Citadel Walls

 

What hammer do you propose we use

So that the walls might collapse before us

And that sunlight might finally hit your immaculately

Pale skin,

You who isn’t short of intellect nor ability

Mystery it is to us why you refuse to see

See the world that surrounds us

And the true good inherent in is

For if, as you suppose

Intentions would og wrong

Come out and see the sunlight

So it might illuminate the right

On all you thought was wrong

What hammer do we gotta use

To break down your citadel walls?

 

 

Bob Dylan

[DYLAN FANS YOU’LL GET THIS!!!!]

 

BOB DYLAN

 

Turn, turn, turn goes the record on the turntable

And I watch with weary eyes its constant motion

The record plays on and the harmonica

Opens the song

While I sit, in a daze watching the urban landscapes

In seeming anticipation of someone and no one in particular

Whilst feeling your own existence ceasing

The record is flipped and on comes the song

Telling you to go away from my window

And leave at your own chosen speed.

Then I remember you suddenly and reality

Smacked me in the face

Since I’m not the one you want, babe

Neither am I the one you need.

They say that if what you feel is true then you shouldn’t

Think twice

But it’s alright, I’ve thought about you a couple or more times

So maybe this is just a passing sensation

Something that’ll eventually blow in the wind

But how many times can you turn the other cheek

And pretend that you don’t see me?

Shit, I better start swimming away from the current

Of overwhelming emotions before I sink like a stone

But oh, the times have changed and will be changing

So maybe infatuation can do the same but the record goes on

As life moves along

So maybe we’ll go our separate ways without a word

In a week or so

You go on with your life

And I’ll roll on like a stone

With no direction

Because I’ve made your presence my home.

factory girl

he was the warhol to her sedgwick

and he made a decision he was proud of

but she would regret

he groomed her to her most beautiful

under the shade of boudoir lights

“you’ll be a star” would tickle her ears in the night

and dress her in black to contrast the whiteness of her soul

tell her she’ll become richer like she’s never been before

and push her to the quiet, lanky bard that stands

solemnly reading and prying, watching and judging

she comes closer and grabs the stick from him, smokes it and makes it her own

and seeing her puff it made him want to make her his own

the crown is just a walk away but it’s faster when you’re in a daze

and deep in attraction it becomes close

they close the door and on the ecstatic heaven they raised each other to galaxies higher

but it was only he who descended, he left her suspended

and still she floats high like she’s always been, as though she was on her amphetamines

he didn’t foresee, she came from the factory

it didn’t matter to him, he wanted a nurse

not a little girl dressed in glitter and pearls

so while he pranced his skinny legs away

she remained hanging, hoping he would stay

 

just kids

how gentle the traces of his rough, calloused fingers on the smooth of her skin

porcelain white like the corners of her mind

pristine and blank, innocent without a speck

though she puts on a front of maturity and wears a mask of astuteness

all her glamour could never hide her vulnerability

that comes out in the presence of a cold lover as he

who now traces her neck with kisses, ending at the collarbone

she’s clamoring for more

as they end the night, he asleep on a heavenly cloud

while she sat up and awake thinking why and how

she smokes her cigarette and trembles so

she has the Rubenesque body of a woman

and a child’s fragile soul.

FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE

 

I was expecting a lot of changes in the classroom after I’ve gone and died. But ,no. It still looked the same. Same old cramped, dusty, disorderly classroom with one long chipped off table stretched out in the middle to make it look like a formal business meeting area when in fact it was nothing but a dirty hellhole.

I was also expecting a lot of changes from my classmates after learning that I had hung myself from a beam in my room but no, they carried on with their vain, materialistic lives chattering and joking still, insulting and gossiping about others they claimed to be their friends. This was the very reason I killed myself, to escape from all the anxiety and depression that college classroom life brought me. Imagine, five days a week I had to deal with all this ruinous nonsense about tainting one’s name because of a made up sex scandal, or secret feuds and ass-kissing, one bullshitting another, “friends” staying “friends” for the sake of their gang looking tight and for status. Girls with boyfriends fucking other boys with girlfriends. It was all too much, not to mention that I had thrown myself into a program that I didn’t care much for and I wanted out of it but my parents did not support my decision, so I got depressed. That’s the problem with me sometimes. When so much happens around me, I start to feel everything, to think about everything. When all the rumours and ruinous stories started circulating I couldn’t help but think that one or two (at least two) of those stories involved me, stories made up by people I had considered to be ‘friends’. Secrets of mine had been divulged by confidants who I thought were trustworthy confidants only to use their innocence as a ruse and catching me in this petty web of manipulation that I wanted no part of. I felt like every movement of mine was being watched and criticised, parodied and snickered at behind my back, spread to people I didn’t know hence creating an image of me that wasn’t entirely mine. It was all too nerve-wracking that I decided one night that I was just going to end it all. End it all and be done with all the uncontrollable feelings that would come back again and again. So I wouldn’t have to see anymore, hear anymore, feel anymore.

