Monday, October 17, 2005

PROMOS are finally over. Let me gasp and take a breath of drowned air.
None have come to this blog anymore, it has died. So it means it is safe to come out again.
Like the possum who plays dead so will I.

What can I say, i 've already done that. Played dead in so many more ways that its hard to know whence was I alive. I long to write again but i know that none of my works are particularly great. All are just practices to create character, to sustain it and to give hint to a plot.

Is it time to write another story again?

Might it be my last?

But i do know one thing for sure, The story of the shadow war will never come to the light. It has been hidden and locked away like a myth, not to see the electronic light on my computer screen. Because it is a tale not to be written but spoken.

Only then can it become legendary. It is stories that passed along from word of mouth that become more special, more personal.

But here is a story that I want written down in this cupboard of lost words, of lost stories. Tucked away like the possessions of one who clings to the past, who collects the clutter of his time to be reminisced and be put away again.

This is the story...

___________________________

Calling out his name wouldn't help him again. Webber had already done so throughout the one hour of aimless wandering he had endured. Putting his hands on his hips , he decided where next? Which direction would he walk to next?
Back? Forward? Left? Right?

No not right. He had learn along time ago that turning right is not always the right way. That right turn in the crowded market place of his hometown had gotten him seperated again from the rest of his family. Rubbing his hand over his sandy short-cropped hair. He realised how prickly it felt, tingling his palm las if scraping his hand against sand paper. He remembered how that felt, the quiet patience of sanding the wood of a well made cupboard. Built into exisence from his very own callused hands. A profession of a long forgotten past, of a time when he was not so lost as he was now.

Staring around him, all he could see was wood, living wood. Not dead and untapped like it was in his hands, as he carved the life into their stiff corpses. No, here it was almost like living in a waking nightmare. To dream that the food you once ate, has now grown teeth. In the denseness of these trees it was almost certain that they would carve out of him, the stiff path of freedom.

His stomach started to clench. Hunger. Its been almost a while since he ate. He scanned the canopy above, noticing the fading light. If he didn't find a way out of this wooden maze, he would have to stay a night in its power. Stuck within the growing oppressivness of this gargantuan monster. He had to pick a direction, sooner or later, he would find a landmark to compass his way out.

What was he thinking? To let Carlston choose the venue for their clandestine meeting was stupid suggestion. Something the guild should never have allowed in the first place.

Where was the grove? Evening was creeping up over the trees, a predator waiting upon the peripherals of day, upon the last shed of light that still reached the bottom of the forest. Soon it would be dark and Webber would really be in trouble.

Out ahead of him, a light danced among the trees, his black pupils adjusting to the ever decreasing amount of illumination, he could see the way it moved purposefully. As if heading towards a destination. It moved with increased hurriedness, and Webber by his natural instinct to survive, he followed though. Chasing after the ghostly shade, his fast-paced footsteps chased after it. Not wanting to call out, he feared that this light might belong to a more sinister being. One that might lead him down the road to perdition.

Yet once he came closer to it, it seemed to get further, a repelling attraction that symbolised how the sun ran after the moon. As the light began to fade out into the darkness, Webber was gripped with panic, not caring, he shouted out, " WAIT! Don't go! Help me, I'm lost!"

The fading light, glared in brightness again before starting its way back toward him. Increasing in its intensity with every beat of his heart. As it danced its way through the stalks, it weaved about this time in an unruly manner, swinging about as if scampering betweeen the spaces of each pump of his blood.

Stranger yet stranger still, no sound could be heard within the black forest. A deafening silence that did not break even with the approach of the glare. Webber was now trembling. A thousand and one thoughts racing through his head, what manner of a phenomenon was this? The amalgamation of light and dark closed in upon him, a barrier of thorns and atmosphere weighed heavily with the pregnant silence. He stood rooted to the ground, his feet digging into the surface, and tried as he did in his mind, he could not move. Not. A. Step.

Clenched in the gut with fear, he could not do much else but wait for the light to come closer, pulling out the hunting knife from his sleeve to hold it trembling before himself, a weak attempt at defence that his conscious mind had to obey.

The glaring light reflected in his eyes a wide-eyed terror, and with the reflection, doing as Perseus did, we see in that reflection a shadow was born. Stepping out of the light, the light in Webber's eyes dimed, and vanished.

____________________________________
From there, ended Webber's memory. The last few specks of his life. Whom did he meet? What did he see? How was the suspense? Did you like the atmosphere? It can be worked upon. But I so did like that Euphemism I used. " In the denseness of these trees it was almost certain that they would carve out of him, the stiff path of freedom" The stiff path of freedom is a euphemistic way of talking about death. I might write another piece on atmosphere again. Hope you like this one.

deadnessmaster live again at 5:19 PM

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

The dark stone column loomed above them. Coloured to midnight, light was sucked into it. A perpetual black abyss that shot straight up, touched Earth and sky, slicing reality into a half.

