Consequence of Benefit

Kill it.

The voice within.

Kill conscience --

for benefits.

Armor and coat

with stench of schemes.

Then sugarcoat

With laughter and grins.

Continue on

Deceive and tweak

Continue on

Swindling the weak

When judgement calls

People will speak

Then return home

To prepare a wreath

It all starts from somewhere

A cold and steely blade
A nigh-bursting grenade
Watch life fade
Bullets piercing the air
A cold and deathly glare
Go nowhere
All this hate and guilt blind
All of it entwined
In the mind

Puss in boots

Hi, just to make up for my absence, here's a really short post.

Watch Puss in Boots because it has three stories inside. Namely, Jack and the beanstalk, jack and Jill, and Puss in Boots itself.

The end.

Short, ain't it? =)

I don't know what you know I know

I'm the new poster, Caprice. As per my name, anything I write will be - inconsistent. You could say it provides variety, but that's just the nice-sounding excuse I like to give myself.


I wrote this poem concentrating on the rhyme scheme, so the theme isn't well-developed. I try.


The fears of many arise
At any form of demise
What one cannot contemplate
How it is like to feel those
Feelings on the day most late
What, if any, part lives on
To tell a tale a lifes' worth
From the very end to birth
Are we truly to be gone?
Many are the times it's heard
A belief in detachment
As the dead in its' raiment
In a process most clement
The soul from body capered
All future is a mystery
We blunder with obscured sight
Even under the daylight
The world, no matter how bright
Must spin to eternal night
What lives on is history
When our selves come to a close
In lifes' eternal repose
Do we disappear? Who knows.




It's very hard getting 7 syllables for each line.

POV rewrite - Waverly's Opponent

An exercise from my EPGY days. We were supposed to rewrite an excerpt from a different point on view. The original text was from Waverly's point of view. She's a young girl who excels at chess. I don't know if you guys are interested in reading my prose, but this is one of my favorites, I think. I love narrative description writing (:

The Battlefront

Seated in my chair, I patiently waited for my next opponent to come to the table before me. I knew the board well – this was my battlefield, where I spent my hours fighting over a territory of black and white squares. I wiped my brow with a white handkerchief given to me by my late mother, cursing the stuffy heat of the high school auditorium and wishing it was air-conditioned. I picked at the material of my suit, wishing I had chosen a lighter one. I grunted to myself, “A soldier must be prepared for war in all circumstances, regardless of air-conditioning.” I wrinkled my nose. “Or lack thereof.”

“Hello.” A dainty little voice chirped up. I gave a start. I hadn’t noticed exactly when she had sat down, but I now found myself staring incredulously at a nine-year-old Chinese girl, her pale face tinted a delicate flush. She wore a look of triumph that sparkled in her eyes and lifted her chin. I assumed her previous match went well. Her dark hair was pulled back into neat braids that looked too tight, clipped with plastic rhinestone barrettes that looked both cheap yet presentable at the same time.

I smiled back at her, feeling a twinge of amusement. Never in all my forty-eight years of combat at the black and white battlefront, had I ever had to match wits with a child such as this – she reminded me of a cupcake, with her pink and white dress and little-girl demeanor, swinging her legs and tilting her head.

Then all of a sudden we were poised to fight, leaning forward, fingers on our chess pieces. Something shifted in her eyes; they narrowed and glinted like steel. “Let the game begin.” I challenged softly. Her only reply was to finger her first pawn lightly, and I could see the many strategies flying across her mind behind her eyes like a flock of evening birds.

She moved like lightning, her slim fingers deftly executing maneuver after maneuver; A trap here, an escape there. We exchanged blows, but I was consciously aware that I was taking one step forward, two steps back. She too seemed to realize this, and she brought her hand down from midair and firmly planted her chosen piece in its new position, flashing a triumphant smile. I was suddenly aware that I was sweating profusely, and reached for my handkerchief again. If I did not act wisely and quickly, the game could very well end swiftly in just a matter of moves.

