whence guerrilla moon?

This Is

This is a web log about waking up too early, before the sun has a chance to rise, before the chorus of birdsong can begin, before the graveyard shift workers have a chance to hit the sack. It is about discovering that the whole house, no, the entire neighbourhood, is exceptionally quiet. And when you step out of the house in a rare effort to buy that McDonald’s breakfast you were yearning for the previous night you realise that it is one of those rare moments – like those in the dramas, where the nine planets (depending on whether you still believe in Pluto) are in perfect alignment – there are no cars on the road and this Singapore we’re talking about, the “futuristic city” that is ranked 22 in issue 15 of Monocle. You can’t help but think that the traffic lights are in perfect alignment that day. And you make a wish because this moment is rarer than catching a shooting star. “I will become a writer.” And you’re lucky because not one second later, a torrent of cars roared down the streets, destroying the serenity, made more precious because of it lasted for only a brief moment.

This is a web log about that rainy afternoon in the house, with no one around you to disturb you because your folks are out and your Napoleonic siblings are ensconced in school. It is the perfect time to finish that article due tomorrow noon because you’ve always find rain inspiring. Rain is probably the most inspiring thing in the world, next to a lover. You try to finish that article because if not, your editor is going to be pissed and pissed off editors may result in the end of your freelance writing career. But you find that you’re thirsty – not water-thirsty but just thirsty – so you decide to make a pot of Marks & Spencer’s extra strong Ceylon tea. You take out the Royal Doulton 1940 English Chintz tea service which has been hiding away in a corner of the cupboard, waiting for a damn long time to be used but there was never an appropriate moment which warranted taking out a $300 tea service. To placate your inner self, you argue that there will never be such a moment anyway – no point in keeping it in mint condition. And screw that article for now. You’ll work through the night if need be. Finally you settle yourself next to the window -imagine a table set next to a glass window with the tea service in the middle and the aroma of hot Ceylon tea wafting through the air. And as you sip the tea, letting the warmth gently in your stomach, you look out of the window. There is no view because of the rain streaming down the glass in sheets. Strangely, the refracted view is a soothing one. You feel like all your troubles in the world will be washed away by the pouring rain. You can’t help but snuggle deeper into your chair and hug your knees, enjoying the rain concerto.

This is a web log about staying up late when the entire forsaken world is already tucked in bed. To be exact, until four in the morning. You stay up to write because a flash of inspiration hit you when you were getting ready for bed. And you stay up even though you have an appointment in the morning. Perhaps this web log is really about inspiration, about that moment of eureka that occurs during the long train ride. And even though you’re stuck with passengers who stink of sweat early in the morning, it is about that whiff of scented shampoo that you suddenly smell. Mmm, apple and grape extract. And you realise the source: the beautiful petite lady standing next to you. How in the world could you have missed it? Must be the brutes.

But maybe this web log is also about style. About writing in your own style without caring for a limit (there’s no carton size to worry), about having to verify and double-check facts. But since you believe in yourself, you continue to write this way whenever possible.

Because through words, I emote.

And these are my stories.

King and Queen

Wonderland

35 thoughts on “whence guerrilla moon?

  1. For you, my friend, a haiku of my own submitted for this Holiday.

    STRING THEORY
    open minds unite
    in such vast territories
    universal link.

    Interesting how computers can link you with souls.

    Season’s Greetings.

  2. I don’t know who you are but your words made an impression on me. I don’t think this is a viable website anymore but on the chance that it is, I am leaving this message. I am listening to the rain as I write this and pondering upon the words of a stranger whose thoughts seem to mirror my own.

    • Viable? As in it no longer functions as a proper vehicle for thought, in the sense that it is being diluted?

      If so, yes – I think it is being diluted.

      Thank you for sharing your thoughts Sheralyn. I always love the rain, no matter how melancholic it felt, how sad it sound.

      Do you write?

      • Yes, I write. I recently made a move back to my home province of Nova Scotia and the words have been flowing out of me since I hit the valley and the ocean. Previously, I had been living on the prairies and my creativity was somewhat stifled. However, I am having some difficulty trying to organize the damn thing (my book)!

        What is your name? Do you live in Singapore? I stumbled upon your site early this a.m. before going to work so I didn’t have time to do it justice.

