In Creative Writing, we were introduced to all sorts of short stories - the traditional and the experimental; the old and the modern; social commentaries and those for entertainment; and even, erotica. This is what marks a true writing class, a true Arts module. Not the same old censored shit that we see everyday. Nice, happy stories? Sure. Cutesy romance? A ton. Funny stories? You'll find all the lamest crap around. But real, provocative work is hard to show - because it shows precisely that - the real things are always the most provocative. The things we hate to see are always the cruelest, the worst, the ugliest and we try so hard not to see them. But honestly, for what?
You'd think our generation would be better? Would be more open-minded and accepting of different literature. I cannot help but be utterly disappointed in the students that expressed some sort of ill-feeling because the professor decided to let an erotica novelist share her work. I cannot help but wonder why students might feel so embarrassed and angry that their own work be shared in class. It is a writing class. It is a workshop. Writers workshop their stories. And in Creative Writing, we are ALL writers. There is no good or bad writer; there are only writers who are willing to let themselves go and truly write what they want, or writers who write for a grade. That should not be how it is. The purpose of an Arts module is to expose us to all sorts of literary works. And honestly, did students actually think that Arts would be clean and all dandy and nice and happy?
God, could they please grow up! Surely our generation can do so much better than that? What's the big deal with erotica?? People FUCK. So what? That's how babies are made. That's what people do to feel good. That's what two people who are in love do. That's sex! What the fuck is so taboo about erotica?? Goddamn it. Do they not do it too? Will they not do it eventually?
SERIOUSLY??!
This is exactly why our goddamn censorship board still has so much power. Jesus, I wonder if these people know how incredibly ignorant and narrow-minded they are... We are just so afraid of everything. So, so afraid... What are you scared of?
Me? I'm scared of Singapore.
``larcenciel
Music: Break Even - Maddi Jane Mood: Annoyed
1:43 AM
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Off-Putting
Two days ago the ex smses me a "Hi. How are you?"
After some hesitation I reply, I'm okay.
"You're more than okay I hope? You're doing good?" or something sickeningly fake along those lines.
I'm good. Why the sudden concern? I can't resist sarcasm when it comes to her.
Then I forget what exactly was spewed, but it's the typical shitty lesbian oh-I-suddenly-thought-of-you-and-wanna-know-how-you-are-because-I-did-have-feelings-for-you-before garbage.
I'm tired of hearing the same old thing, so I say, I suggest you forget about that.
And she retorts, Don't worry, I'll never act on it.
And I am genuinely confused because I never meant it that way. I feel resigned, because she will never understand what I mean anyway. Perhaps neither will I, ever. I tell her that I just want to forget about her because even the slightest mention of her material existence would ignite all sorts of idiotic anger and weary frustration in me. And she says something else with her many years of honed obnoxiousness, essentially telling me that I should just continue to cling on to my uncouth pettiness, if that makes me happy.
Well, when the insidious ex starts pitying my grudge then I guess it is time to do something about my self-inflicted incarceration. I just really wish she'd heed what I told her. Stop contacting me. Stop talking to me. Stop it. Stop. Because the last thing I want is another emotional bash with our treacherous past. It's hideous, and me? I prefer pretty, truthful and loving things.
Like what I share right now with my partner...
``larcenciel
Music: Where'd You Go/No One (violin mash-up) - Peter Lee Johnson Mood: Irritated
4:40 PM
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
Everybody's looking for something. Some of them want to use you; Some of them want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you; Some of them want to be abused by you.
Yesterday I caught the preview of Suckerpunch, directed by the same man who did 300 - he fancied an all-female cast this time - so you can expect action-packed fight choreography and spectacular CG swathed in mini-skirts and knee-high boots with a kickass soundtrack to boot. He delivers on all accounts, but the story is uncertain.
Suckerpunch opens as a staged act, curtains are drawn and we see Babydoll, who is only about 15 years old, sitting alone in her bedroom. Her mother had just died, leaving her and her younger sis alone with their stepdad, whom we soon discover is an evil jerk plotting to steal their mom's fortune. He kills the younger sis and blames Babydoll for it. She is thrown into a mental institution and he bribes the manager to authorize a lobotomy procedure so that she might forget what really happened and he would not be arrested. The manager extorts more money from the stepdad and forges the main psychiatrist's signature for procedural authorization. Babydoll is not mental, of course. She can think for herself perfectly well, and as she steps into the room where other patients are she catches the eye of another girl. They both seem to establish some connection, and we see some flashes of girls' interactions and finally Babydoll is forced on a chair and strapped into place. The doctor then raises a long, steely pike - presumably about to lobotomize Babydoll...