My king moved forward to take her knight. I heard her determinedly mutter under her breath something about throwing sand from the east. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the concentration in her eyes was enough to tell me of some danger that lay ahead unbeknownst to me. Turning back to the ongoing battle, I frowned deeply and could do nothing but watch as she cornered me once again.

“Check.” She smiled sweetly – partly for me, partly for the camera, which I hadn’t noticed before. This was the first time, in the two hours the game lasted for, that she had looked up from the board. I admitted defeat in good spirits, roaring with laughter, for I had never imagined I would chance upon the opportunity to try my luck against this formidable little girl with the dear little dimples and the glowing eyes alight with victory. 

Waiting for the Dawn - A Pastoral

Upon old creaking rocking chair

I sat and sighed and rocked.

And gazed out at the inky depths

In which the sun was locked.

I sat there soaking up warmth that

Seeped from stretched out hills,

Watching the sky lighten, brighten,

Awash with fiery spills.

o.0

The literary texts for next year are Lao Jiu, The Coffin is Too Big for the Hole, and King Lear.

I personally suck at writing book reviews, and for those who haven't read any of them, I guess you should.

Remember to read with a pen or pencil in hand!! You'll end up seeing things that you wouldn't have noticed.

Oh and Caprice says that the coffin story is about the rigidity of the human mind VS

compassion.

Readers could start with that =)

FOR THOSE WHO HAVE READ!!! WARNING!!!

WHEN YOU HAVE CONTEMPLATED ENOUGH ABOUT THE STORY, AND FEEL THAT THERE IS SOMETHING DEEPER BUT CAN'T FIND IT... FIND ME =) I STILL FEEL THERE'S SOME CODE I HAVEN'T CRACKED

Anyway, for those who have read and still can't see the story, 'The coffin is too big for the hole", is a simple yet cleverly written piece about the rigidity and consequence of the Singapore System. Well that is my conclusion. What's yours? I think and I'm sure that the talk about the size of the coffin is the perfect example of a perfect Singaporean. If you do not fit into the system... there are four options/consequences that you can opt for. It is found when the in-charge muses about the four different paths that the author's grandfather can take. I shall not insult your intelligence, and allow you to decipher those four options yourself. I took quite a while to understand them.

Well that is all I can say, or I'll have practically nothing to write about for any future essays.

Anyway I hope I have at least put someone into perspective... Well I thought for quite long to come up with this. Actually it wasn't really long. Singapore stories aren't that deep. I guess it's how we are-- straightforward. It's quite an achievement that this author thought of the coffin to project the system. *applaud for our country*

I guess Lao Jiu's simple and self-explanatory, and I haven't bought King Lear yet.

till then.

Windows Of The Abyss

i. (Delusion)

Mirrors, mirrors, on the wall

But why am I not there at all?

From the ceiling to the floor

I find my image in the door

But again

Vanishes

ii. (Brittle)

Glass on wings aflutter yonder

Never complete, splinters asunder

In fragments decadent there lies

Things lost forever without a goodbye

But still

Pierces

iii. (Players)

A vast expanse of black and white

The curtain falls, a numbing sight

When crown is thrown from majesty’s head

The king is none but pawn, light shed

But now

Puppet

iv. (Aware)

Scattered feathers, black and cold

Long drained of song, but still the crow

Glints golden eyes, sharper when dead

That watch as you lay down your head

But wait

Everywhere

v. (Delirious)

She dances, dances, dances away

She twirls, unfurls, in laughing dismay

She spins, again, spins fast and hard

Explodes into a million shards

But why

Sing

vi. (Derision)

it tinkles like a silver bell

child’s laughter from within the well

your spine, your sweat; your heart, it slows

it thuds duet though you’re alone

But so

Frozen

vii. (Decadence)

your eyes, why do they flicker so?

Alight though they be gaunt and hollow

A candle lit, decayed and old

Turning the musty earth below

But fly

Ash

viii. (Voices)

Small white pills, count one, two, three:

My ceiling fan, it talks to me.

It tells me to stand on my bed

So hungry blades can reach my head

But laugh

Silence

ix. (Performance)

Carved wooden figures, stringed we are.

He pulls, we jerk; a stage bizarre.

But stage collapsed and there he stood:

The puppeteer is made of wood!