To be fair they all were shocked and some even cried when they learned of my suicide but I deemed all these crocodile tears. Nobody cared enough when I was having mental breakdowns and anxiety attacks. Nobody comforted me in my depression, heck they even roughly told me to suck it up and stop acting like an autistic kid. And now that I’m dead, they all weep in sorrow and say their ‘I wish we could’ve known you better’ elegies? Gimme a break, sister. I tried to open up myself to you in year 3 and you would have none of it.  And now that I’m dead you start talking about how you wanted me to open up to you and you would listen? That, my friend is a bunch of excrement.

I wanted to play a little game with them, just to see if I could stir things up a little bit. You see, I still attended class but not as a participating student, no. Obviously I could not partake for I am a ghost but I did hang around the classrooms and followed them around in their classes when I got bored, just to see what it was like, what life after my death was like. If there’s anything I proved to myself it’s that you’re just one person and even if you die, it won’t be the end of the world. Life goes on as it always will. The world won’t stop to mourn the death of a tiny speck of an individual. It has more important things to do like turn, change the weather, and float about in space.

But going back to my little game, here I was in their Food Education class, floating about. The professor was busy typing in her laptop as she always was ignoring the class and letting them do their own thing. I was floating about and scanning the place trying to figure out what to mess with first. When I haunt, sometimes I feel nice and just toying around with things. Not saying much or doing anything particularly noticeable, just lifting a pencil case here and adjusting a flower vase there. But now I was in a vengeful, mischievous mood. I felt like I wanted to become a poltergeist for today. I know, supernatural scholars, poltergeists are demon ghosts but my soul was always corrupted and restless and angsty so I might not be your Belial but I’m evil enough to cause chaos in my own devilishly funny way.

I started with the airconditioning unit which had always been crappy, even when I was alive. It was out of order today, as declared by the sign but since I was a ghost I did what every ghost did and turned it on. The kids fanning themselves with unbuttoned polo shirts and hiked up skirts rejoiced as ventilation had finally come but one observant student pointed out,

“It’s unplugged.” She said, starting to pale with the realization that the AC unit was running without it being switched on. Panic and fear were starting to rise but they somehow managed to keep it under control. Control, of course, was something I vehemently despised. I lived for chaos and now that I am but a spirit I cause chaos. The plaques and trophies displaying the school’s glory (Bronze and silver? Certificates? Seriously? The school has acclaim for being 2nd and 3rd best? Isn’t that supposed to be an insult?) were airborne as I had hoisted them both up, frames and trophies floating in the  air made the students rise to their feet and huddle-all 18 of them-in the corner. The absent minded professor knew nothing of what was going on and continued with her typing, wondering what the commotion was about. Boy, I wish there had been a camera to capture the look on her face when she tilted her head and saw what was causing the students to group over in the smallest corner of the room.

“HOLY CRAP!” she screeched and scrambled, nearly tripping from the wires of the laptop intertwining with the projector switches. The male student grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her closer, I delighting in the terror. To amp things up a little bit (because just floating them in the air was boring me), I threw the trophies at the wall, my ghastly strength shattering it to smithereens and the frame I dropped down to the floor, its glass breaking and the certificates ripped. Nobody could ever explain what was going on so all they did was not think about it and just cuddle one another in one big group of fear and uncertainty.

All the trophies the school had worked hard (?!?) to win one by one came crashing down from the shelf, each one of them reduced to nothing but shreds upon reaching the floor. I turned my attention to the frames, wanting a more dramatic, movie-esque appeal just to prolong their agony, and smashed them in the center. No I didn’t particularly destroy the frames, just a little punch in the middle was all. One by one, they got jabbed right in and the finale came when they altogether-like the trophies-fell to the ground and made loud crashing sounds that could deafen even the strongest, most resilient ear. It was getting boring but at least there was a bit of comedy in seeing their ugly, snotty faces, contorted and tearing up in horror. I laughed, cackled as a matter of fact but I kept it inside, not wanting to let them hear a thing. This was a silent haunting. No sound would come from me, the only sounds would be the crashing of everything-including their bravery.

