Honestly....

Why are all books these days about murder mysteries......

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 7:43 AM

33 days left (but more importantly.. 18 days left to spend with INTI peeps)



These lanes adorned with tulips and orchids left and right,
conjure emotions of joy, doubt and fright
Steel pillars, gradually fading into the horizon,
each etched with past and present memories frozen.
The grinning and attentive faces brush past lightly,
their familiar faces, I only remember slightly.
I cannot tell at which point the path shall end
but with these people, we will go hand in hand
Though at crossroads, we go our seperate ways
They all will meet, together again some day.





 

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 11:53 AM

Unfamiliar

Face to face, reunion of senses.
The familiar stranger's presense
of memorie's past forgotten and lost
of events that were paid and cost.
Absence, the revolutionary meeting
of recognition but not of a silent greeting.
Small, insignificant, forgotten crimes
talks of illusion of life of times.
Absence, silence weaved in space
minds blurred in mist and haze.
Searching looks goes unfollowed
Gazes unmet, eyes are hollowed.
Comfort lost in the sweat and leather
reflective thoughts of greyish weather.
Works no doubt of the devil's minions,
O, the questions, the questions, the questions
Finality nears, threatened by danger
for once so familair, is now but a stranger.

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 12:00 AM

If there was Business Sex Talk....

I'd prob go smething like this

"We did some swift, efficient asset-stripping, carried out the required amount of research and development, then i was to position my product in her niche market. I did my best to satisfy her high demand with as much supply as i could muster. After a period of violently fluctuating market penetration, the bubble finally burst and we sank back, our sales forces completely spent."

hanks to Stephen Clarke for that passage. It's classic =D

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 1:54 AM

The Tempest by William Shakespeare

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As i foretolld you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, that great globe itself,
Yea , all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant play faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Lets go back to the basics. Though we seem to ignore this issue, idealism vs materialism, it's always a thought that keeps us pondering. even for a second. Is our consciousness merely a state of the brain, or does mental states hold a larger part of life; a spiritual reality outside of our material one. Maybe i do agree with shakespeare, that the universe is merely an idea, but till things are made clearer... i still continue to wonder.

Labels: A Touch of literature, Philosophical Rantings

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 6:07 PM

The Nightmare before Christmukkah

Bak from 'nam.... twas nice, prob hear more about it soon but i don't have any time rite nw.

In the meantime, its tales by Tim Burton, our friendly director/writer/producer/DAMN-talented-man/best-director-next-to-clint-eastwood/wierd-guy who embraces spooky, dark victorian sorta-gothic styles in his movies (yes qutie a mouthful). But hey! he writes books too, so i thought i share some stories which i find quite entertaining from 'The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy'.

Anywayz, Tim Burton basically wrote this book to highlight the troubles of young teens in various surreal scnerios while embracing his distinct flavourful styles. (btw the graphics are really nice too.... yet a tad creepy! )


1. The Boy With nails In His Eyes

The Boy with Nails in His Eyes
Put up his aluminum tree
It looked pretty strange
because he couldn't really see


2. The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy


He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
their nine-day-long honeymon
was on the isle of capri.

For their supper they had one spectacular dish-
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.

That wish did come true- she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
Well,
maybe.

Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.

She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of ocean, of seaweed and brine."

"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
you cannot blame me.
...have you considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"

Not Knowing what to name him,
they just called him sam,
or, sometimes,
"that thing that looks like a clam."

Everyone wondered, but noone could tell,
When would young Oyster boy come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.

One spring afternnon
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.

His mom on the freeway
in the breakdown lane
was pounding the dashboard-
she couldn't contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.

"Really, sweetheart," she said,
"I don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and i think its our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
you're blaming our son for your problems in bed."

He tried salves, he tried ointments
that turned everything red
He tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ached and itched and twichted and he bled.

The doctor diagnosed,
"I can;t be quite sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"

He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
swaer on his forehead,
and on his lips- a lie.
"Son, are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
but do you dream of heaven?
Have you wanted to die?"

Sam blinked his eyes twice
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.

As he picked up his son
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.

They buried him quickly in the sand by the sea
-sighed a prayer, wept a tear-
and were back home by three.

Across of gray drifttwood marked osyter boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.

But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.

Back home safe in bed,
he kissed her and said,
"Let's give it a whirl."

"But this time," she whispered, "we'll wish for a girl."


3. Stick Boy's Festive Season


Stick Boy noticed that his christmas tree looked healtheir
than he did.


4. Junk Girl

There once was a girl
who was made of junk.
She looked really dirty,
and she smelled like a skunk.

She was always unhappym
or in one of her slumps- perhaps 'cause she spent
so much time down in the dumps.

The only bright moment
was froma guy named stan.
he was the neighborhood
garbage man.

He loved her alot
and made a marraige proposal,
but she'd already thrown herself
down a garbage disposal.




Disclamer: I did not write any of these stories, they are quoted as they were in the book. Hopefully, no law was broken. if your looking for the rightful writer, his name is Tim Burton.

Btw you can see all of his stories at http://homepage.eircom.net/~sebulbac/burton/choose.html
And I recommend you do!

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 8:06 PM

If Old People Wrote Poems

it wud probably sound like this


It seems that i cannot see
My cataracts are blinding me
It also seems i cannot hear
For ii've misplaced my hearing gear
I move along my zimmaframe
checking them some wrinkled dames
And when its comes to chewing beef
i Hope i brought my eating teeth

need i say more?

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 8:09 PM

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening By Robert Frost

I might not be very poetic or must of a poem-phile but there is one poem that i do remember is the symbolic poetry by Robert Frost..... it might not be as flowery as others and mite not be so mind-numbingly confuisng with all the metaphors and double meanings that it leaves the reader puzzled and catatonic.

THis poem is simple and clear but yet it can be intepreted different by different people. To me, its basically about escape from the realities of the world which the woods refer. Since its not somewhere hes been before indicated by the horse who 'thinks its queer' its shows that it is something unfamilair or not in his usual routine.............
For me, the woods represents escape from our daily lives for simpler things, it could possibly represent escaping to a carefree world... which can be so 'lovely, dark and deep'.
But in the end, he resists temptation for he 'has promises to keep' and miles to go before he sleeps (basically death)
great poem

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Labels: A Touch of literature

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Exclamation_popcorn reflected on life at 10:39 PM