;
death was the smallest frame for my picture
of how nervous I was around you.
I guess little things have happened since.
When the cliffs discovered sinking,
I decided to label it falling in love
it felt faster, had a kick to it
and riding that high; 62,342 photos of you in
the sweetest almost to my nothing
revealing all your shutter speeds
I arched my back, and for a moment we were still
together. and then not. la petit mort.
and the rush of playing dead with you.
but who else was on that cliff? my classmates? neighbours? are you
arching your back in jail cells? were you ever ripped apart
by angry mothers, and the only cure you deserved
was some leftover cellophane tape?
we never made it to the sea. Our horizon took
a wrong turn and expired at the feet of real woman #1
she had more than a moan
she had laughter
I would free-fall into the sea;
death was the smallest frame for my picture
of how nervous I was around you.
I guess little things have happened since.
When the cliffs discovered sinking,
I decided to label it falling in love
it felt faster, had a kick to it
and riding that high; 62,342 photos of you in
the sweetest almost to my nothing
revealing all your shutter speeds
I arched my back, and for a moment we were still
together. and then not. la petit mort.
and the rush of playing dead with you.
but who else was on that cliff? my classmates? neighbours? are you
arching your back in jail cells? were you ever ripped apart
by angry mothers, and the only cure you deserved
was some leftover cellophane tape?
we never made it to the sea. Our horizon took
a wrong turn and expired at the feet of real woman #1
she had more than a moan
she had laughter
she cries her life is like some movies in black and white
Dear dizzy,
you are sad.
I used to know someone who is sad. She was a huge inspiration to me. She told us during field hockey practice of the time when her father came home drunk and her mom yelled at her and her sister to, "close the doors! The sliding doors!" and as yer younger sister, then 6, was locking the sliding door, their father banged his fist against it so hard the glass knocked her sister smack on the face and she fell backwards, headfirst.
I remember when we were at Alia's grandma's house in Singapore, you said that you had to grow up really fast because you found your mom crying on her bed in her room. I grew up with all the subscribed package of a typical spoiled adolescent. I thought my parents were nerds.
you had to watch your mother cry.
That was the first admission of a history you went through that I could not imagine. You were always one big fireball of fun. You have the widest, biggest smile. Your 60 miles per second chatter reflects someone who wakes up bathed by the sunshine.
but it's ok-
you don't have to be ok all the time.
strength is only beautiful when it is marred by sorrow.
even if this breaks you.
because you are stronger than anything.
from your biggest fan and number one reader,
rocket
"One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful."
— Sigmund Freud
you are sad.
I used to know someone who is sad. She was a huge inspiration to me. She told us during field hockey practice of the time when her father came home drunk and her mom yelled at her and her sister to, "close the doors! The sliding doors!" and as yer younger sister, then 6, was locking the sliding door, their father banged his fist against it so hard the glass knocked her sister smack on the face and she fell backwards, headfirst.
I remember when we were at Alia's grandma's house in Singapore, you said that you had to grow up really fast because you found your mom crying on her bed in her room. I grew up with all the subscribed package of a typical spoiled adolescent. I thought my parents were nerds.
you had to watch your mother cry.
That was the first admission of a history you went through that I could not imagine. You were always one big fireball of fun. You have the widest, biggest smile. Your 60 miles per second chatter reflects someone who wakes up bathed by the sunshine.
but it's ok-
you don't have to be ok all the time.
strength is only beautiful when it is marred by sorrow.
even if this breaks you.
because you are stronger than anything.
from your biggest fan and number one reader,
rocket
"One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful."
— Sigmund Freud
living space.
the end of something ugly is the start of something beautiful.
my ex boyfriend left me for someone with money. we both cried in the bathroom when he came over to say goodbye. and picked up his things. like his clarinese and the actifast pills that helped him sleep. he wrapped the ends of my hair around his fingers when we hugged goodbye, teasing me, making me feel sad.
i watched snoopy on the television after he left. I burned his pillows; they still smell of his skin. he called from the car, on the way to her house. i hope you'll always remember me, said he, like a cheesy advertisement.
the new guy came three days after i put the rent notice up. he had boxes of things, like racecars and martial arts paraphernalia. he had hairy toes. and his hipbones poked out hello to me as I stared at them, feeling nervous because he was so cute and I was just sorry and sad. he asked me if I wanted dinner, because he got some pizzas in the box.
we ate pizza in the small kitchen. the apartment now smelled of the new guy.