Trees and water from lakes poured into this hungry entity, the unstatiable emptiness, never satisfied, uncontented until its gaping hunger was filled.

Never had the light failed to pierce such impervious armor as this. None had realised its existence until it had split the world in half. As the people screamed, the emptiness roared in return, with the whoosh of dying air drowning out all last remnants of a race foolish in its own careless proceedings.

Who was to save them from their folly? They had tried to replicate the dying of a star, and by the will of fate, polaritites reversed and catastrophy was the cost.

They had been fed their own doom. For they had tried to control what was chance, what was luck. Inspite of all warnings, they had gone ahead.

They deserved it! They surely did.

For not all can be controlled by thought and hand, in all they had wished for.

This death they had wished upon themselves.

deadnessmaster live again at 12:04 AM

Saturday, July 16, 2005

I feel sad.

We all feel down sometimes. But there's just sad.

It has a totally different feel to things. Feeling depressed is an almost too false a feeling, as if you're supposed to feel happy, people are happy around you, you know you are supposed to be happy but then, there you are just feeling down and out of your mind. You feel like crawling into some dark corner away from everybody else, curl up and cry your heart away, but then eveyones loud voices, jovial faces won't leave you alone, everyone shows up in your face as bright suns of warmth but then there you are, lying your head on the table with that melancholic look and you want all these bright suns to exitinguish.

You want to tell them all to quit smiling and DIE..... JUST DIE.

But you don't bother, sometimes your tolerance just prolonges your suffering, you have this habit of trying your own patience, to see upon what point you can push yourself, until you reach that crevice of boiling lava. Ready to explode in your face and everyone else. But then as your reach that edge they move away, further from you and then you regret. Regret not taking that golden opportunity to unleashed that pent up anger within you. Knowing that your tolerance has gone up again, and your anger has built up in pressure again. You know that when someone finally manages to push you off that ledge, you will kill that person.

You are just waiting, waiting for that sorry bastard to come along to finally push you off the brink. Free fall into pleasurable madness. Someone once called me a sadist cum masochist, maybe i am one. I torture myself, well doesn't everyone?

Don't believe me?

Well, all you have to do is look at yourself. Look at your family. You wonder why you torture yourself to go school everday, when you could be better off doing something more worth it like working, when you can turn all your time and effort towards creating your career. Others have started , why are you still wasting your time here?

There are others who still stick by their girlfriends even though she is a bitch, love left no shadow the day she cheated on you and you found it out from your friend, knowing that everyone knew about it before you. Yet you still live that lie, live it in denial, all the while your mind screams and tears at your heart, telling how foolish can a person can get?

We all have this somewhat sadistic part of us, making us torture ourselves. It seems that we all have this inborn mechanism, that makes us prolonge the inevitable, to allow it come upon ourselves in full blast. Making us sob our hearts out, literally feel our heart tear and rip, never has there been such a horror, such a maleficient feeling ever been born. The type that brings you to your knees in merciless submission, and tames you with a baneful spike through your heart, sticks right in and twists it in with ugly pleasure.

Not many of us have felt that before, but sooner or later, we will be visited upon by it.............. the heart wrencher.

But right now i feel sad. Just sad, sad is just as bad a feeling, i think its almost as bad a feeling as depression and the heart wrencher. Sad is a real feeling unlike depression. Sad is like watching it rain and feeling as if the sun will never come out, never. It has a softer, more innocent nature to it. Yet it relents and gives way if you want it to. Most people will try to cheer themselves up, you can't do that with depression though, its more physiological than mental. Yet knowing how it is with me, and my torturous nature.

I rather be sad than happy.

deadnessmaster live again at 11:23 PM

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

WE all have secrets....

Haha, no DUH!

But how dark is yours? It'd be very foolish to say mines darker than yours, or yours is darker than mine... Yet i think to all of us secrets ARE dark, then they wouldn't be secrets, would they?

YEt to start of with this topic on secrets makes you anticipate that i might be leaking off someone elses secret, but no i'm not going to. Trust is only established if the other party can confirm that you can keep your mouth shut.

But i must say that i have secrets, dark secrets that i have never told anyone. No ONE, No One, knows about them. Not even my best friends...

I suppose, i keep myself together with the secrets i gather, the web of secrets and lies helps ironically to keep me together. I think if i ever told anyone my deepest darkest secret i would fall apart... Literally and metaphorically. Sometimes the most painful of memories makes us remember that we are still alive, and makes us question ourselves as well, why are we alive in the first place.

I'm sure many of you have been on that brink of self-destruction, teasing death with plaintive thoughts of suicide. Some do it out of boredom and some... just do it...