Then, suddenly, Inception decided to make a special appearance in the film. Hell, Inception appears THROUGHOUT the film. We are suddenly taken into another world; an imagined world in her mind; where Babydoll is brought into a burlesque kind of house, and she is apparently the new "addition" to the pool of girls where everyone dances and "gets customers" to earn their keep. Babydoll befriends one of the girls who is the sister of the first girl, Sweetpea, she catches the eye of in the real world. In this alternate world, Babydoll has the power to distract people and put them in a trance when she dances, and when she dances we viewers are taken into another dimension where she and the other girls battle baddies. Somehow, Babydoll devises a plan to escape before the high roller comes for her. Collect 4 items, she says. A map, lighter, knife and key, which will help them escape. She recruits 4 girls, including Sweetpea; and they steal these items as she dances. And so we move back and forth between burlesque moments and hard, warring scenes with zombies, dragons and guns.
But alas, this story was never meant to have a happy ending and 3 girls end up dead, while Babydoll and Sweetpea survive. When they finally escape from the building, they see a group of guards standing at the gate. Babydoll decides that she was the fifth missing item in the puzzle, and sacrifices herself so that Sweetpea could escape. Then we are taken back to the moment just before Babydoll is lobotomized. The pike runs straight through her. The procedure is successful, but the doctor is disturbed. He tells the psychologist he questions her judgment. She tells him she never approved Babydoll for the procedure and realizes the manager had been forging her signature all this time. In the end he is arrested for his crimes, but Babydoll has already become just that, a baby doll - without feeling or expression or thoughts anymore.
The film ends on a didactic note, with Sweetpea's voice asking, Who controls our future? Who decides who survives and not? Who judges the correct or wrong? Who chooses what happens to each person? You do. You have all the weapons you need. Now, fight.
Ah, it is a rather odd movie, isn't it? But it has its own special charm... How can anyone not fall for the fantastic music and special effects and sexy ladies? I am weak against that... And the fact that we viewers, are cheated, lied to and completely made a fool of into thinking that Babydoll was the heroine and the protagonist. No, she was merely a means to another person's end. But it's okay, because that is how wars, and not mere battles, are won. In our imagination and in reality.
``larcenciel
Music: Sweet Dreams - Emily Browning Mood: Emo
1:26 AM
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Secret Folly of Anne Lister
I finally got down to watching the film but I must say, I am so disappointed! I guess the filmmakers followed the diary closely, I mean, the storyline sounds convincing. A besotted, and foolish no less, Victorian-era lesbian, Anne Lister is played around like a puppet by her ex-sweetheart, the very materialistic and plastic-looking Marianne, who decides she can't give up the pleasures of being with a man in name and of his pool of decadent wealth. Marianne promises Anne she'd leave her husband soon and be her companion for life. Well, like anyone else who's been so madly in love, Anne believed this with all her heart. They continue a secret affair but Marianne's actions and behavior might have suggested otherwise. And so it takes an excruciatingly long and dreary 70 minutes of the film for Anne to finally realize the folly of her ways. The last 15 minutes or so, the film squeezes in a promising and budding relationship with Anne and a sweet, innocent lady by the name of Anne Walker. Aside from the fact that it is rather weird to have a partner bearing the same name (The sex would be like masturbation wouldn't it? You'll be crying out your own name! Actually, I don't think anyone does that...), theirs was a pleasant relationship. I like Anne Walker. She might be quiet and shy, but she was strong and courageous and pretty. She trusted Anne Lister with all her heart, and was a true companion to her. Plus, she's rich. Heh. That would be about the only smart thing Anne Lister did.
So unless you want to waste an hour or so rolling your eyes and grieving and getting pissed off by a selfish and cowardly cow, don't watch it. Keep your illusion of Anne Lister. Perhaps it was just my illusion? The illusion of her being the suave, gentlemanly, intelligent and charming lesbian of her days. But honestly, that would have been so much better to watch.
Now I need some good ole' romantic yaoi before I sleep. Hate going to bed with this kind of bad aftertaste...
``larcenciel
Music: None Mood: Bored
1:55 AM
Monday, March 14, 2011
I Was Looking Down All This Time
At a time when I feel so defeated at and deceived by my whole college life (SMU academia just detests me), I feel so appreciated and loved and valued by my Creative Writing module. Surely, there's got to be one thing I was remotely satisfactory at... and at last I've found it.
