44 posts tagged “writing”

I witnessed an atrocity on the way to school today. I was feeling kind of weak, paranoid and vulnerable, kind of lost in thought (I usually feel this way the day after I cut sensitive areas), when I heard a loud group of crows ahead of me. I often hear crows on the way to school, there is a group of them around here, but today it was especially loud. I continued to walk toward school, and when I reached the crows, I saw a pigeon fall out of the sky and land on the grass beside me, injured and struggling, followed by the manic crows. They were all attacking the pigeon and grey feathers were everywhere. I stopped and watched for a while, but I couldn't really do much about it. I continued on my way after the pigeon died and other students noticed.

I suspected that I was anemic so I tested my skin with my mother's gold wedding band. The black lines that appeared were much more distinct than the lines I remember seeing when I was put on iron pills in high school. I am guessing that is a bad thing. Whatever, I am not taking iron again. I hardly ever have the opportunity to eat meat, it's not really part of my diet, I get my protein from eggs and seafood. Fuck iron.

I have my first piano lesson tomorrow, looking forward to playing some songs. The first draft of my research paper is due on Saturday, so I need to focus. I have been having trouble with that lately. Too much procrastination.

All those who have left,
have left,
white sun,
high at noon,
the bell rings,
warming my body,
my ashy skin,
and I'm not sure,
if we will meet again.

Red lines, black lines
White drop back drop
Take a picture, this moment lasts forever.
In the security of night, I have nothing to fear,
Hold me close, my dear,
Your body allows me
To leave this city,
You aren’t really here.
Carefully you
Take everything I contain,
Swallowing,
I refrain from saying
No,
You aren’t allowed to do so.
Sorry I
never shut up.
19:06

Two quotes from Polish-born American author, Isaac Bashevis Singer:

When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer.

A good writer is basically a story teller, not a scholar or a redeemer of mankind.

Today we spoke about autobiography as truth in my comparative literature comics class. A lot of the power that autobiographies (and memoirs, for that matter) have is based in the reality and honesty the genre promises. The reader trusts the author to tell the truth, his personal experience, his story. But perhaps autobiography is closer to fiction than we might expect.

It is completely up to the writer's discretion to decide what is worth retelling. And besides the glossing over and remolding of facts (as well as simply lying), to fit something as abstract as life into some sort of literary model, with a beginning, middle, and end is already distorting the truth, isn't it? Taking random, fragmented events in life and putting them into some sort of meaningful, organised form or narrative, isn't that a type of trickery? An illusion? A type of lie? And having one person's perspective on a lifetime of events, isn't that a bit limiting and unfair? Yes it is! And I think it's wonderful.

Fiction on the other hand, is the opposite. You have a story that never happened, people who don't exist, and an attempt to make the events seem as real and probable as possible. It's the reverse strategy. I'm not very good at it.

I met up with Ryu today after school for coffee. He says he "always wants to be with" me. He asked me if I would accept that, I said alright, sure. He's kinda cute, a typical, private, all-boys' school guy (middle and high school in his case) and studies international peace and conflict resolution. His English is pretty good-o, and-o he wants to hang out tomorrow.

Where are you?
A deep grey blue,
A heavy mood in the late afternoon,
Gloom enters my room,
Seeps through the blinds,
Clear lines,
A sort of bright, artificial night,
Darkness in the light,
Into a thick, cloudy white,
I disappear,
Under this cover,
Until sun sets,
The color of blood
I begin to see
An orange glow
Burning in the window.
Where are you?

October 21, 2009

I asked him if I could change my shirt, I didn’t want to wear the buttoned one any longer.

Yes, but do it here.

I was sitting in the dark, in the living room. He had a few lamps on, a tall white candle inside of thick glass was lit, and the curtains closed over the windows, tied together to prevent any vision in or out of the house. I always felt like we were at some sort of ceremony. Wine glasses waited to be filled on the coffee table, and he was looking for the bottle opener.  I took my softer shirt out of my bag and started to unbutton. At the cue of my silence he entered the room with the bottle in hand, Wait, I want to watch you.

I nearly changed my mind, but tried to ignore him. I pulled at the end of the sleeves and took the shirt off slowly, being watched, one sleeve at a time, off my shoulders, and folded it away. I slipped my arms into the second shirt and bent my head down, eyes closed, to put it through the neck opening, struggling with nervousness. He sat next to me and set the bottle down on the table.

I sat back and he pulled me closer, his hands around my waist. I resisted and when I tried to pull his hands off I felt them tighten around me, holding me in place. I stopped and glanced back at him, Let me pour the wine. He let go, with a look of reluctance on his face.

