Hi miss! I don't know if this message is too late, but just in case you'll still drop by a bookstore, is it okay if I ask for Craig Clevenger's The Contortionist's Handbook? I can't find it anywhere here eh. Thank you, miss!
- Gel
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Encounter: The toes in the shower
Flash fiction by Margaret Kawsek
A/N: Hello, this is my second short story. I seem to be having trouble copy-pasting in blogspot, so apologies if you can't see it yet.
I got transported back in time, once. In the shower.
I was looking at my toes, thinking these toes are the result of years and years of evolution. A few thousand years ago these toes were probably some form of jelly extension... probably didn't even have toes, just weird things sticking out of the blob that we now call a foot. I didn't look at them after that. From the strange things to the weird things (Now there’s a difference, I thought) to the beautiful things… it’s really the fascinating things, isn’t it?
Did you know that there are tiny worms living in the pores of every human’s face? They feed on dead skin.
Makes my skin crawl, thinking about it. But then again, it should, what with all those worms wriggling around. It’s not a disease, or anything special. Everyone has worms. Fascinating!
Fascinating things scared the hell out of me.
I reached for the shampoo, careful not to look at my toes. But I could feel them, and I saw my fingers instead. Shivers ran down my back-- could have been the fear, but then again I was naked and it was a pretty damn cold evening, even for January. My nails were painted in an inhumanly way-- there was white on the tips, called french tips, though I read somewhere that they were invented in America. I don't really know. And below the white tips there were more white shapes, curving and spotting and forming a little flower to where the base of the nail ended and became the rest of the finger.
Painted. Inhuman. Years ago they didn't have such things.
The shampoo was in my hand, a strange substance that I was about to put into my hair. Yuck, now that I think about it. A translucent, pearly-white liquid. Almost like--
I washed it off.
What was there to do in a shower other than stand under the water? Sort of like a waterfall, breathe in and out, then hold it to plant your face somewhere in there. When you get out of that stream of water, you step out of the shower and back into clothes. Standing, all the while standing. Why do we need to stand in the shower, by the way?
So I sat down, under the water that started pounding down the curve of my back. Just to prove that it can be done. I sat down and the flow of the water gathered itself around me; converged. I closed my eyes to keep my mind of all the fascinating things. In the shower, of all places.
There was a time, though, when things like that didn't matter. Before philosophy and science, for me, were real. Like a child I stretched out my arms and breathed deeply. I could still feel the fingers, those scary extensions of my flesh with white painted onto them, they became small. My legs shrunk into themselves, and slowly I became shorter, I felt the hair on my head grow back into my skull, getting shorter and longer again and short. All those haircuts.
Blobs. My feet were blobs. And I couldn't open my eyes. I was floating in a sea of water. My eyelids shut tightly. It was like I couldn't breathe, but I could breathe anyway, me leaning lightly against a wall of something soft.
All I could think of was Fuck, I'm naked.
Barely swimming I tucked whatever limbs I felt left into myself, feeling a floating sensation that I barely remember from a very long time ago. So it continued until I was no longer anything but nothing; the tiniest proof of life in the universe. A seed, but so much more, I think, what? So much more but a lot less, am I even human in this form?
So this is what they felt like, millions of years ago. Just twenty-three years and eight months away, really.
Am I human in this form? Maybe, I thought to myself, floating around in a pool of whatever it was I was floating around in. It smelled strange, almost like blood, but less metallic. Not that I could breathe properly in there, if I could have breathed at all. Is there breathing with no nose? No air? Or maybe not. The basic human functions, to feel and breathe and smell and hear, seemed gone. Fascinating! I was freaking myself out. Tried to feel, tried my hardest to feel back the toes and the fingers and the limbs, and the smell, and the beating of the shower on the curve of my back.
Then I was back in the shower. Found myself sitting on the cold tile floor of it, still disturbing the water. Checking my toes, I turned off the tap.
(800 words)
A/N: Hello, this is my second short story. I seem to be having trouble copy-pasting in blogspot, so apologies if you can't see it yet.
I got transported back in time, once. In the shower.
I was looking at my toes, thinking these toes are the result of years and years of evolution. A few thousand years ago these toes were probably some form of jelly extension... probably didn't even have toes, just weird things sticking out of the blob that we now call a foot. I didn't look at them after that. From the strange things to the weird things (Now there’s a difference, I thought) to the beautiful things… it’s really the fascinating things, isn’t it?
Did you know that there are tiny worms living in the pores of every human’s face? They feed on dead skin.
Makes my skin crawl, thinking about it. But then again, it should, what with all those worms wriggling around. It’s not a disease, or anything special. Everyone has worms. Fascinating!
Fascinating things scared the hell out of me.
