"Love is a much more vicious motivator"

tiny piece of fiction inspired by the quote "Love is a much more vicious motivator"--BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes
_________________________________________________________________________________

"I'm going to kill you."

The dramatic tensions of staged play is killing her, even if the silences are too lengthy and quiet. There's a mix of macabre and irony within her words-- she doesn't know how she actually manages that, but the lines were written for her.

They were meant for her.

Somehow, though, she figures that little improvisations here and there wouldn't hurt. But the scriptwriter insists that this is the way the world works. This is the way the plot unfolds. This is the way her story starts, continues, falls, ends.

"I'm going- I'm going to kill you."

She falters with an accented anxiety, experimenting with the look of a bereaved child. While she can paint the crime scene of a haste murder, the culprit remains a mere patch of words. There is no life in the kill. Her culprit's a mere figurine or symbol of utter vacancies within the flawed manual of constructive set-up kills.

"I'm gonna kill you."

Dark comedy. A tinge of bitterness that'll induce laughter from the audience, all right. She can see through the psychological uncertainties of this culprit.

"I'm going to kill you."

Yes.

This is the one; she's taken her pick.

"I'm going to tear you down with sweet favours and whisper little nothings into your ears, promising you everything. You're gonna believe me. I'm gonna leave you longing for more, all defenses down. I'm going to lick you up, every last shred of dignity. I'm gonna leave you begging for more. I'm gonna leave you boiling in lust."

Her plan is simple, and so intricately complex at the same time.

"And then I'm going to leave you alone."

Love. Definitely a much more motivating factor.

Today was April's fool. Silly girl.

Four poems, each a lie.

((words are like ethanol.
teasingly so-
and then once they're done flirting with you,
they go away.
evaporate, leaving no traces behind-
not at all.))

and in the end
we're all april's fool.
trapped in the summer heat-(or is it spring,autumn, winter)
jumping around in imaginary seasons
that put a slight spring (spring!) to our steps
and yet the heat presses down on us again.

time gently accentuates our features-
painting blemishes and little etchings over
our faces and
arms and
beautiful varicose legs and
our whitened--frizzy hair.

and in the end
we're nothing but white
white bones that break and
creak under
pressure of gravity.
-and under ground too-

stories unfold and caramel apples bob up and down.

I thought of another story to tell.

Ohgodwhyisthishappeningtome.

He tells her, once, of the sweet, caramel apple. Bobbing red with a fresh layer of lie. He stares at her. She takes the apple, peels its lie layer by layer and hands him the fruit. He devours it whole and leaves the [apple] core of truth to her care. It rots and burns her.


He tells her, twice, of the beautiful, fragile flowers. Alive with happiness and grace. He stares at her. She gives him her youth and watches as he mercilessly plucks the petals one by one. He hands her the wilting flower of her youth and walks away.


She grows old.


He tells her, thrice, of the pure, unstained canvas. Rough with tales of aging, yet light as a feather. He stares at her. She glances at her own canvas, framed up and hanging around her neck. She removes the canvas from the frame and passes it to him. Her soul is in his hand.


This time, he walks away, vanishing, leaving her with the wilted flower and the burning, stinging core of truth.


Every single person he meets, and yes, he meets every single one of them--they pass him their apples, their flowers and their canvases. 


Oh yes, and his name is "Life".


lalalala.

sigh.
sleeeeeeeppppppppp.

angst ahead. YOU DON'T WANT TO READ.

THAT'S IT. NO MORE NYES MURO DRAWINGS.

I AM AN IDIOT. A HUGE, CAPITAL-LETTER-LISED IDIOT.

OH WHY.

WHY DO I EXIST. WHY WHY WHY.

I'MMA GO AND CRAWL INTO A CORNER AND DIE.

IDIOT ME IDIOT ME IDIOT ME.

Bacon abuse. ; - ;

roses are red,
facebook is blue.
we have no mutual friends,
so who the hell are you?

...
sighsighsigh.

The Japanese Teacher said there was something wrong with me! :D

and it made me laugh for the rest of the Japanese lesson.

ZOMB. (Zombie's way of saying "zomg") Finally someone confirms my thoughts :D
Oh gawd. Homework. T ^ T ||| And yay, there's CCA tomorrow.

And I'll be getting new glasses soon! (because the current one's thingy broke off-- got it fixed, but the paint is peeling, peeling.....)