The 99 e-dollars was absolutely worth it. I wouldn't have traded it for anything else in school.
``larcenciel
Music: Use Somebody - Alexa Goddard cover Mood: Satisfied
10:16 PM
Why Were You Even Open?
A few days ago, I made the girlfriend learn and sing Grenade for me because I thought it was such a hopelessly romantic and heartbreakingly poignant and still lovely song. Plus, it had a great tune and I thought her voice would carry it off well. Ah, the perks of having a musically talented partner. Heh. But alas, it is such a dismal song 'innit?
I would die for you baby, but you won't do the same. I mean, how S.A.D. is that? Unrequited love is always the most pitiful and painful of all. When you pour your heart and soul and everything you have but the other person does not, and, in fact, tramples all over you and hurts you in every way possible. A "heartbreak" is not an accurate description... It's more like a "heart-rip", "heart-hack" or "heart-kill"; where even a single heartbeat becomes difficult. But in my opinion, that's not the worst part. The most wrenching part is that, even after all the damage and shit, you know you'd still jump right in for that person. And only for that person.
Well, love's like that I suppose... But I'm glad I can say, I'll die for you baby and I know you'll do the same.
* * * I would catch a grenade for you Throw my hand on a blade for you I’d jump in front of a train for you You know I'd do anything for you
I would go through all this pain Take a bullet straight through my brain Yes, I would die for you baby But you won't do the same
If my body was on fire You’d watch me burn down in flames You said you loved me you're a liar Cause you never, ever, ever did baby...
But darling I’ll still catch a grenade for you.
``larcenciel
Music: Grenade - Alexa Goddard cover Mood: Sickly
7:19 PM
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Wish Paralysis
Every time I pick a stray, fallen eyelash I'd immediately place it on the tip of my upturned index finger, close my eyes as tight as I can, and make a wish with every fibre of my being as if doing so would increase the chances of it coming true. And with all my might I'd blow the eyelash away, but I'm particular about cleanliness so I always do this just above the bin in my room. The lash will sway downwards, sometimes in a straight path, other times in a more haphazard manner. Then I'd feel mildly satisfied and go back to whatever it was I was doing before my eyelash fell.
So what's the point of saying all that? Nothing much actually... It's just a description of my queer, superstitious obsession with wish-making and eyelashes. And the fact that since four years ago, I found myself wishing for my girlfriend, rather than for myself.
That is, I think, how I know it's love.
``larcenciel
Music: Stereo Love/Kids (violin cover) - Peter Lee Johnson Mood: Pleasant
9:39 PM
Thursday, March 03, 2011
They Are All Right
About a week ago, the gf and I caught The Kids Are All Right at Cathay. (Pheeweet!! Three cheers to Cathay for being so awesome to bring it in!) Being a sweet lil' story about a nice, pleasant lesbian family that overcomes the challenges any other "normal" family would face, our very own moral police deemed it inappropriate and slapped it with an R21 rating plus limited one-print release because it "normalizes the homosexual lifestyle". Aside from the fact that they are being outrageously discriminatory, terrifyingly narrow-minded and shockingly imbecilic, I felt pretty happy watching the film. For one, you'll know that the people that do go to watch the movie won't be the same discriminating dimwits, and for once, GLBT wasn't the minority. But the most important thing is; the story gets a well-deserved, happy resolution.
How many times have we seen gay and lesbian films ending in some sort of tragedy? How many times have we seen them portrayed as awkward, depressed, destructive and ultimately, just plain fucked up, creepy weirdos that die prematurely? But Kids sings a different tune. It's an optimistic, cheery and hopeful story about two loving mothers and their children. It is not about encouraging lesbianism. It's about family. It's about trust and communication. Kids does not suffocate or stifle; it breathes. But the thought of allowing breath in a so-called lifestyle that is dismissed as deviant and aberrant is too hard to bear, and the normalcy of it scares people. It scares them half to death. It scares them as much as a revolution scares a dictator. And that is all right. Because in a society that is so used to oppression and authority, remaining status quo will ensure everyone will be all right. Just like the chickens in a coop, just like the sheep in the herd, just like the pigs in the sty... and just like the people left here.
``larcenciel
Music: Rolling In The Deep - Christina Grimmie cover Mood: Melancholy
1:50 AM
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Sometimes You Just Can't Find The Right Words
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning. Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
The distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So she's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
~adapted by Haruki Murakami, On Meeting the 100 Percent Perfect Girl
The right words are always hardest to come by when you need them the most.