I reached for the shampoo, careful not to look at my toes. But I could feel them, and I saw my fingers instead. Shivers ran down my back-- could have been the fear, but then again I was naked and it was a pretty damn cold evening, even for January. My nails were painted in an inhumanly way-- there was white on the tips, called french tips, though I read somewhere that they were invented in America. I don't really know. And below the white tips there were more white shapes, curving and spotting and forming a little flower to where the base of the nail ended and became the rest of the finger.
Painted. Inhuman. Years ago they didn't have such things.
The shampoo was in my hand, a strange substance that I was about to put into my hair. Yuck, now that I think about it. A translucent, pearly-white liquid. Almost like--
I washed it off.
What was there to do in a shower other than stand under the water? Sort of like a waterfall, breathe in and out, then hold it to plant your face somewhere in there. When you get out of that stream of water, you step out of the shower and back into clothes. Standing, all the while standing. Why do we need to stand in the shower, by the way?
So I sat down, under the water that started pounding down the curve of my back. Just to prove that it can be done. I sat down and the flow of the water gathered itself around me; converged. I closed my eyes to keep my mind of all the fascinating things. In the shower, of all places.
There was a time, though, when things like that didn't matter. Before philosophy and science, for me, were real. Like a child I stretched out my arms and breathed deeply. I could still feel the fingers, those scary extensions of my flesh with white painted onto them, they became small. My legs shrunk into themselves, and slowly I became shorter, I felt the hair on my head grow back into my skull, getting shorter and longer again and short. All those haircuts.
Blobs. My feet were blobs. And I couldn't open my eyes. I was floating in a sea of water. My eyelids shut tightly. It was like I couldn't breathe, but I could breathe anyway, me leaning lightly against a wall of something soft.
All I could think of was Fuck, I'm naked.
Barely swimming I tucked whatever limbs I felt left into myself, feeling a floating sensation that I barely remember from a very long time ago. So it continued until I was no longer anything but nothing; the tiniest proof of life in the universe. A seed, but so much more, I think, what? So much more but a lot less, am I even human in this form?
So this is what they felt like, millions of years ago. Just twenty-three years and eight months away, really.
Am I human in this form? Maybe, I thought to myself, floating around in a pool of whatever it was I was floating around in. It smelled strange, almost like blood, but less metallic. Not that I could breathe properly in there, if I could have breathed at all. Is there breathing with no nose? No air? Or maybe not. The basic human functions, to feel and breathe and smell and hear, seemed gone. Fascinating! I was freaking myself out. Tried to feel, tried my hardest to feel back the toes and the fingers and the limbs, and the smell, and the beating of the shower on the curve of my back.
Then I was back in the shower. Found myself sitting on the cold tile floor of it, still disturbing the water. Checking my toes, I turned off the tap.
(800 words)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Just in case...
...you're as clueless as I am about the upcoming writers festival, you can check out the link below:
http://planet.naga.ph/2009/01/28/taboan-the-philippine-international-writers-festival-2009/
Hope it helps. XP
~yana :)
http://planet.naga.ph/2009/01/28/taboan-the-philippine-international-writers-festival-2009/
Hope it helps. XP
~yana :)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
your second story
let's just make this optional, shall we? those who already have almost-done drafts for the second round of workshops need not participate in the writing exercise. the point of this exercise is to get those who have no ready 2nd stories to have something to submit along with the rest. and so. here goes. instructions:
> choose one among any of the stories discussed in the 1st round of workshops.
> retell, rewrite, or re-imagine the story.
> retaining just the characters, play with the other elements of the story and come up with your own.
submit your stories to me on the week of the 9th. last submission is on the 13th. (friday the 13th!). i can only get them through email, since i'll be over at emily dickinson's town, braving winter, by then.
make hard copies for all members of the class please. we will resume the workshop as soon as i get back.
***
i am putting together some essays on writing by writers of different genres. we'll take up these essays on the 4th and the 6th. please prepare some 20 pesos for photocopying cost.
for tomorrow, see to it taht you've read kris's story.
see you.
> choose one among any of the stories discussed in the 1st round of workshops.
> retell, rewrite, or re-imagine the story.
> retaining just the characters, play with the other elements of the story and come up with your own.
submit your stories to me on the week of the 9th. last submission is on the 13th. (friday the 13th!). i can only get them through email, since i'll be over at emily dickinson's town, braving winter, by then.
make hard copies for all members of the class please. we will resume the workshop as soon as i get back.
***
i am putting together some essays on writing by writers of different genres. we'll take up these essays on the 4th and the 6th. please prepare some 20 pesos for photocopying cost.
for tomorrow, see to it taht you've read kris's story.
see you.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Lazy Eye By Kristine Caguiat
“Diego.”
I remembered fidgeting with the radio controls before facing her. It was as if I was stalling for time or pretended not to hear her beside me.
Again,
“Diego, please.”
Fuck.
A song started to play, but I have forgotten its title. It’s not like I pay attention to these things. The way it sounds is what matters. I wonder what band this is? Maybe they want to be famous; the way everyone wants to be famous. But Lucy…
I’ve been waiting.