my ex boyfriend left me for someone with money. we both cried in the bathroom when he came over to say goodbye. and picked up his things. like his clarinese and the actifast pills that helped him sleep. he wrapped the ends of my hair around his fingers when we hugged goodbye, teasing me, making me feel sad.
i watched snoopy on the television after he left. I burned his pillows; they still smell of his skin. he called from the car, on the way to her house. i hope you'll always remember me, said he, like a cheesy advertisement.
the new guy came three days after i put the rent notice up. he had boxes of things, like racecars and martial arts paraphernalia. he had hairy toes. and his hipbones poked out hello to me as I stared at them, feeling nervous because he was so cute and I was just sorry and sad. he asked me if I wanted dinner, because he got some pizzas in the box.
we ate pizza in the small kitchen. the apartment now smelled of the new guy.
Re: Challenge 4 - Like Flying
I went through my dream of flying only to you.
We'd be on our backs looking up at the white blue sky. I said, "Just imagine the freedom you feel. Swooshing across nothing." My hand made a silent arc from left to right. You said looking at the sky only made you think of planes and airstrikes and blood. When I first saw you you had that derogatory No WAR!! sticker on your laptop. You sat next to me in class and I could smell weed sweating off you it was a wonder why you weren't stopped. You saw me looking - staring - and you snapped, "What the fuck?"
When they weighed me, I really didn't think of anything. A group of boisterous Chinese laughed and hollered merrily, high from their very own courageous act. I was trying to find my inner calm, so I fingerspelled words - any words - that came to mind, a habit of mine so random that I didn't even think of mentioning it to anyone. I didn't think you knew either.
The guys went ahead to strap my ankles. The foam made my legs feel stuffy, and they looked like sausages. I've never been anything but honest to myself and you in our relationship. It was far from perfect. I knew you had flaws, so did I. You were rude, and you were a racist. A classic bigot I would love to hate. I had unstable moodswings. But when we had those simple moments together just talking on the playground slide I truly felt that we could make it work.
I hopped into the crane. The guy manning it was stocky and darkly tanned. "Are you scared?" he asked me with a very thick slang of something I couldn't quite recognize. I nodded. He nodded back at me. "Fear is good." Your hands on mine on the gear. "Fear is good. That's the whole point of doing this. Knowing where that fear stands, and knowing you actually beat those motherfuckers afterwards." And then looking goofy you gave me a kiss in that cramped flying simulator space, our pilot goggles going steamy.
When we arrived to the top the crane groaned. The whole place looked tiny. I could hear you saying, "There's nothing more beautiful than seeing the whole world from above. I now know why God is always up there. Doesn't make sense to be looking up on people's asses does it?"
The guy looked at me, "Are you ready?" I was thinking, I miss you.
"One, two, " he counted, "JUMP."
I did.
The feeling, was like nothing else. My heart went straight to my collarbone like a hard punch, the spot on the collarbone where you always liked to drop a kiss. And after a while I felt myself being tugged back up, and that hammering on my chest disappeared - the right word would be dissolved actually - like a shadow afraid of the sun. The whole world spun and danced around me and when I opened my eyes your laughter was all I could hear.
You told me the best part was before the landing. Regardless whether you win or lose, there would always be that feeling of glory before the descent. "Fear is the whole point," you said, "because in the end you've conquered it."
20 feet above the water, upside down and shivering, I was trying to gauge whether this feeling of madness euphoria mixed with unbearable sadness was at par to your glory. Your thirst for winning had made me the biggest loser - you left me mourning for your presence every single moment. I had sleepwalked my life from that day you jumped; but you once made me promise that I would go through my dream of flying one day. I understand now what you meant. Those stories you told me.
Note: Diz, I am unable to not use past tense for the word dissolve... so that's 5/6!!
We'd be on our backs looking up at the white blue sky. I said, "Just imagine the freedom you feel. Swooshing across nothing." My hand made a silent arc from left to right. You said looking at the sky only made you think of planes and airstrikes and blood. When I first saw you you had that derogatory No WAR!! sticker on your laptop. You sat next to me in class and I could smell weed sweating off you it was a wonder why you weren't stopped. You saw me looking - staring - and you snapped, "What the fuck?"
When they weighed me, I really didn't think of anything. A group of boisterous Chinese laughed and hollered merrily, high from their very own courageous act. I was trying to find my inner calm, so I fingerspelled words - any words - that came to mind, a habit of mine so random that I didn't even think of mentioning it to anyone. I didn't think you knew either.
