Red Miasma

A curious sight of black and white
A spitting, hitting bunch of nerves
femme fatale feline screaming hoarse
obscenities over the white noise of
broken bottles, emptied crates and
a drunken menace.

Some arcane ritual in the dead of
night. Demon glaze the eyeballs red
a miasma mist that once seemed too
sane. A futile trap, nonetheless
the gaudy rouge, the ragged breath
the streaks of red in her ragged hair
the strumming lights, like some
clairvoyant eye, seeks to prophesise
some divine wonder. Yet fails to see
the flecks of red, mutilated, that left it

Blind and staring.

[2006]

Copyright © 2014 Antelune. All Rights Reserved.

ODFSSEPG

We didn’t know
We didn’t care

for all the people who
passed us by:
the cycler with the roving eye
the noisy families who stopped to stare
the lonely walker with silver hair

It was as if the world had
Stopped. And time
was meant for
you and I

the world we made was staged within
four weathered pillars set in stone
inside, a place we called our own;
a haven from our busy lives,
a secret safe from prying eyes

We didn’t know
We didn’t care

the sun, the sand, the stones, the sea
all envious of our reverie
yet, oblivious to them all were we –
our world could only hold the sounds
of beating hearts and breaking waves
of fluid words and flirty breeze
and dreamers in a violet haze

And if the world had stopped turning
and if Hell’s fires had stopped burning

We wouldn’t know
We wouldn’t care

(for all the world had
Stopped. And time
was only meant for
you and I)

[2008]

Copyright © 2014 Antelune. All Rights Reserved.

4|\|DR01D

When skies are in the gloaming
And dreams are in the making
When a dead world sleeps on

How about the androids?
Metal men with circuits for brains
and wires for hearts
Do they dream of genies
mirrors and magic
carpets that fly?

Do they dream of autumn
and apple-picking
and lying with the sun on their backs?

And at night do they sing their
strange lullabies
counting electric sheep that
jump over a million wire fences
too high to climb?

[2006]

Copyright © 2014 Antelune. All Rights Reserved.

Throwback Thursday: Old Paintings + WIP

While tidying up some stuff on my very messy computer, I found two old paintings of mine. They’re really old, probably done for an art assignment when I was 13 or so. The assignment required us to do 9 4×4 squares of art, each with a theme/subject to keep to. I liked these two the most and took pictures of them with my ancient Nokia handphone before misplacing them somewhere in my cupboard.

I sometimes wonder how differently my art work would have turned out if I had gone to art college instead of studying English Literature and other academic subjects. Then again, wondering about hypotheticals doesn’t do much in the way of improvement. Did I ever mention how much anxiety I had just picking up the brush again? When I was younger, I painted because it was fun. I told my mom I wanted to be an artist. When I grew older and was swamped with school work I had little time to devote to art. It became a source of anxiety for me because I kept dwelling upon the missed chances, the many years in which I could have improved my skills but didn’t and worst of all, how good other people already were. Even when I had time I would resist doing art. I felt paralysed.

Things changed recently. I went through a period of anxiety about my health and other things. It was one of the worst times of my life but also became, in retrospect, one of the most artistically productive times too. I turned back to doing art as a form of solace and therapy. I drew things on my iPhone and took photos. I starting writing and painting again.

Moons WIP 2

I’m in the midst of painting this. It’s still far from finished and part of the reason is because I’ve also been doing other things, like writing fiction/poetry and composing music. This journey has been nothing short of amazing and perhaps, just perhaps, without all the adversity and uncertainty, I wouldn’t have been prompted to kickstart my creative processes again. I thank God for seeing me through everything and for inspiring me with love and light – and hope, always.

One thing I know now: creating things is what I need to do in life. And I will keep on doing these things until I’m no longer here.

Favourite Books

Recently, I was asked the most interesting question (or series of questions) by a publishing firm that was considering my job application. The question was: what are your five favourite books, and why? It was hard enough coming up with a list of only five books; it was even worse trying to explain why I liked them in a reasonable amount of words. I’ve always loved these books and have variously mentioned them to friends. I also go on and on about them if anyone will listen. What I hadn’t done prior to my application is come up with a concise paragraph of what makes each of them so unique and lovable. Who knew that a job app could benefit me in this way? If anyone asks me the same question, I can simply refer them to this post and they’ll understand how I feel about these books.

I hope this list inspires someone (anyone!) to read these books – that would be really great. Also, if anyone has already read them and has something to say/discuss about them, let’s talk in the comments! I would love to hear from fellow literature lovers.

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Room

She entered the room alone. It was dark and very cluttered. Somehow it didn’t feel like her room even though she knew exactly where everything was. Maybe things look different in the dark, she thought. She fumbled for the light switch and her hand found nothing. It was strange to be a stranger in her own room. She shook her head and frowned. There was probably something blocking the switch. In any case, the room wasn’t very long and she knew her way through it in the day. Walking to the other end wouldn’t take very long.

She began to make her way through the room. The things on the floor suddenly seemed much larger than she remembered. Her hip brushed the edge of a cabinet, and she felt her apple-green merino sweater fray slightly. Her hand swept a few ornaments off a shelf and they tinkled as they fell. She thought she saw a cloud of shiny dust floating to the floor but she couldn’t be sure. It was still too dark. A few steps later, her eyes became more used to the gloom. She strained them a bit and saw something in the shape of a cello far ahead, near the door. That’s funny, I don’t remember owning a cello. She paused and took a few steps forward. Now it looked more like a large floor lamp. She didn’t have floor lamps; never liked them because they collided with her feet all the time. The fuzzy shape moved. As her eyes focused she realised that it was really a tall beast. Before she could scream or run, the beast changed shape again. Now it was a short, squat creature. Now it was furry and wide. Now it was tall again.

This must be some kind of dream. This must be some kind of dream. Her mind was running wild just thinking about the creature. She blinked, and a long time later, her lips formed words that sounded tinny and distant.

“What are you?”

Continue reading “Room”