I have also seen that secrets almost gives one a sort of power over the other. Its like knowing the IC number of someone else. LOusy example but the best that i can think of.

I feel that those who openly claim that they keep no secrets are always the ones with the most to hide. They defend their somewhat awkward position by saying excuses like, " I like being honest" or " I keep no secrets so that nobody can have anything to hold against me." Its ironic, because their guilty and their " It wasn't me!" disposition sets them up as the main targets for suspicion.

I'm quite the eccentric am I?

I've been told once or twice, maybe thats why no girl will come up to me to ask for my number, not for other reasons other than being friends and wanting to stay in contact, or to add to the number of numbers in her phone book, so that every time she looks at her phonebook, she can say to herself " I have a lot of friends! Look at the number of people there are in my phonebook!" Ignorant of the fact that most people would have forgotten her face by the time she contacts them.

I think i've lost my inspiration, be it to write or to study. It could be Singapore, or the school, but most likely it would be due to myself. I've procrastinated to the point, that i've two more weeks to my mid-years and i'm SO not ready for it.

Back to secrets, i think that secrets are time bombs, as time passes by, the shelf life on them becomes smaller and smaller, and contrastingly the weight of these secrets increases little by little. Until you have this ticking atomic bomb within you ready to explode, and tear you apart. When the secret is revealed to the public or in one way or another you are reminded of it, it just blows up in your face, crumbling you to the ground , in a sad heap of clothes and gray matter. Some of us,we bury these secrets so deep within ourselves, padlocked and airlocked tight within our minds, that we never want to be reminded of ever again. Yet one way or another, its influence still manages to seep through our defences, like a pervasive toxic gas affecting the way we think and act. And us, we poor ignorant fools have no idea that the cause of all our troubles might be due to something that happened in the past. WE rant and rave at the sky, the people around us, the body we have, the mind that we think with.

We humans are all really pathetic.

That is why i've always held the belief that we are put upon this Earth to suffer. We suffer in life and we suffer in death. IS the suffering pointless? NO, i don't think so, suffering helps us to grow. So if you want to put this philosphy into an equation, it might go like this;

life= suffering= growth, thus in order to have a good life, we must suffer more, to grow up more so as to be more mature in ways of the world so that we can have a good life, as we make the right choices for ourselves. Isn't that logical? Maybe thats why subconciously, teenagers make a whole lot of mistakes in that stage and continue to make mistakes as they progress into adulthood, with life making us learn her lessons the HARD and PAINFUL way.

It's quite depressing don't you think? That maybe all your problems was stemmed from this supernatural universal law that we MUST suffer in life. But hey, life wouldn't be life without all her idiosyncrasies and nasty tricks. So never let your guard down, but don't get too paranoid either, you might die from a nervous breakdown. Just take things as they come and suck it up cause life always gives you shit whether you like or not.

Learn to hate her and like her as well, cause never anywhere else will find a more bittersweet fruit than the apple of life.

deadnessmaster live again at 10:46 PM

Monday, June 27, 2005

It has been freaking long since, i've blogged. More than a month but i don't think anybody will be reading this anyway.
WE give up our dreams to provide satisfaction to others. Sometimes its hard to compplete an act with nobody behind you supporting you. And I realised that i was right. You can do things by yourself.
LIke giving up writing, because you're sick and tired of hearing people tell you can't. Then fine, i stop, happy now?
LIke walking your own road, be it into fucking hell, or... wait there is no heaven...
But is there hell?
LEts digress. Its starting to get interesting. I should probably be studying right now, but i still seem to be in the holiday mood, which frankly means, I'm screwed.
MY two best friends are walking off the deep end, to say that i will follow is insulting. Do we all not walk our own road, that is the path they have chosen, i respect their decision. IT sounds cold but its not, they made a choice as so have I.
You, I have no right to judge them for what they do. As i have no right to judge you, and you over me. Yet ironically, its only by judging people can we distinguish them from all the rest of the lemmings of this world. So it then boils down to this question.

What Makes you, you?

Well, thats not normally what a person asks him/herself, most of the time cause it requires them to set up a list of all the what makes me bad and what makes me good. A whole lot of people can sometimes be in denial of what makes them bad, cause they never have been on the receiving end of their actions thus, the blindness to their own faults.

Yet there are some who have an inkling or better yet, self-knowledge that what they do is bad, yet they still go ahead and do it, in all defiance that they can actually do something that others would not... strange isn't it?

Right now, most who have been reading this entry so far, have almost come to the conclusion that what i'm talking about, could very well be referring to them Specifically.

What i want to say is.... Don't flatter yourself, this entry has begun and will end in relation to ME. Self-centeredness has always been a recurrent theme when it comes to these talk-with-me entries.

WHere was I?