  3. In the Pink

    First Barb & Sherry. Then, Barb & Sherry & Kent
    A Nova Scotian menage a tois
    A duo plus one
    Love times three
    Love minus one; then minus two
    Three
    Two
    Ones

    The math inconsequential
    The chemistry incredible
    A triangle as old as recorded history

    Pink pussies & pink corsets & pink cheeks
    And a pink swollen cock
    A pedestal for Barb the wife
    Shame for Sherry the mistress

    A triangle of decades pass
    Another triangle forms
    Kent & Shannon. Then, Sherry & Kent & Shannon
    Pink has become the red of embarrassment
    To again become the other woman

    And yet the regret that should be obvious
    Remains invisible

    Shame on Sherry
    Shame on Kent
    What a shame
    I have no real shame
    Shameless.

    • Hello Sheralyn,

      Welcome back.

      Yes, I live in S’pore, this lil’ red dot that people mistake for China. Or “I never knew S’poreans speak English that well.”

      Anyway, I go by the name Tony.

      I would like to say “names don’t matter” because I’m not really comfortable with people putting a face to this site. Sometimes I wonder if it is really necessary to hide under a pseudonym. Yet I itch under my own skin.

      Then again, there are people (whom I know) who already knows of this site.

      Sorry, I’m blabbering.

      You’re writing a book. A tough job, I think. All the discipline involved! It must be amazing.

      “Pink pussies & pink corsets & pink cheeks”

      How about doing away with all the ampersands? replies the wannabe.

  4. Well, for a wannabe you seem to manage to be! I wouldn’t call what I wrote poetry. It’s just stream of consciencousness at its worst!

  5. I’m not a worrier but I must be as totally honest with myself about my capabilities as possible. I will never be a William Faulkner but I have the ability to entertain with my stories and my quirky way of delivery sometimes hits the mark. Not often, but often enough to keep me going. Perhaps you feel the somewhat the same. I will never forget how your “rain words” impacted upon me whilst I was listening to the rain rain down.

  6. Yes! I am an old hand at many things! I love to travel and have done so extensively. I sense you are a young man just beginning your journey. I am not old but I started to live as an adult at a very early age. Do you have more stories that you haven’t posted on this site? I would like to read more of what you have written. Perhaps we could critique each other’s stuff? Just wondering. What writers do you like?

    S

  7. Haha. You sense correct. The furthest I’ve been to was Europe and I absolutely love every single moment that passed.

    Hmm. More stories? Fiction? I don’t usually write fiction. It’s all in here somewhere, one big mess 🙂

    Sure, I don’t mind. Critique would be good. Never really done those formally before. There are some critique groups that meet up occasionally in Singapore.

    My favourite writers? Haha. Raymond E. Feist, David Eddings, Edgar Allen Poe (haven’t gotten around to finish reading his stuff), Naomi Novik and a couple more others. I haven’t been reading for such a long while. I’m still buying books but they just end up being stacked in my book shelf.

    Who are your favourite authors?

    Oh thanks for all your comments so far. You’ve been a most engaging reader!

  8. Hi There. I thought I would send you a re-write. Maybe you could tell me if you see improvement or…not! Some of my favourite writers are Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens and George Eliot. I lean towards the classics but am still an avid Stephen King fan. Best hack writer I’ve ever read. Anyway, I hope you don’t think I am too forward for sending this.

    S

    In the Pink

    First Barbie and Midge. Then, Barb and Midge and Ken
    A Nova Scotian menage a tois
    A duo plus one
    Love times three
    Love minus one
    Minus Two
    One and one and one

    The numbers, an integration of prime and odd
    The chemistry and friendship, incredible
    A triangle as old as recorded history

    Pink corsets, pink cheeks and pink pussies
    And a hard pink cock
    A pedestal for Barbie, the wife
    The pink of shame for Midge, the mistress
    All for one and one for all
    The muskateers of triumphanant feelings, gone wrong

    Three decades pass and
    A second triangle forms
    First, Ken and Skipper. Then, Midge and Ken and Skipper
    A trilogy of dolls

    Pink brightens into the red of embarrassment as
    Again Midge becomes the other woman
    Both colours are hot and so is this made in Matel situation

    And yet the reflective regret
    Does not regress into remorse

    Shame on Midge
    Shame on Ken
    What a shame
    They have no shame
    Shameless

    Is being a fragment inevitable?
    Would Little Skipper put on a pink corset
    Would she let her pink nipples be
    Licked by the pink tongue of the other woman
    As her husband jerked off?

