Shapes

by their sucky nature

Why am I a square?
It's so boring to be symmetrical.
So many squares around.
This is no good, just no good at all.

I'll try being a circle.
Whoa whoa whoa, I'm tipping over.
Oh crap! Why am I rolling??
Stop this moving,
I might actually go somewhere.
This is no good, just no good at all.

How about a hexagon.
More corners than a square.
And I won't roll around all silly-like.
Wait, why not more corners.
Allright, some more. And more! And more!!!
Shit, I'm a circle again.

Okay.
I will simplify, I will be a triangle.
No, that's not simple enough.
I will be a line, two ends.
No even simpler, I will be a dot!
Crap, I'm a circle again.

Screw it.
I'll go back to being a square.
Shapes stink.

How NOT To Write A Novel

by Sandera Newman and Howard Mittelmark

Just finished reading this book on how not to write a novel. Interesting reading of all the things taken for granted when you read a novel. I guess when you read a good novel the author puts in lots of effort to make it read effortlessly.

I understand all the pitfalls now but kind of hard to hold them in my head when I am writing. So probably that's where rewriting comes in. Overall, this book has been much help in highlighting the obvious mistakes.

and then there were none

by Agatha Christie

Just went to a play yesterday evening at Stirling Players. An adaptation of the novel. Second play I've ever been to, first one in Perth. I think it was great, the acting was good and I love the story. Only they changes the ending a bit because I think the actual ending is harder to act now and perhaps less cheerful. Hope to see more plays soon.

I Don't Like This Game

A long hallway quaintly lit with warm yellow light complements the cream-colored wallpaper. Soft thuds follow delicate footsteps pressing down on the soft woolen carpet. A slim figure moves at a steady pace with slight swishing from the red and white polka dot dress against the ground. Finally stopping in front of a door, similar to the rest of the whitewashed wooden doors lining the hallway. Her left hand reaches to turn the brass knob.

The openning door reveals a well-lit bedroom. She walks towards the antique dresser and puts on a record. Stringed orchestral music fill the space. Looking into the mirror, she corrects a curl of her blonde hair. She then checks her makeup. A slim oval face, fair and smooth accentuated by slight pink blush. She powders her delicate button nose. Lips slightly smudged which she corrects with a peach-colored lipstick. Looking behind her shoulder, an imposing figure lay silent on her posted bed. She carefully makes her way towards it. The figure lays sprawled wide on the bed, facing upward. A man of about 30 years, short brown hair and slightly unshaven.

The female figure climbs onto the bed, sits atop the man and slaps him across the face. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she says with a sweet smile.

The man groggily stirs and finds himself staring up at this beautiful creature. His face still searing. He tries to speak but find his speech muffled. He reaches at his mouth. Bits of thick thread has sewn them shut. Peach lipstick smudging the edges. The man struggles in desperation. The female figure pulls an overhanging rope hard, and the man's limbs are jerked hard towards the four corners of the bed. Then ties the rope securely against one of the posts.

"Shhhh...honey, be silent now." She reaches under the bed and pulls out a small kitchen knife. The knife's blunt edge runs along the buttons of the man's white cotton shirt. She pulls the buttons out one a time revealing his strong chest and abdominals.

"Let's play doctor. This time I will be the doctor. You can be the patient." She kisses the man softly on his sewn lips and flashes a sweet smile. The man thrashes from side to side trying to break free. To no avail.

She presses the side of the knife on his face. Cold steel runs a shiver across his body. She slowly tracks from his face down to his neck and finally reaching the center of his chest. Now turning the knife on its tip, the pointed edge presses against the man's chest. She softly pokes him, him with wide eyes staring at her and the knife. She slowly applies more pressure, holding the knife with both her dainty hands. Gradually laying her whole body weight, the knife slowly plunges into the man's chest. Dark red blood splurges on the polka dot dress. The man gives out a muffled cry.

"Something is wrong with your heart." She then drags the knife to the right, carving out the left chest cavity and leaves the knife stuck. Holding the edge of the chest piece, forcing it open. There lay the beating heart, pumping hard. She puts her left hand over the heart and grips firmly. The man breathes excessively with nostrils flaring trying to get more air. She starts to slice through the arteries connected to the heart, one by one. More blood oozes with every severed artery.

With the last artery cut, wide vacant eyes stare back at her. She pulls out the heart and throws it into the metal bin.

"There, all fixed."

 Flipping herself beside the body and letting out a great sigh of contentment. With the record still playing, she drifts into slumber. Bedtime.

the other side of me

by Sidney Sheldon

Just finished this book last night. It is about Sidney Sheldon's life, from his upbringing to working on Broadway, movies, TV and finally books. Very good read and a very fascinating life.

Bubbles

of Dreams

Focus drift to nothingness,
Where to nobody knows,
All lost in the emptiness,
Veil of nightlight begins to grow

Limbo between real and imaginary,
Wisp into incandescent thoughts,
Images of the foreign and known,
Gleaming through the bubbly glow

I stand in a tropical paradise,
Discovering life from new perspectives,
Into the limitless sky,
Spread my wings and soar

Flying over foreign land,
Finally arriving in winter wonderland,
Lightly arriving on soft snow,
Christmas town lights up as night approach

Orange glow brings warmth and comfort,
People dear and foreign all as one,
Joy and celebration erupts,
Festivities here there all around


Alas the bubble bursts and reforms,
Into a murky grey...


The crowd subsides as they had come,
Shifting into shadows that never were,
Darkness stretches to consume all,
In the hollows and corners,
Emerge the horrors and dark things,
They wish to touch,
Long to consume

My escape begins,
Where once flight was possible,
Weight now drags the wings,
Flittering bursts reduced to strenuous strides,
Darkness comes to take me,
Approaching slowly but surely


Persistence brings fruition,
The dark bubble bursts into blinding light,
White subsides restoring focus...


Laying in place perfect silence,
Green fields and blue skies,
A single park bench by a shady tree,
I sit there wondering of questions

Staring at my shoe laces,
Brings pleasure and calmness,
Though nothing comes to mind,
Only silent contemplation

Nothing wanting nothing suffered,
Bending backwards over the bench,
Looking behind beholds the sun,
Hiding behind candy clouds

Dancing across view a single bird,
Perching atop the single tree,
Singing melodies honey sweet,
Floating into serenity


Haze lifts into the bright morning,
Soft bed and thick quilt beckons me to stay,
Return dear one to the bubbles,
Tugging at slipping strands,
Alas they are lost to the day..

Little Birdy

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