But pull

Again

x. (Prelude)

Mirrors, mirrors everywhere

A hundred soulless eyes, they stare

Into my flayed and quivering core

Scarred and alone forever more

But soon

Reappears

Collab by the Idealist, Cynic, and the other person who doesn't yet have a title

A sickly glow pervades my eyes

A mourning crow shrills and cries

Upon the glass, a spidery crack

Lets free some of the soul that I lack

And let other fragments fill the gaps

But the pieces crumble, we fall into relapse

My soul can't crumble if it's never been whole

My life ain't complete if I can't be bold

Our lives forced upon us we now must end

Ourselves, so ourselves ourselves will rend

Them, them, only they can fend

Fend, fend, stave off the hands

Lest death touches my heart

And life tears me apart

And tears like fabric at the seams

And shows those smiting sunbeams

Along comes a chap, creepily cheery

When all else surrounds with bleak and bleary

And salvation lurks beyond our reach

Detected demise sends shudders, we cringe

A foreboding sense of impending doom

Overcomes me like a nightshade's gloom

Tunnel of light in me sucked by ghostly breath

I feel my soul die, chanting "prop, eth, meth..."

The deathly words pierce me inside out

Air viciously and quickly sucked out

From every orifice, your life depleted

Yourself leaking from yourself, your soul eated

The ever winding path to self-salvation never ends

But the wounds upon your spirit never mends

Spirit lost, heart lost, mind lost, soul lost

Hopes tossed, light robbed, love lost, dreams tossed

But the shadows ebb away in keep

My grievances, sorrows and misery deep

Elements Eternally Embraced

Give me a chance to give my heart

though it burns and rips me all apart.

And be able to embrace love so willingly,

that I illicit stares ever so readily.

For in this icy cold world so turgid,

only my fiery passions crackle alit.

Give me a chance to give my soul,

to something that I dearly hold.

And exhaust my might for a righteous fight,

gazing at the stars in a brand new light.

Regardless of what results hit me,

my unconstrained soul, be eternally free.

Give me a chance to taste true pain,

mind and flesh, both scarred and strained.

Panting on the earth all weary and tired,

Tired of resistance; tortured and flustered.

Against the breeze and bleak rolling skies,

I better savour; the rumbling of earth's cries.

I will take a chance to give my heart and all;

My soul, my goals, and my passions call.

To trudge on bravely and never tarry;

To battle triumphantly, and meet pain squarely.

And after foraging in the seven seas,

I fondly treasure, fragile life and peace.

I will take a chance to explore the elements,

and attempt to start purposeful advancement.

The blazing fire and calming water;

The age old forests, they do not falter.

The chilling breeze and mother earth's peaks,

Awaken new meaning when a wise sage speaks.

I will take a chance to lust after the fullest life;

experience the elements, and constantly strife.

Heart and soul I have given it all,

pain and sorrow tasted much more.

And when my winding journey ends,

I willingly meet and embrace Death.

Welcoming him with a taunting grin,

scattered as free as the whistling wind.

MATH

In the scorching hell of math

we seek meaning of some depth.

Of considerable consolation,

to our never ending stream of frustrations.

The future seems deepeningly dark,

as we continue in search for a spark.

But we tirelessly search about,

no meaning could be found.

I swear my jacket is an Invisibility Cloak!

Tut tut. I see that my failure to post random unworthy stories on this blog has brought some disturbance to Cynic. I apologize and thank you for your helpfulness in posting the stuff on my behalf, except the part that I was missing in action.

The Idealist is never, I repeat, NEVER missing in action.

Okay, enough rantings.

Now let's write something- in case my lack of posts causes more distress.

Well. We are. Writers. In the sense that we write. Well actually, we blog...

But what makes a writer?

I believe that everyone has a hidden flair for writing, waiting to be revealed. Then why isn't everyone a professional writer, you may ask. Many discover their talent far too late, when they are already set on a career path...

Then, what distincts an interesting and a boring writer?

The most basic requirement is that the writer has imagination, perspective, then language.

Well actually, it can be simplified to two things. Attitude and Character.