    Pink and red and black.

  9. I’ve like Stephen King’s early hack writings, not really sure about his fiction though. Do you have copies of his early journalistic endeavours? I’m not really a classical reader but sci-fi and dystopian fiction I like.

    Hmm forward yes it is haha. The dolls Barbie and Ken kept appearing in my mind whenever I came across those names. Since you’re going with the Made in Mattel situation, perhaps you would like to take the metaphor further?

  10. I am a big time sci-fi fan. Especially the king and creator of that genre H.G. Wells. I don’t know what dystopian fiction is. Please explain. Well, I took your advise and incorporated the “doll theme” even further. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my efforts to express myself. Sometimes “forward” is my middle name!” If you have the inclination to give me further feedback, please do so.

    And yes, I have read SK’s early writings. His imagination certainly intrigues me.

    Sheralyn

    In the Pink

    First Barbie and Midge. Then, Barbie and Midge and Ken
    A Nova Scotian menage a tois
    In the Annapolis Valley of the Dolls

    A duo plus one
    Love times three
    Love minus one
    Minus two
    One and one and one

    The numbers, an integration of prime and odd
    The chemistry and friendship, incredible
    A triangle as old as recorded history

    Pink corsets, pink cheeks and pink pussies
    And a pulsating pink prick

    A pedestal for Barbie, the wife
    The pink of shame for Midge, the mistress

    All for one and a free-for-all
    The muskateers of triumphant feelings, trampled

    Three decades go by and
    A second triumpharate forms

    First, Ken and Skipper. Then, Midge and Ken and Skipper
    Again, Ken gets to have his dolls and eat them too
    A plastic and flesh banquet

    Pink brightens into the red of embarrassment as
    Again Midge becomes the other woman
    The colours are hot and so is this made by Mattel situation

    And yet the reflective regret
    Does not regress into remorse
    Because playing house
    Remains a childish fantasy

    Even if all the dolls are animated

    Shame on Midge
    Shame on Ken
    What a shame
    They have no shame
    Shameless

    Is becoming fragment again, inevitable?
    Would Skipper put on a pink corset
    And let her pink nipples be
    Licked by the pink tongue of the other woman
    As her husband jerked off?

    Pink and red and black

    Perhaps Pepper is the ultimate remedy
    Of bringing everyone to life.

  11. It wasn’t about me. It was about the words. Sorry if I challenged your attention span. I did not realize there was a length restriction. I was just simply looking for feedback. I guess I got it in a rather backhanded way. Not to worry. I will resist posting anything further so as not to offend anyone.

  12. Thanks for the “welcome back.” Much appreciated. I’m just not sure what I should be posting here, if anything at all. I realize it is your blog and I do not want to be intrusive.

  13. Don’t worry – feel free to post.

    It took me a few readings to get to the meat of your poem. I only understood the first four stanzas after I read the fifth! From then on, the poem becomes more coherent.

    These are the parts I like:

    Again, Ken gets to have his dolls and eat them too
    A plastic and flesh banquet

    And yet the reflective regret
    Does not regress into remorse
    Because playing house
    Remains a childish fantasy

  14. I really appreciate your feedback and if you like even a few lines it gives me some hope that it’s not complete trash. How has your writings been coming along? Anything new you would like to share? I have been plodding along with my book but it’s a stop and go proposition. Here is a sample paragraph:

    Perhaps failed love needs to be sicked up so moving on is possible. When not returned in kind, it becomes like a poison that needs to be dispelled at all costs so it doesn’t infect and fester like a disease. What was once like a sun in your heart becomes a carbunkle that must be lanced. The resulting scar, when you gaze upon it, hopefully becomes something you learn from, rather than just be an ugly reminder of failure.

  15. Feedback is freely given though you may wish to engage someone professional or perhaps, look for a community?

    After all, I am no professional who can tell you what the market wants.

    Thanks for sharing your writings so far Sheralyn.

    Unfortunately all I have is right here on this site.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s