I’ve been waiting for this moment…
“Yeah?”
That was pathetic, but it was all I could muster. She must be so frustrated by now. The air conditioning would hum almost silently, the cold air cracking my lips until they stung. I wonder if she felt the same way. I could see her hands gripping the edge of her seat, until they were both drawn up and came to a stop where she cupped her mouth and blew into both palms.
Ah yes, she was feeling the same. The cold was getting to her as well.
“I promise I won’t…”
“Won’t what, Lucy?”
“Tell anyone.”
Her eyes fluttered, her cheeks were flushed. She was still beautiful despite the matted hair on her forehead, and remnants of the night’s party all over her once pristine dress. But I didn’t like her.
…all my life.
But it’s not quite right.
She was cheap.
No, she wasn’t, I think. It’s more like she was trying to be, in order to excuse herself from trying everything. She was a butterfly, who was perpetually running out of time.
“That’s not important.”
“It is to me. I have to do this”
“To lose your virginity? Now?”
“Why don’t you understand?”
Her gaze grew sharper as she looked out the window. It’s as if narrowing her eyes to the darkness outside would have made her less frustrated.
“Not with me, Lucy.”
“Why?”
What did she mean, “why?” What the hell.
Stupid girl.
I wonder if she thinks I’m being polite. I wonder if she thinks I’m being polite because she’s a girl. Her sex has made all the difference.
“I don’t love you.”
And this ‘real’
It’s impossible, if possible
“It’s okay, I don’t either.”
At whose blind word.
She looked at me again. Maybe it was her beauty that had her convinced that she was invincible. In the end, she’d never learn.
“Don’t you want me, Diego?”
“This isn’t right.”
I want to take care of her.
I gripped the steering wheel. The tag of my shirt scraped a spot on my back every time I moved, a tender mark must already be there by now.
“Just fuck me.”
So clear but so unheard.
‘Just fuck me.’
I repeated the words in my head. There was no malice to the way she said them. She had the ability to make the words still sound beautiful.
I’ve been waiting.
I’ve been waiting for this silence…
I wonder what it would be like to touch her. I wonder if I would be the first of many. I wonder if I would ruin her.
“That’s it?”
“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”
If this moment was different, I would be different.
She would love me, and I could take care of her.
…all night long.
“I should take you home”
It’s just a matter of time.
“Not before you do.”
To appear sad,
With the same old decent lazy eye
Fixed to rest on you.
Her eyes. The makeup had blurred long ago, evidence of how hard she tried to be beautiful, even if she already was.
“It’s almost your curfew.”
“You know it won’t take long.”
“It will hurt.”
But not for me.
“I know.”
So clear and so untrue.
Fuck.
I hate the way she looks at me.
She makes my clothes feel uncomfortable, and the air around us grows thin.
Or thick.
What is thick?
Like extreme heat and extreme cold where you can no longer tell the difference.
Everything blurs.
Everyone’s so intimately rearranged,
Everyone can focus clearly with such shine.
December darkness is overwhelming.
I hear a sound. Apart from that song.
It’s slow and steady, and I know what it is but I have to look to make damn sure.
Lost and loaded
Still the same old decent lazy eye
She was perched on the edge of her seat, her back slightly turned towards me. I could see her soft skin emerging as the zipper slowly came undone.
Straight through your gaze
That’s why I said I relate
The dress looked uncomfortable anyway. It must’ve been itchy, and it looked too much but on her it was just right. I remember on certain nights when we’d see each other across the crowd, she always dressed too much. Actually, it was more like too little, but it was too much for everyone else around us. Her friends would have to haul her back to her car, a drunken frenzy that she was. I wonder why I was always so aloof.
It would’ve been so easy for me to carry her all those nights ago.
“Diego”
“Yes?”
“I’m running out of time”
Maybe that is why I despised her?
I never felt as if I was running out of time. But she was going too fast. Maybe I should hold her first.
I said we relate
It’s so fun to relate.
“Diego,”
She’s about to lean over, her belly grazing the gear shift, her right hand on the steering wheel and the left poised above my backrest for support.
I no longer feel the cold air. As it were, the air is stifling. I want to roll down the windows, but passersby might take notice.
“We’re both running out of time.”
Why did I say that?
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I do feel as if we’re both running out of time.
And her breasts were right there.
Would it have made a difference if we were in love?
In the half light she is beautiful.
It’s the room, the sun. and the sky.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Yes?
Right now.
Right this moment.
I kiss her because she is.
She tastes like everything I had imagined.
It’s the room, the sun and the sky.
It’s the room, the sun and the sky.
Stupid, stupid, girl.
Stupid, stupid, butterfly.
Her skin is so soft.
I’ve been waiting for this moment.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, all my life.
By: Kristine Caguiat
Song: Lazy Eye by The Silversun Pickups
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