“We gotta get outta here!” said one of the boys, lunging forth for the knob but I was quicker, you see. I bolted the door shut from both sides so no rescue could come. They were all prisoners of this strange phenomena but most importantly they were becoming prisoners of their fear-and that was the worst.

I moved on to the chairs and tables. The tables had many things on them, mostly notebooks and books and expensive gadgets from Japan. I would delight so much in ripping out every single page of the book to symbolise my utter disdain for this program and everything it tried to ram down my throat for the past four years. I did just that. While I wanted a more cinematic effect, I decided to speed up the process. The books all flung open, all at the same page=666 (yeah, I’m sure you saw what I did there). That gust of wind that blew them open was strong enough to make them gasp in unison. With the pages open I got to tearing them, bit by bit ripping them to angry shreds and tossing them in the air, whirling, stirring them a bit like a tornado and scattering them all down slowly like snowflakes.

The students scrambled for their lives, like I could actually cause bodily harm. The chairs and tables-thanks to my ghastly power-flew from all corners of the tiny room, smashing and ricocheting against the walls, the tables scratched with the sound of nails on a chalkboard, its chipped of paint peeling off. The sound drove them mad, the screams rising to level with the scratching. The door knob was bolted, nobody could get out. I enjoyed playing this little game with them, enjoyed watching their wits blow up and seeing them in fits of chaos over in a little corner. The classroom was a mess, I gave it my own unique, angsty twist, and everyone was tied in knots. I had achieved the fear that I had so longed and thirsted for in my living years. Too bad proud, egotistic me was no longer alive to witness this. Ah well, sacrifices had to be made. I had to die to get the respect I deserved.

Of course, there was still a little bit of pity in me. Whatever scintilla of it prevailed and I ceased my scaring. I had done them enough horror for today, maybe I’ll reserve my scaring energy for tomorrow. I wanted to end with a little mischievous bang, something they would all remember. Everything calmed down for a little bit and that instilled some kind of relief in them, believing possibly that my work here was done and they could all gather their belongings and leave but one last prank up my ghastly sleeve prevented them from proceeding. Just as they stood the lights went out and screams were heard once more, shrill cries and high pitched wails calling for help. A cold wind caused by my…I don’t really know what caused the cold wind either my “cold, bitter winter heart” or my adherence to horror story stereotypes, but a cold wind blew and made them all shudder with murmurs of sheer fear, tingles crawling up their spine. The lights remained out and I could feel their bodies tangled up in knots. Would I talk? Would I at least speak? No, I guess. No need.

Or is there?

While I floated closer to their shivering bodies I felt the warmth emanating from them. Life. Ah how I used to burn with its passion, now I’m all snuffed out and chilly-maybe that’s why it’s always cold when I come by. Anyways, I floated closer to their warm, breathing, living bodies and heard their stifled cries, some not so stifled. There was general fear and sadness and doom in the air and comical me decided to lighten things up a bit, since it was already me who caused a bit of a stir.

“Boo.” I said. That alone was enough to make the crowd scatter and scram. The inside of my mind burst with laughter as I finally unbolted the door and the professor, sensing that the knob could now be twisted, led in the escape and flung it wide open, the students scramming out of the room like a bunch of freed mice. I turned the lights on and left the room, leaving behind me all the ruckus that was just the beginning of my new reign of terror in room 321.

It might’ve felt good to be alive, but man, nothing beats being dead.

Bathroom Break

BATHROOM BREAK

 

Bathroom break is the worst, and not for the reasons you might be expecting.

There was something in the bathroom, something unexplainable. A malignant force, as I would like to call it, resided in there and its evil spirit was somehow forcing me out of the bathroom before I could even get in. Something about that bathroom right across our classroom screamed demonic to me, and I’m not just talking about the random black shadow that I saw crossing and blocking out the tiny glass window.

It was another boring class hour, the only class I had for this day, which stretched from 10 in the morning til 4 in the afternoon. Since it was already 3 and we had an hour to go before being dismissed, we were granted a short bathroom break to relieve ourselves. Usually bathroom break for others meant going down to the cafeteria to buy food or over at the forbidden area behind the cafeteria to smoke a cigarette or two. When this happens I mostly stay inside but that afternoon I wish I had gone for a smoke with my pals instead of burying myself in that horror novel, then maybe I wouldn’t have seen what my eyes let me witness.

The room was vacant, I being the only person. The professor too had left to fill her jug up with coffee and there I was again by my lonesome accompanied only by my book. I suddenly felt the urge to go to the bathroom after all those water refills so I dog-eared the book and put it down to leave and take a leak.