...
Phoebe called me earlier.
Oh gawd I miss you guys a lot. A LOT. A LOTTTTTT~
And then I saw the evil egg. I was trying to ask about FA. Not so sure now...

Ugh, now I need to do things.
Important things.

I swear, I hate this place. I absolutely despise it, loathe it.

Dreaming Out Loud

I'm dreaming out loud,
An ethereal world of vivid sketches
that circle a tangled mess of mystic clouds--
In a sea of bony, grimy faces, the lot of wretches.

In a blood pool of mauve carnations,
My fingers dig out cocoa wishes
formed through bitter accusations
and later reduced to moonstone ashes.

Pelting shards and fragmented fantasies,
I shoot down shadows of Cheshire Cats.
They vanish into the dawn of glittering faeries,
where magic--upon my head-- she pats.

Crochet doilies traipse on threads
of lingering passion and scattering stardusts.
Flimsy wings and mirages of patched up shreds,
I see them through mirrors of blinded trust.

In a thicket of mismatched constellations,
Upon a kaleidoscope of beaded stars,
I trace on the canvas, my starry-eyed creations.
I'm dreaming out loud-- dreaming away scars.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Oh, so fail.

Inspired by: Stop and Stare, Onerepublic. :D

Whatisthiscrapidon'teven. harhar.
I should have submitted this for Montage!!! T.T

Alice Apocalypse, Chapter 3

Her fingers weave into each other. Sure, they used to dream in colours, fantasies soaring, unbidden songs painting a mirage upon her stark, putrid soul.
Her fingers ache to tear away the canvas, taunting, haunting but yet so true. So true it makes her cry. Her fingers sift through the years, the memories compiled into a scrapbook that yellow with each lie that lolls about in her mouth. They are tearing apart, breaking down, drifting away with the wind. She can no longer remember Eden.

"Nox, I'm in Nox." she whispers to herself, reassuringly.

The chant has become a string, a delicate-oh,so-fragile thread between reality and desire. Her mantra, her lifejacket to keep her safe from the clutches of despair. No, she will not fall prey to envy. She will not coat her lips with the syrupy taste of jealousy. She will not remember Eden, she will not know of the happiness--there was nothing to be thought about of Eden, it was nothing but a place too far away for her to reach out for. A place for idealists, perfection, beauty-- nothing for her. Eden and Nox were words too different, like the like poles of a magnet (alike, in the aspect that only the most extreme superlatives can be used to describe them). Repel, repel away the thoughts, shoo away the emotions.

"Puppet, frayed, ugly, bitter. I don't deserve emotions. I don't, I don't." The blunt words pierce at her heart, but this is the truth.

She remembers The Casting.

"You don't belong here, you never will."

"Disgusting child, oh what have we done to deserve such devil?"

"Her heart. It's black. Her eye, it rebels."

"Don't look into her eye, sweetheart. It's a mirror."

"It's a curse, a curse."

"My Alice ! AliceohAlice with the beautiful eyes."

"She's nothing but a danger, her eyes, they rebel against our common rules!"

"Mom?"

"Away with her!" 

"Alice, Alice, don't. Don't leave me!"

"Mom, I don't. No! Let me go!"

"You are naught but ugliness herself, your left eye, a curse. Banished to Nox, you will be! Monster!"

"Alice, my dear Alice. Don't let them take you away."

"I'm not a monster!"

"UGLY!"

"Shut up!"

"MONSTER!" 

"I'm not a monster."

"GO AWAY! NO ONE LIKES YOU!"

"I'm not a monster. I'm not."  

She left for Nox, even before The Casting. In the darkness of the night, she left. Comforting silence engulfed her and she never saw the need to hear those derogatory terms. She was a monster of the night, a monster of Nox.

"Alice, you have to know that your eye is a blessing." her mother pats her head.

"I wish I were blind."

"Alice!"

"That way I wouldn't have to see their eyes and look at mine in the mirror. Oh wait, my left eye is a mirror, right? Just good enough for me to peer in the dimmed light in Nox, isn't it?"

"Alice." 

"I know. My left eye is a mirror. A devil, they say. The cards on the table do nothing but condemn me."

Alice flips her hand over to reveal the imprint of The Joker on her palm.

"Alice!"

Silence.

A joker symbolizes a loner, forever to be hidden in the shadows, to be avoided. Alice the Joker, she thought wryly. The name did seem to suit her.