I poured his glass first then mine. I lifted my glass up and said cheers, but he just sat watching me. He didn’t lift his glass up but replied, Cheers, as if granting me permission. I took the first sip alone, eagerly.

“Still so dependent, aren’t you?” He said, “I can furnish your pathetic needs better if you ask.”

“I’m not desperate, I just haven’t had a drink in a long time. Can’t you just enjoy it with me without passing judgment and making commentary?”

“If I don’t, who will?”

I took another drink and refilled the glass. “It’s unnecessary. I am accountable for myself.”

“Are you saying you can get high on your own, or something? You have your means?” He laughed.

“No I don’t need to get high.”

“Good for you! I’m glad. Let me see your arms.”

I was holding the glass with my right hand and he reached for my left wrist. “Fuck off already. Let me be.” I brushed him away.

He stopped trying. He stood up and hit the side of my head with his palm as he walked to another room, leaving me alone with the wine. Don’t use that word around me. I filled my glass again, silent, suppressing the anger.

He came back with a hand mirror and produced a bag of cocaine from his pocket. He took a sip of his wine and opened the small bag, then looked toward me.

“Don’t act so disinterested.”

He made four lines with the powder then offered it to me, Ladies first.

I set my glass down and took the first line slowly, then half of the second. I handed him the mirror and took another drink of wine. He finished the rest of the powder himself then went to get a glass of water. When he returned he stood watching me.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink?”

“Can I finish the bottle?”

“You can have two more sips.”

I drank what remained in two big gulps.

“You think you’re smart don’t you? Clever girl, aren’t you?”

He approached me, Not such a smart move, he said. He pulled my hair, pulled it to the top of my head. Now, let me see your beautiful face. He continued to pull it and I tried to stay in place, I crushed my eyelids together. Tie it up, high up. In the middle of tying a pony-tail, he pushed me down into the couch, and then pulled my hair again, tying it very tight, my neck cracked.

He held my wrists together; I couldn’t move them at all. His other hand was in my shirt, pressing down on my stomach. He asked me how old I was.

I struggled. Twenty.

He was silent for a few seconds. I asked, how old are you?

I looked at his eyes, he was glaring, waiting, then I understood.

Fourteen, I whispered. I’m fourteen years old.

He stopped pressing, That’s what I thought. Don’t, don’t lie to me again.

He pulled my shirt off then held my wrists together again. He saw some scabs on my outer arms and stared disapprovingly. Is this what you were hiding? He kissed the cuts. You shouldn’t resist when I ask to see them, I’m trying to help you. Secrets aren’t healthy. We can’t keep secrets from each other, okay?

I nodded. He released my arms and kissed me. I kept my mouth closed. He insisted. He kissed my neck then started to bite me, it began to be painful, and the more I pulled away, the more it hurt. I relaxed. He stopped. He made me stand up.

I pressed the center of my body against his, and spoke into his neck, Please, I can’t stand it anymore, I want you, please. He humored me for a moment, laughed, breathed into my neck, then pushed me away, I fell to my knees.

I know what you are trying to do. You think I am some idiot you can manipulate? Do you see the situation you’re in? Don’t you understand that I can have you whenever I want?

October 24, 2009 19:07

Dialogue

My stomach is gasping for air, I feel the pills fry my insides, sizzling. My head is a bowling ball and I can hardly lift it up. My neck is ancient, cracking with the slightest movement. Shivers are constantly shaking my spine and I feel amazing. Methamphetamine rushes through my every vein.

I touch myself all over; my hair is silky smooth, my eyes wide open, I’m only aware of myself, my body, lost in ecstasy. Hot blood, my heart races. I’m freezing, and my face is...

Warm to the touch, oh god my skin is so soft, I said, like silk. And I need only me, only me, this body, only.

It’s the worst and best sensation. It’s like death, cold and void, I’m suddenly a skeleton. I press and feel every bone, every one. Snap me in half! Snap me out of it!

Oh but it’s wonderful isn’t it, I never want this to end, I’m shaking, I’m smiling.

I can hear my body beg, please, please, Stop!

But, Fuck……..

YOOOOOOOOUUUUU, release me!

Me, Me, Me.

It’s what

I

Want

to

do.

I want to do, I want to. Why can’t you let me do what I WANT?

Don’t you understand?

I feel so good. What’s the matter? You cannot understand this broken SOUL. You can’t let go. You stay closed, stay close, suffocating me. I hate you, I hate you. YES I AM TALKING TO YOU. There is NO COAL LEFT TO SELL. YOU COULD BE LEAVING THE REST.