Oh! yes! BAd things... YEt what is bad anyway? I hurt myself for pleasure, is that bad? I mean, im not slitting YOUR throat tonight so why bother with what i do in my own free time. You look upon in distaste and you tell yourself, almost patronising yourself with thoughts of,

HOw can he do that to himself?
Doesn't he know that its wrong?
He is harming one of GOD's creations, what God made from his very hands...

I say to these people, back off, for your information, the ENUL gave birth to me, whether i like it or not. God-created? HAH! I'd probably spit in the face of the idiot, and tell them to go look for the ENUL, and ask her if GOD was living in her stomach. She'd probably slap them upside down, and tell them, " In this house, I AM GOD!!!" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

It is so sickening to tell people that i'm not christian or catholic. I mean i can stand it when my friends talk about church and stuff or by the gods forbid, about GOD. But its damn sickening to sit there in silence as they judge you with those huge accusing eyes, as if they were the ones weighing the scales of my life, and virtuously say within themselves, " This poor soul is going to HELL."

You know what i say, " I'd Rather be Damned!"

So for once and for all ,people out there, if you want to judge me for what i do, then you had better be ready to spend the rest of eternity with me in hell.
'cause to quote from that textbook you people carry around.

"Judge not others, lest ye be judged yourself"

I think thats how it goes, but somewhere along that line. Religion has been fun to talk about, but the topic gets old and dry, yet somehow i get pleasure from hating.

Yes, hate, wonderful thing, I think that should be real word in the quote "____ makes the world go round." Love, i would say was something concocted, like a drug, to make people forget that differences between people do not matter, unfotunately, they do.

So wake up and smell the reality.

deadnessmaster live again at 9:56 PM

Monday, May 09, 2005

Leaving was always hard for him. The waves, the goodbyes, the glistening eyes of unwanted, unshed tears of sorrow. Unabashed heartache at seeing someone you love recede into the background of that station of thousand goodbyes.
You wave at them, sticking your hand out that window, flailing at them into the rushing wind. They hesitate, but in the end, raise their hand in return from that nest of warmth, they clutch around their center as if trying to tether themselves to the center of their universe and not fall apart from that simple action.
Joe could see it in their eyes, those shining eyes of loss, of pride, of wishfulness in his endeavours. To the big city, that was where he wwas going, to the big city of his multitude of fantasies of life, fortune and fame. He had big dreams of becoming an accomplished singer. He had a good voice, not one that soared in the sky as did the birds of paradise back in his home town. But one that rang pure of heart and good will, a sincereness of what he sung, he sung from within. One cannot be mistaken of such a sound, such a sonance of totality and wholesomeness, that one could almost weep at the sound of it.
Joe was the epitome of youth, with wild uncombed auburn hair; a recklessness of nature, twinkling grey eyes of mischieviousness but sometimes deepened in hate as he looked down that sharp nose of his. Full lips that carved out that resonant tenor of smooth sophistication that unwittingly seemed to spike more fights and unwanted trouble that he had hope to care for, back in his town. His abled body showed signs of hard work in menial labour that he carried out for other houses, small cash that ultimately accumulated into that train ticket that he held fisted in his hand. Yet all in all, despite these signs of a growing man breaking out of his teens into pure unadulterated adulthood (him going to the city and all), he still remained in that naive frame of mind, of hopes and dreams, fame and fortune, all of which would hopefully be poured at his feet, like a sultan who has gold prostrated before him, in giving sublimation. Wishful thinking or more cynically, greed was the downfall of many a man, and he was not one to be exempted from this rule.
Joe stared out the window, nervous and scared. Adrenaline was rushing through him, wave after wave of it washed over him, making him fidget and toss from within. He had an unsettleness coupled with a hen's nervousness earned from his mother, and the twitching anticipation that he got from his bull of a father. HIS eyes soon got tired of following the passing trees, and he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the steady breeze filtering into his window.

_________________________________________

I'm stopping the entry here because i am only concerned about the creation of character, i need criticisms on how i've been doing with the creation of my chracter and what needs to be improved, i'll post up my final competition piece when i finish it.

deadnessmaster live again at 11:30 PM

Monday, May 02, 2005

Define life?
Not understood in its many ways.
It is a cat stretching its back in a luscious purr,
A hiding conscience, ready to sneak up on you when you least expect it to.

Define life?
Loss time made, Spare time given.
Nonchalant in its rewards and punishments.
No doubt, a cruel master.

Define life?
Yet how should i put it?
Not birth, nor death, nor time thats spent.
It is a multitude of sorts, in its ways about you.

Define life?
It is a carried burden.
A world upon our shoulders.
As we lugged it around with smiles upon our faces.

Define life?
No i shall not.
It is too vast, too infinite,
For words to capture the whisps of it.
__________________________________

I hate life.

deadnessmaster live again at 2:27 PM