The guys went ahead to strap my ankles. The foam made my legs feel stuffy, and they looked like sausages. I've never been anything but honest to myself and you in our relationship. It was far from perfect. I knew you had flaws, so did I. You were rude, and you were a racist. A classic bigot I would love to hate. I had unstable moodswings. But when we had those simple moments together just talking on the playground slide I truly felt that we could make it work.
I hopped into the crane. The guy manning it was stocky and darkly tanned. "Are you scared?" he asked me with a very thick slang of something I couldn't quite recognize. I nodded. He nodded back at me. "Fear is good." Your hands on mine on the gear. "Fear is good. That's the whole point of doing this. Knowing where that fear stands, and knowing you actually beat those motherfuckers afterwards." And then looking goofy you gave me a kiss in that cramped flying simulator space, our pilot goggles going steamy.
When we arrived to the top the crane groaned. The whole place looked tiny. I could hear you saying, "There's nothing more beautiful than seeing the whole world from above. I now know why God is always up there. Doesn't make sense to be looking up on people's asses does it?"
The guy looked at me, "Are you ready?" I was thinking, I miss you.
"One, two, " he counted, "JUMP."
I did.
The feeling, was like nothing else. My heart went straight to my collarbone like a hard punch, the spot on the collarbone where you always liked to drop a kiss. And after a while I felt myself being tugged back up, and that hammering on my chest disappeared - the right word would be dissolved actually - like a shadow afraid of the sun. The whole world spun and danced around me and when I opened my eyes your laughter was all I could hear.
You told me the best part was before the landing. Regardless whether you win or lose, there would always be that feeling of glory before the descent. "Fear is the whole point," you said, "because in the end you've conquered it."
20 feet above the water, upside down and shivering, I was trying to gauge whether this feeling of madness euphoria mixed with unbearable sadness was at par to your glory. Your thirst for winning had made me the biggest loser - you left me mourning for your presence every single moment. I had sleepwalked my life from that day you jumped; but you once made me promise that I would go through my dream of flying one day. I understand now what you meant. Those stories you told me.
Note: Diz, I am unable to not use past tense for the word dissolve... so that's 5/6!!
re: Challenge 3.3
last one. the theme seemed to be headed to seedy sex, so I kind of face that in this final one. Sorry I didn't snap the first things I saw. I've been seeing them for days, and being at home is getting old.
Challenge 3
Snap the first three things/people you see. Write a story about them - a lonely toothbrush finding love with the elusive toothpaste, your cat dreaming of running a marathon in her sleep, your boyfriend when he laughs out loud.
Anything. But three.
Anything. But three.
Re: Exhibit 2 - You Give Me The Kind of Feelings People Write Novels About -
And if you were Romantic Classics and I was Thriller slash Mystery, then together we would be General Fiction.
There is nothing special about us. We both struggle for money, and for a place in this world, and we struggle to restrain ourselves from anger outbursts or overspending and too much of coffee. Our togetherness is common, ordinary, burgers by the roadside and checking out girls. Our respect is mutual, as our dislike for rude people, as our passion for gesturing while talking, or toddlers in squeaky shoes.
Our love is General Fiction. And we are overeager lieutenants exploring the bookshelves, combing through pages in search of extra ordinary common love mementos.
There is nothing special about us. We both struggle for money, and for a place in this world, and we struggle to restrain ourselves from anger outbursts or overspending and too much of coffee. Our togetherness is common, ordinary, burgers by the roadside and checking out girls. Our respect is mutual, as our dislike for rude people, as our passion for gesturing while talking, or toddlers in squeaky shoes.
Our love is General Fiction. And we are overeager lieutenants exploring the bookshelves, combing through pages in search of extra ordinary common love mementos.
Re: Exhibit 5 - The Cities We Are In
(exhibit 5)
I am smiling and so are you.
When we met, I was a doodler drawing things at whim. You had on a pair of Converse. Our instant attraction was electrified by the fireworks in the background. Your crazy drunk friend puked on our shoes as we talked, face-to-face and at a distance, as if enjoying the current pulsating between us.
We made love in the car parked beside a lonely streetlight.
In bed, before we sleep, our conversations magnified the very souls of ourselves. You would curl my hair around your fingers, burying your face into them like a pile of fresh laundry or new clothes or a dog slobbering. You love my hair up, hair down, hair wet, in a frizz, curled in a bun, curled around your face, curled around our cats. In return I would curl up inside you - spooning - spooning, swooning, swooning... into a peaceful slumber.
Our fights are as fiery as the fireworks (the night we met). You shout - because you hardly voice out - and I smash things and purses, and hands (on the dashboard) and then sob uncontrollably. We would end the fight in a resigned state -
We make love in the car parked beside a lonely streetlight.