Good writers are usually... sick in the head. Their imagination is what sets them apart from their peers. So much so that when something bad happens, it hits them doubly as hard, precisely for the fact that they are capable of imagining the very worst, and it's so real to them that sometimes, they are not be able to differentiate between reality and imagination.

Next, writers are usually... freaky. The beautiful words and phrases never seem to be able to be used in everyday life, and normal earthlings just cannot understand the peril of not being able to communicate their heart's desires. Writers, true ones, are probably reserved in speech. Well, they must have experienced their friends slumping on their seats and dozing off as they rattle on lost in their imagination. A pretty sad thing I suppose.

The most defining thing of a writer is that they have to be cynical. Most readers love perspective. Perfect. The author gives them a whole new way to look at stuff. Many readers accept the author's view without bothering to refer to it any longer, some book nerds who can barely survive in the working world learn to quote, while even fewer question. (Now didn't I say that the Cynic would make a better writer?)

Of course, there's the whole issue of language and grammar. Speaking of grammar, I've been really conscious of all my punctuation after reading 'Eats,Shoots and Leaves', written by Lynne Truss. Now, writers have the tendency to look at a sentence or a paragraph for ages trying to paraphrase it, kicking off useless words. (well at least I do o.0) Useless words are striked off, sent to the depths of 'word prison', waiting to be used again by yet another author. Writers write, and correct, then write more. Perfectionists, that's what they are. Philip Marlowe would have never come across as such a stylish character (with awesome conversations that show his character) , if Chandler had not been meticulous in his every word.

Now, those aspiring to be writers... Well I suppose that imagination must come first. If you don't have an inborn tendency to imagine, I guess a painful experience which will make your feelings come alive (Is that right? oh well) will do the trick. Writers either have crazy inborn imagination and weird character, or require many experiences to overcome this defect. Those that require many experiences are really observant creatures... But I do not mean the occasional gossiping neighbor who gives you the shivers that you're under surveillance.

Well this haphazard, unplanned writing has been tragic.

See you all then.

Signing off,

Idealist

The Story of Dikaios the Lemon

Another story by our beloved Idealist. Posting on her behalf because she's STILL MIA:

Once upon a time, far far away, there lived a couple of cows grazing in the field. A few centuries passed and the cows had evolved- they now had longer necks that could reach for leaves up above (yes, a giraffe =)) One they, while the giraffes were sitting under a tree, a lemon named Dikaios fell of its branch, because it was too heavy. Dikaios hit the giraffe named Newton, and that was how Newton discovered gravity. Now with fat lemony Dikaios between the ears of Newton, a taller giraffe- Vina, came strolling by ( giraffes do stroll right??), and being really hungry, it ate Dikaios. Unfortunately, Dikaios was an unknown species of lemons that are so acidic and dangerous there is only one of its type in the world. With Dikaios giving out citric acid and all kinds of stuff in Vina's intestines, they dissolved, and Vina ceased to exist.
Outside in the modern world, there was a guy named "Bas.." and a lady named "LSS". They were both really heavy and fat, to the point that one day their gravity was so strong they clashed into each other. Unfortunately, they merged, and created a black hole because of their weight. Everyone in NJC was going to be sucked in to the darkness forever.
At this moment, Dikaios the lemon from the far away land of New Zealand, was blown by the wind ( after dissolving Vina's insides. sorry vina =) its cos you're tall. ) Dikaios fell into the black hole. It was now the battle of two powerful forces. WHO WILL WIN? Dikaios the lemon V.S Bas & LSS the huge big things
"ACID POWER!" Bas&LSS HP drops to .... negative infinity. Dikaios won and saved the day. As he was lying on the grass, his acid melted the grass, and became lemon grass!
And the amazing story of Dikaios and adventure goes on as he saves the world, puts his acid to good use, and now the new generation of lemons all can live and be eaten in peace. We will all remember you in our hearts, Dikaios the lemon. =D

DISCLAIMER
*no offence for the names or countries or living things used*

--Cynic signing off

Why Lemons Are Yellow and Sour

A story by the Idealist. Helping her post:

Plant-ate D. The planet of all fruits. The first occupants of Plant-ate D were the Lemons. In those ages, the Lemons, were as black as the blackberries we see now. A pink dinosaur lay guard in this ancient land of fruits, only to awake to solve any happening disputes.