I stood outside the bathroom whose door was a bright crimson that looked like it had come straight out of a horror movie, warning you that evil things were lurking behind it and its color alone should make that clear. My bladder was about to spill and no amount of horror movie symbolism was going to scare me out of  bathroom trip. I grabbed the knob and turned it, pushed it open to enter when the door suddenly slammed behind me and the sound of the lock pushing in startled me. I whirled around and gripped the knob, one hand first twisting it to no avail, finally getting help from the second hand without any effect. I was locked in by a possibly maniacal restroom dwelling spirit that may or may not want my soul. The need to urinate suddenly vanished, replaced with the need to leave the premises but I found myself frozen that I was unable to.

I heard of stories circulating in our campus about this particular bathroom being haunted, a variety of which including a malevolent red spirit that showed itself in the mirror, or words being written on the mirror in either Latin or swear words promising eternal damnation, sometimes there was a severed body part that showed itself to unsuspecting students in one of the three cubicles, usually at random. I never believed in any of these, neither did I believe in ghosts but it seemed right now that my scepticism was about to take a strange turn into full out belief.

I didn’t dare look into the mirror, the long rectangular frame hanging to my left and see if there was anything hovering behind me. The less I knew, the much better I would feel I supposed so I continued to the cubicle when a chilly wind blew at the back of my neck making me turn around by instinct, accidentally and inevitably looking into the mirror. Though I pretty much expected things to take a scarier turn, I still jumped right out of my skin when I looked into the looking glass and saw that it wasn’t me I was looking right at. It was a veiled woman in black, staring right at me with her piercing dark eyes obscured by a long lace veil. Her mouth was starting to stretch for a grin, revealing jagged, sharp teeth resembling those of an alligators. Instinct was to scream and scream I did and as shrill cries emanated from my lips, I staggered backwards into the shadow of the lady, going right through her and landing inside one of the cubicles. It no longer occurred to me that the bathroom was mucky and slippery, staining my white pencil skirt grey, I just felt lucky that I did not bang my head against the toilet seat, gripping on its grimy surface for leverage as I sat myself down. In fits of panic my sense of awareness would heighten and now I could say it was at its peak. I stood up and turned around, ready to get the hell out of the room when the rumours of the severed head came true, there, there before me was a severed head of a woman that looked eerily like the veiled, transparent lady standing before me. Screaming, I scrambled up to the soles of my wobbly feet, turning like Snow White lost in the woods about and facing the mirror-yes, that part about Latin warnings was just a myth to scare you out of going to the bathroom alone-I saw splatters of blood decorating its surface. Slowly I turned my head to see fully the shape my peripheral vision was suggesting and head on I saw the veiled lady’s body headless, standing, facing my direction with a trail of blood before it.

I did not hold back this time. I was no longer speechless. For the first time in my life, my cry was at its loudest. I turned around and burst right out of the bathroom, stumbling on the floor in front of a crowd of students lining up for their next class, all their frightened eyes boring down on me, watching in horror as I screamed at the top of my lungs til the last gasp of breath escaped from my lips. Embarrassment no longer held a place in me when fear had me in its grasp.

Running fast as I could, I went back to the room without much of an explanation, not even noticing the scared pairs of eyes that were on me as I gathered my things and left without another word. The professor wasn’t having any of my hastiness and apprehended me right before I could turn the knob.

“Where do you think you’re going? You just can’t barge in and leave like that!”

“The bathroom…headless woman…blood…head…” I was shivering in my place with my lips aquiver, everyone giving me baffled stares. I did not yearn to explain to them any longer and just wanted to show the professor what I had seen.

“Please believe me. The bathroom is haunted. See for yourself!” I directed her out the classroom and pointed at the bathroom whose door was now a plain cream hue, the same as the walls surrounding it.

“What?” I muttered out loud. “Tha-that was red earlier. It was, it really was.”

“You’re probably right.” The professor shrugged as she turned to me, adjusting her glasses. “You’re clearly not well enough to stay. You have my permission to go.” It wasn’t the response I was expecting, nor was it the reaction. The rumours about the bathroom were rampant, how could she be so indifferent. My puzzled self walked down the corridor, leaving without a word and looking back at the door from time to time, wondering if all the horrors that had happened to me in the bathroom were just the products of my quirky imagination.

As I got further, near the staircase, I looked back and saw the door bleed red.

And that was my signal to run down the steps and never turn around again.

UNTITLED BULL

UNTITLED BULL

Don’t fight ‘em

Let them wallow in uncertainty

When anxiety attacks them

They’ll drop lifeless

And you shall win

Let them carry the burden of mystery

While you go about in tranquillity

No need to lift a finger

Death’ll come for them eventually

-achalcyon