I am smiling and you are smiling.
We are so far from each other.
It is cold where I am, foreign, and smells weird. At night I smoke by the window, looking down at miniature people buying miniature papers and hauling miniature groceries on their miniature bicycles. My German is getting better -
Ich bin einsam ohne dich
I am smiling and so are you.
When we met, I was a doodler drawing things at whim. You had on a pair of Converse. Our instant attraction was electrified by the fireworks in the background. Your crazy drunk friend puked on our shoes as we talked, face-to-face and at a distance, as if enjoying the current pulsating between us.
We made love in the car parked beside a lonely streetlight.
In bed, before we sleep, our conversations magnified the very souls of ourselves. You would curl my hair around your fingers, burying your face into them like a pile of fresh laundry or new clothes or a dog slobbering. You love my hair up, hair down, hair wet, in a frizz, curled in a bun, curled around your face, curled around our cats. In return I would curl up inside you - spooning - spooning, swooning, swooning... into a peaceful slumber.
Our fights are as fiery as the fireworks (the night we met). You shout - because you hardly voice out - and I smash things and purses, and hands (on the dashboard) and then sob uncontrollably. We would end the fight in a resigned state -
We make love in the car parked beside a lonely streetlight.
I am smiling and you are smiling.
We are so far from each other.
It is cold where I am, foreign, and smells weird. At night I smoke by the window, looking down at miniature people buying miniature papers and hauling miniature groceries on their miniature bicycles. My German is getting better -
Ich bin einsam ohne dich
we end up in the bookstore
Fiction, mystery, thriller, romance, classics, non-fiction. We’ve chased each other for hours now through the mall. Sometimes I catch up to you, touch your hair from behind, grab you by the waist, sit down together at the food court, wait for you against the wall outside the restrooms. We uncap body wash bottles and smell them in stores, but never deodorants.
I am over six foot and you are not, so I have the advantage. It also means I can give you chances, because sometimes I do see you and decide to let the crowd cover you up again. And, sometimes, you appear out of nowhere to investigate my palm with your fingers. It’s different every time, like a crossword puzzle. The ending is always the same; boxes filled with letters. We end up in the bookstore.
Alleys' worth of shelves stretch to the ceiling, the floor muted for stealth, and quiet except for an orchestra living in the speakers. Our favourite place to hide, even forget each other, until you find something so amazing you cry out for me. But until then,
I live off the glimpses of your hair through a row of books. Your eyelashes. Or our hands reaching out, brushing briefly as we move in opposite directions. We make fun of the Mills & Boon covers, run our fingers over scientific illustrations. I do my homework and study your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, help you to reach for books that are too high for you. I know your looks of indifference to books you would never even consider to touch, how your eyes change when you find a title you love, and my favourite; the transitioning look from curious to approval. That look makes me wonder how our story would fit on these shelves.
Which genre would it be? Which typeset for the pages? Would it come with visual aids? Will it find home in the New York Times, or the 3 for 1 pile? Would it even be? Because honestly, I would never write a novel about you. The characters need to be complete, the story riveting to millions. And more and more, everytime I find you, I feel like we’re just getting started. Fiction, mystery, thriller, romance, classics, non-fiction. In me, you spark them all.
We end up in the bookstore.
I am over six foot and you are not, so I have the advantage. It also means I can give you chances, because sometimes I do see you and decide to let the crowd cover you up again. And, sometimes, you appear out of nowhere to investigate my palm with your fingers. It’s different every time, like a crossword puzzle. The ending is always the same; boxes filled with letters. We end up in the bookstore.
Alleys' worth of shelves stretch to the ceiling, the floor muted for stealth, and quiet except for an orchestra living in the speakers. Our favourite place to hide, even forget each other, until you find something so amazing you cry out for me. But until then,
I live off the glimpses of your hair through a row of books. Your eyelashes. Or our hands reaching out, brushing briefly as we move in opposite directions. We make fun of the Mills & Boon covers, run our fingers over scientific illustrations. I do my homework and study your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, help you to reach for books that are too high for you. I know your looks of indifference to books you would never even consider to touch, how your eyes change when you find a title you love, and my favourite; the transitioning look from curious to approval. That look makes me wonder how our story would fit on these shelves.
Which genre would it be? Which typeset for the pages? Would it come with visual aids? Will it find home in the New York Times, or the 3 for 1 pile? Would it even be? Because honestly, I would never write a novel about you. The characters need to be complete, the story riveting to millions. And more and more, everytime I find you, I feel like we’re just getting started. Fiction, mystery, thriller, romance, classics, non-fiction. In me, you spark them all.