The Lemons took much land. However, even though they were the first occupants of Plant-ate D, their infrastructure and technology could not keep pace with the rest of the world. They were still suffering diseases , such as insect infestation, that contributed to much of their rising death rates.

One fine day, the Land of White Fruits decided to conquer their counterparts-- the Lemons. The Land of White Fruits were in comparison, much more advanced, and their healthcare system was being reviewed. They wanted test subjects for their next bout of pesticides, and wanted live subjects to test on.

The Lemons were a great lab rats as they were dumb, and had no idea that they were being experimented on. Not only were they experimented on by, they were slaves of the White Fruits.

But the time had come, for the Lemons to know that they, the first occupants of Plant-ate D, had been mistreated and fooled by the White Fruits. Martin Lemon King was the first Lemon brave enough to send a warning to the rest occupying the Land of Lemons, to not come to the Land of Fruits.

The White Fruits, afraid of a rebellion, and fearing the sheer numbers of the Lemons, decided to take the first move before any undesirable outcomes.

The Land of White Fruits loaded their banana-bombers (They had procured these suicide bombers from their conquered Land of Bananas recently), and fired millions and trillions of them into the Land of Lemons.

The suicide bombers (who are the bombs themselves)  flew in mid-air, their skin peeling off as they reached higher and higher. Soon, they all started falling towards the Land of Lemons, like a parade of yellow fireworks. *SPLAT*

The Lemons were hit by the bananas, and subsequently, had turned from black to yellow, having had some sort of skin radiation from the high-speed falling bananas. In their desperation for treating this onset of new yellow skin, many doused themselves with acid, which cause many tiny bumps in their skin, and did not solve the yellow skin problem.

Soon, the Lemons realized that both they, the once blackberry-colored fruits, and the Bananas, had the fate of being controlled by the evil White Fruits. They declared war on the White Fruits.

The White Fruits had the upper hand of superior military knowledge and troops, and were confident of their victory when facing such low level counterparts. As reported by the White Fruits news channel, colonel Wruits speaks,'Those banana skins and blacks stand no chance against us. We can even win this with our hands down." Morale of the land of White Fruits was running high.

However, before they could start, the mysterious guardian of the land, the Pink Dinosaur, awoke with a loud bellowing grunt. She was furious at the disturbance of the peace. Galloping recklessly through the Lands, she exterminated most of the white fruits, leaving few in existance today. She dashed towards the Land of  Lemons, leaving the Bananas heaving a sigh of relief at their apparent luck. However, with the Lemons hiding in the thick leafy forest of Amazon, the Dinosaur could not protrude their defense, as the Dinosaur had a weakness against plants. Little did the Lemons realize that their ancestors had a reason in naming this planet "Plant-ate D". Yes, with the Dinosaur entangled in a mess of plant roots, the plants excreted juices which digested the Dinosaur whole, and left a last regenerative cell behind, blown by the wind to the cave the Dinosaur had been residing.

The Pink Dinosaur regenerated the next day and continued in her slumber, waiting for the time the land of Plant-ate D would require her assistance yet again.

The minority of White Fruits left did not dare to offend any of the other occupants of Plant-ate D any longer, and always stayed within their boundaries. As such, most of them were became quite rigid, forming shells or outer coverings of some sort, resulting in evolution to the rambutans and lychees.

The Lemons,on the other hand, still have tiny bumps on them; their yellow skin reminding them of the lesson and cost of their lack of knowledge and defence. They would never be ridiculed by the White Fruits again. Besides, they have a secret weapon on their side. Two actually. The Amazon Forest... and the acid which their bodies are accustomed to secreting, as they could never solve the problem of pouring too much acid on themselves.