But yes, there was no happiness in Eden, there was nothing, except the sprinkling of salt over her wounds. 

Alice gingerly picks up the papers, stares at the scribbles once more. She stares at a drawing of Aurelia and her. Alice's fringe is long, too long. It covers her left eye. Aurelia merely grins and nudges Alice. Aurelia was the first to know her secret. She was also the first to tell it.

''Aurelia?"

"Yes, Alice?" Aurelia smiles, looking up at Alice.

Alice shuffles her feet.

"I have a secret."

The word lures Aurelia in, as she tugs on Alice's hand.

"What is it?" she mumbles, excited.

Alice pushes her fringe away and anxiously beams.

Aurelia falls back, shocked.

"Devil," Aurelia calls, disregarding their friendship.

Alice pauses in motion, letting her fringe drop back to cover her eye. 

Devil. Aurelia called her a devil. Devil.

Alice stares hard at Aurelia's sketchy drawing. The lines seem to unscramble themselves to form a word. Devil. She wishes she could remember the happy moments in Eden, let the feeling of joy wash over her [for once in such a long time]. But there is nothing. Alice rethinks.

"The first time I got my flower."

It is blank.

"I received chocolates."

Blank, still.

"Rolling in the grass!"

Nothing.

"Singing with the choir!"

Blank, Empty. Nothing. Black. Fuzzy.

"You're nothing but a monster. Ugly, pathetic. You don't deserve Eden. You don't deserve anything."

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Oh what is this I don't even.

T.T 

I was planning on writing to complete another chapter of Alice Apocalypse but it came out in tatters.

Oh, I'll just publish it and watch as you squirm in horror at the nonsensical stuff.

~o~

Dancers-- my submission for montage

Dancing on a hard, cement floor.

Twirling about at ill grace,

You seek our very core

of love, peace and trimmed lace.

Arching backs and curved figurines

are placed above the wooden fireplace.

One speaks to the other--where have you been,

fondly, lovingly-- he strokes her face.

Slender fingers trace the epitome of desire,

hesitant, pleasured with the silky taste of lust.

We drown ourselves in fire,

the scorching flames spit out fantasies, stardusts.

Ribbons bind our feet together,

Scarlet, elegant but tortuous,

The weight of the world appears as the weight of a feather

Upon our legs, yet our faces are joyous. 

Teetering on the edge,

Cracks powdered, scars faded.

We mumble the sacred pledge

of ugliness and beauty-- a weight [over our shoulders] cascaded

_______________________________________________________________________________

Oh crap.
Why did I just submit this for Montage.
...
...
...
argh.

I guess I'm desperate to this extent.
~o~

This is going on the fridge

Chatting with Clarinet now.

Ohgosh.

me: lalala

  thanks

  but returning to the subject

  THETENNISBALLSENTUSALLTHEPROPOSALANDIDIDN'TREALISEITWASATTACHEDANDSOIASKEDHERANDTHENSHECAMEBACKWITHAREPLYWITHOUTANYEMOTICONSBUTTHATWASNORMALANDI'MSCREWED

 I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.I'MSCREWED.

  IMMA GO BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL
CLARINET: ehh? NO DON'T!!!! D:

Yesh, I am so screwed now.

me: IM ELMO N I KNOW IT

 CLARINET: IM EMO AND I KNOW IT

  KIDS LOOK AT THESE CRAYONS!

  KIDS LOOK AT THESE CRAYONS!

 me: ahh

  sweet childhood
Howlie mollie in a bowlie. How did this evolve into this?
...UGHall i can say is I'm screwed. and Tuesday *facepalms*

Post-it ノート: Waffle on the go :)

haiz, i has no brains...

just a waffled chip bit of my brain, which has totalliee no sense. 

we discussed (No ABOUT) poems on life and i wanted to go on and on and on and on forever and fangirl over its awesomeness, but people were getting distracted and such that it was weird if i were to continue to fawn over it in a corner. instead, i left my thoughts to myself.

i wish i could write such awesome poems. i wish, i wish, i wish.

___

life is a ticking, restless clockwork--

a kaleidoscope of hopes that fade into

warped images, they quirk 

into an alley, flying through.

 Past the memories that flicker

and twist into an oblivion of scattered

fireflies that smugly snicker

with knowledge of truths torn and tattered.