We end up in the bookstore.
Re Exhibit 4: Summer in The Tents.
I’m starting to get nervous.
You’re doing it again, giving me that look of yours. 7 years of pulling myself back together. And you just know where to knock and rattle my cage.
“We used to travel together,” I say when my boyfriend asks about the picture. “I think he’s teaching music somewhere in Singapore.” In the picture I looked like a washed out hippie and you had a scruffy beard. We both smelled of rain, gutter and sidewalk from all the nights sleeping at train stations. I look at that picture and practically could feel the grime underneath my shirt.
I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes thinking about you. My boyfriend sleeps peacefully beside me, his body brown and beautiful. His hair is cut closely cropped to his head, whereas yours springs wildly like a brushfire. I take my time in those nights to look out the window and pretend that we are looking at the same sky. I don’t know why I do that since I never did when we were together.
I do remember, one night in Venice, when we slept underneath the stars because the tent was too stuffy. You checked if I was awake, so I willed my eyes to not twitch or move. “Hey,” you nudged me, whispering. And then after a pause, “I love you.”
You said you loved me. The next day, we took out the tent and I gave you a moony smile to which you said, “What? Are you okay?” I never let in that I heard what you said. I wanted it to be a secret. We had an open relationship but your heart was mine, all mine to keep. That knowledge alone soared me to the highest level possible. I was in love with you all throughout Italy. In the middle of a busy street you’d turn to give me a smile and I said to myself, Yes, I love you too.
It never mattered to me that you didn’t say it out loud.
Response to Challenge 1: Heroes
Challenge 1:
I had my camera ready. And I always enjoy people watching. They were contenders: the kid in red shorts, my colleague at work pushing a trolley, a lanky teenaged boy in white t-shirt and Fall Out Boy hairstyle.
But I feel compelled - his excitement over the parade of electronic equipments was amusing. How he has fallen into the trap of display marketing; his eyes going glassy and wide over the arrays of items on the shelves. Both his hands curled into fists whenever he found something he likes. He was like Hiro yelling Yataaaaaaaaa in New York City. Finally he bought a 10 ringgit Casio wristwatch.
That person is my boyfriend. To be honest, this was a new side of him, making him a stranger, thus making this entry valid.
I had my camera ready. And I always enjoy people watching. They were contenders: the kid in red shorts, my colleague at work pushing a trolley, a lanky teenaged boy in white t-shirt and Fall Out Boy hairstyle.
But I feel compelled - his excitement over the parade of electronic equipments was amusing. How he has fallen into the trap of display marketing; his eyes going glassy and wide over the arrays of items on the shelves. Both his hands curled into fists whenever he found something he likes. He was like Hiro yelling Yataaaaaaaaa in New York City. Finally he bought a 10 ringgit Casio wristwatch.
That person is my boyfriend. To be honest, this was a new side of him, making him a stranger, thus making this entry valid.
Challenge 1.
Rocket has to go grocery shopping right after viewing this spanking new site. Respond about one person you saw there.
Memorandum
challenges
directed from one to the other. tagged with "challenge"
exhibits / references
tagged "exhibits / references", can be any form of media, link to source
response
maybe a zine someday?
fill in anything I'm missing okay :)
directed from one to the other. tagged with "challenge"
exhibits / references
tagged "exhibits / references", can be any form of media, link to source
response
- if responding to exhibit, put at end or beginning re: exhibit 1
- unless stated, medium of response is open (video, poetry, prose, photo, drawing)
- unlimited number of exhibits/challenges per response
- unlimited number of responses per exhibit/challenges
maybe a zine someday?
fill in anything I'm missing okay :)
Giving it a Microphone Testing
Hello, hello. One two three. *taps*
I say it is about time. We've always been each other biggest fans, and ideas and inspirations somehow peel off from the both of us and combine to create something unique and different. She has a fan base, whereas I tend to stay in the background. She does excellent poetry, while I am focused on prose. Her inspirations are as diverse as her talents, I get off on human interactions and feelings. But: we both are very snap happy.
I say it is about time. We've always been each other biggest fans, and ideas and inspirations somehow peel off from the both of us and combine to create something unique and different. She has a fan base, whereas I tend to stay in the background. She does excellent poetry, while I am focused on prose. Her inspirations are as diverse as her talents, I get off on human interactions and feelings. But: we both are very snap happy.
how does it look?
I wanted to use yellow. I just wanted to make the layout before I had no time to. I've tested everything on Mac, but I have no idea how it looks like in Windows. This is how it looks like in Mac.
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