The story of the Lemons, Bananas and the White Fruits have long been forgotten in the changing times. It is a pity that humans have acted out their versions of this same story. However, no Principle the Pink Dino is there to neutralize the effect of the Prejudice and Discrimination of the Bananas and Lemons. The Prejudice runs on wild. Many Lemons are still concerned about their yellow skin, and sour about unequal treatment. When will the Pink Dino of the human world emerge to maintain true peace?

Written by a crazy person.

Topic-The story of why lemons are yellow and sour.

Requirement- A pink dinosaur's appearance

Theme- Prejudice

--Cynic signing off

This Is Yours

Since our dear Idealist is M.I.A, and this blog is rather empty as of now, I thought I'd post a short poem I wrote for somebody a while ago.

This Is Yours

This poem is yours from start to end

These words you've breathed into my pen

Lacing the page from left to right

They splay your soul in black and white

An eye, a limb, a lock of hair

Bound in ink, alive, aware

Yet set so still upon the page

Innocence upon a stage

Of virgin snow, expanse of white

Venom writhing into sight

It shrieks a hideous burning rage

For who could bind to paper stage?

A seagull wrenched from tendrils black

It flaps in frantic heavy flaps

The vacuum gapes upon the stage

A mangled, empty paper cage


--Cynic signing off

Our very first collab

Old poem collab between the Idealist, Cynic, and another fellow writer who does not yet have any title by which to call him by. We played that game where each person writes a line, but they're only allowed to see the line immediately before theirs. It starts off chim-ish but I swear it gets retardeder. ....That's a word now.

When come together all the sounds

In chaos like a storm of hounds

Thunder and lightning, rage a war

One that sunders the air evermore

I know not what dark has come to lie

But angel of truth triumphs in the sky

As the prince of lies flits in and out

It runs in circles, it screams and shouts!

It's a little penguin, and it pouts

And spits fluid like a water spout

It's raining cats, it's raining frogs

And everywhere it's raining bombs

Move! Move! Move out of the way!

Commotions arise! Calloo! Callay!

Hell breaks loose! Demons parade!

Utterly destroy Heaven's glade!

While hell rains fish all afire

And heaven fires chickens, all perspire

Chickens are scary, all is dire

Math is their one true desire

And adolf hitler is their only idol

His Nazism malapropised as their bible

But the hounds still cry into the dark

While the chickens fly as happy as a lark

They're happy for now, but catafalque soon

For the world to praise or gawk like buffoons

Or for them to be ashamed like an ass of a baboon

Never again shall they swoon with pride or croon

Like an apple gloating over an orange

Or an archer killing someone in range

Piercing his head like a ripe red grape

Pierced like a virgin subject to rape

And so the pen is set to rest, as this epic poem reaches the end

Actually it's in pencil; this lead I must defend :D

--Cynic signing off

Collab between the Idealist and Cynic

Alternating stanzas; last line becomes first line of following stanza. To those who know us, it's quite obvious who wrote which ones. I think it ended up being some kind of battle between us with the idealist trying to paint a more peaceful scene, and me trying to take it for a darker turn :P I love how duet collabs somehow always make sense.

Swallowing the soft quiet air

I stare at the moon, so round and fair

Back on the road silently breathing

Night crickets humming and singing

Night crickets humming and singing

Unaware of what the night is bringing

Death and decay upon the wind

Like salt stinging the wound of sin

Like salt stinging the wound of sin

Like flesh bleeding with a prickly pin

The lifeless night speaks to me

The mirror moon sparkling clean

The mirror moon sparkling clean

Turns away from midnight screams

Such filthy souls are beneath her

She hangs in the sky, a bystander

She hangs in the sky, a bystander

Watching knowingly the mortal blunders

Majestic and cold, mighty and high

Only stars fit to take the same sky

Only stars fit to take the same sky

To grace the night when no birds fly

The only light amidst the dark

Beside the moon beaming stark

Beside the moon beaming stark

It lights the future of those bleak and dark

Everyone adores the nerve-calming moon

Even the mochii making hares on the moon (LOL)

Even the mochii making hares on the moon

failed to see the dish run away with the spooon

The cat plays her fiddle, high and sweet

They part for the night, till again they meet

(Okay so the last stanza had no relation to the rest of the poem, but whatevs.)

--Cynic signing off