Against the merry-go-round

of thick, creamy webs of lies

that bond masks who astound 

the faded tattoo of love, beating symphonies of cries.

life is a waffle

of bits and pieces.

a puzzle to baffle,

of cracks and creases.

___

I tried to make it rhyme, I did! and the hardest part was to make it make sense.

Waffle on the go. 

Have a bite of dough.

SEEEE? it doesn't rhyme nor does it make sense, it never does ; - ; oh well,

cos i has no brains.

: D

tralalalalalalalalalalala

Ollieeeeeee :)

Musing-- God of Death

Have you ever thought so much about Death that you got addicted to it?

I have--I am.

It just seems so peculiar as to where we're going after Death, and I can only picture black, darkness and numbness. If Death is such a place, perhaps I want to go there. Still, it's only what we can imagine. But the thought of a place simply being an absence of everything is rather scary.

And it sounds rather tempting. Rather simple, as compared to the restless clockwork of life.

... And it's so simple that it terrifies me. How can one thing be so simple,so straightforward? I don't dare to open my arms and fling myself towards it. It is a lack of faith. An overdose of suspicion, cautiousness.

... Oh bananas. I sound so suicidal and creepy. Let's talk about fluffy ponies and nyan-cats that poop rainbows.

...
oh, bananas. =3=

Montage is due, due, due.
... I forgot what date it was.
Let's write a poem for Meggi :D

sifted through all of my blog posts and realised that most of the writings there are crapcrapcrap.
=3= bleh. i feel so ashamed. *hides in corner*

but hopefully, hopefully, i have made some progress from those fluffy fluffy fluffy crap :D

because... beauty is in the eye of the beholder. 

i'm wondering whether to upload the draft copy of 'iridescent' that i wrote for school =3=

Musings-- we'll keep it there

Supposedly the world is crashing upon you,
and there's no one there left to help you.

One hand strikes out, but there's no point in anything at all.
Do you get tired of getting tired of life?

When there's so much to see, but you're content with your mind's eye flipping through the scrapbook of your worn-out, torn and tattered memories.

This blog is a dangerous place:
Spinning in progress-- the disastrous web of a scarlet, luscious liquid that trickles down hesitantly upon the sides of your throat, clutching at the hesitation stuck in your vocal box.

All I see are screen shots. Profile images, silhouette of people-- past people who waltzed in and out of my life. And some more happy faces, the ones I can never ever understand, the delicate smile that pierces through each layer of mask with despair. But oh, such beauty as well.

Names piece together letter by letter, stringing helplessly along a fragmented rainbow, splintered into a million mirrors.

Kamikorosu , I'll bite you to death. 

hanganddrop

It's my desktop background, so wise and true. :)

Sigh, so many books that I want to read, but I don't really have time.

Reading 'Gathering Blue' and I'm enchanted by the first few pages already... 

Geography enlightened me for the first time today. :D

I have to go and memorise the stuff already. >o<

Monday is Geography and HCL. Why, why must they put both of my weakest subjects together?

Sigh. Time to revise!

-Ollie-

just close your eyes, the sun is going down

Nothing much to be said about the bunny that's acting like a boss *points up*

Sigh... what have I gotten myself into? 

Writing a poem/prose about 'Iridescent'?

Adding onto another list of things I need to write?

And the best part? I can't resist the urge to take up all of these challenges because it's just so addictive. Helium, I empathise with you!  d >w<||| b

I no own the picture, only the slight editing, which was just to add the words on.

Another burst of inspiration to write about 'Iridescent' but I'm just too exhausted. Sigh.

Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift is echoing in my ears now. Ah, sweet, sweet music. 

I want to read the Hunger Games, but I feel as though I should distance myself from books for the moment.

Just finished 空之镜 and it took me about five to six days. 

It's really nice and thrilling, even with the 繁体字, which kind of put me off...

I'm glad I chose this book over the other romance novels.

Ah, I still fear mirrors. But the reference to mirrors and revealing another flaw in the human's mind? Definitely awe-inducing.

I'm starting on 尤今 soon, and from what peeps have told me,

I'm confident it'll be an interesting read. 

Haha, I haven't been reading Agatha Christie for a long time. I think I'll find other historical fictions to read, or just go along with fanfictions. :)

I'll need to rest in order for that wicked (truly, wicked) burst of energy to seize me and start penning (or rather, typing?) down my thoughts.

Get ready, for Ollie-domination. 

ROFL XD