Now, relax. We can be civil. RELAX. SHUT UP. Okay, I’m fine. Alright, we’re good, calm… down, down. I love you, you feel so good. Stay with me.

I will always be inside of you. I always want to be inside of you.

Did you lead me astray? You started a fire that still burns. Lay back, close your eyes, I peeked and saw only you. I don’t remember your face, finally becoming conscious of myself, in your embrace.

Your hands on my skin, I didn’t say a word, I stared silently, like a helpless baby bird. Mouth wide open, feed me your worms! Seal each lesson, no questions, I would lie here forever, my god! She was not unlike a constellation of stars, unreachable, twinkling so far, catching my eyes, I was hypnotised.

You created me, my name, I learned, you destroyed my identity, soaked in flames!

And where are you now?

What have we become?

What have I done?

Don’t forget, that snowy night. You walked into the house with your shoes on, open-toed and pointy heels. I lay in your room, which was loaded with your clothes, lining the walls, my soft nest. I lay in a daze, you entered without warning. Shocked, it was too late now. You scolded me, pulled my hair until I was sure it was going to break. You made me stand up, I went to vomit. You slapped me until tears were in my eyes. Then you surprised me with your intimacy.

Tracy!

You read in circles and walked in squares!

That dark winter night. We left any and all form.

At least you didn’t finish it, you said and joined me. The house was freezing after our shower, both goose-bumped, we lost all our power in smoke, our blood slowed. Weak, we lay together in the dark, your cold fingertips were ice to my heart, shocking, touching every warm part of my body.

02:01 October 12, 2009

Don't you see? I know you do, you see it written all over me. I'm unable to hide from you, I desparately seek your every side, your eyes, I wish they would look this way, I do! The sun is about to rise.

And I need you! Your voice is a memory, inside of me, killing me, I never cherished those days. Alone with you, nothing to do, I hesitated too much, if I only had a second chance, I'd show you but you have seen enough, you know me, lonely.

Look past me. Laugh.

We only meet in dreams.

Quietly, no one will know, I hide my face with your pillow. Eyes blinking blindly, your figure disappears. Push strongly, your hands, these tears, kill me, diminishing fears, it's only a dream, I trust you, fade away, sunlight makes your image clear. Drifting away, I suffocate.

You told me,
I was such a good girl,
You'd make me hot chocolate.
I smiled and you closed the door behind you.
I put my underwear on and opened the sidetable drawer.
The bed was a mess.

I fixed the sheets and pillows.

You thought I was such a good girl!

I took the small box out from the drawer,
lit a candle and a cigarette.
Quickly cooked a hit.
It boiled a bit.
I was still mostly naked when I tied up my arm and
sqeezed,
needle between my teeth.

You walked through the door.

You thought I was such a good girl!

I saw the look in your eyes, catching me in the act.
I stared right back,
See what you've done to me?
I injected while you stood in the doorway,
the image of you
as I drifted away.

23:38 August 15, 2009 Tokyo

Sometimes I need to escape.
I wear my headphones and play the loudest, most mind-numbing music at the highest volume until I am unaware of anything but waves entering my brain, hearing many words I do not understand but feel all the same.

Sometimes I need to escape.
Powder, smoke, and pills all work great.

Sometimes I need to escape.
My skin looks so white when I turn off the lights and bleed in all the right places.
My body becomes useless, a silhouette,
as my mind triumphs over my nerves,
receives what it deserves.

Sometimes I need to escape.
I suffocate
standing at your side,
restrained,
the voices mute,
I stare into the air.
I stare
and I
see through you,
only slightly aware
of my body.
Stationary,
there is nobody.
Images useless,
I hear my thoughts,
they visualise before me.
The room shrinks,
I'm in a trance,
I feel a pain in my chest
when I remember where I am.

22:09 August 10, 2009 Shonan

Dozens of bottles wait,
showered by light in the dark,
staring at them, they blur, they blur,
time doesn't matter, as I pass the hours,
they blur.
The second level of this old building,
silent toilet,
gentle fabric slips, falls from my knees to the ground,
drips down my shins,
so soft.
Me and the bottles,
we promise you a good time,
fragile,
label,
sun sets.
Walking behind you,
pinstripe black suit, with every step you take,
I see your wallet chain,
sway,
behind you,
our final destination is the same.
Sometimes,
at home,
my head pounding, I turn off the lights,
I take showers in the dark.

August 01, 02:38 Tokyo