UNSW Creative Writing

Date: 21 March 2011 10:54:50 AM

From: beachbabe91@hotmail.com

Subject: Hello

To: shopperchick18@gmail.com

Hey Kristen!

How’s everything going with your exchange? I bet you’re having an amazing time and I’m very jealous! Uni has just started back up for the semester and I miss you even more know you’re not here! It’s not the same without my uni friend! Haha! I’m sure New York is amazing, the shopping must be amazing, I’m sure you’re loving it! How are the boys? Haha I’ll stop, I know how much my boy questions bother you!
You better respond soon!

Love Charlotte x

Date: 23 March 2011 12:34:40 PM

From: shopperchick18@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Hello

To: beachbabe91@hotmail.com

Charlotte!

I am missing you insane amounts! The people here are really nice and I’m loving it! No one could ever replace you though. My mum’s trying to Skype everyday. I love her but everyday is a bit excessive. All these miles away and she still manages to drive me crazy. Haha, you know me too well. I am loving the shopping. I’ve bought 12 pairs of shoes since I’ve been here although I am trying to hold back for a while. And I know you’re only teasing but there is sort of a boy…

Love Kristen xo

Date: 25 March 2011 11:52:30 AM

From: beachbabe91@hotmail.com

Subject: Re: Hello

To: shopperchick18@gmail.com

WHATTT???!!!!
Oh and Hi. A BOY? Why haven’t I heard about this before, this is big, especially for you! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!  I’m not actually surprised about the shoes. You’ve always been that way. I can’t write much longer because I’ve actually got to go to class but respond with details.

All my love, Charlotte x

Date: 27 March 2011 1:52:56 PM

From: shopperchick18@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Hello

To: beachbabe91@hotmail.com

Oh Charlotte,

Sounds silly but he’s in a couple of my classes and works at the coffee shop near my dorm. We just got to talking sometimes but we get on really well and I don’t know, you know I don’t like talking about these things that much. Tell me about your boys!

Love Kristen xo

Date: 29 March 2011 12:74:50 PM

From: beachbabe91@hotmail.com

Subject: Re: Hello

To: shopperchick18@gmail.com

Kristen!!

I’m excited for you! Not much has been happening with me on the boys front! I told you everything that happened with Ben before and at the moment there’s not really anyone else. Doesn’t help that I’m starting to get a couple of assignments piling up. Ergh. No time to party at the moment haha. Can we schedule a Skype session soon for a proper catchup?

Love Charlotte x

Molly Hill z3335221 Tamryn Bennett Wed 4pm

Rough
Branches
Blur
Hard
Dirt
Shock
Stiffness
Pain
Voices
Grass
Blood
Wet
Voices
Streets
Door
Couch
Soft
Woody
Calm

Molly Hill z3335221 Tamryn Bennett Wed 4pm 

Week 4 

You take a step out into the sunlight and the heat immediately engulfs you, scene is familiar and you recognise where you are – it dawns on you just as the warmth of the sun seeps into your dark clothing .

Don’t let it distract you.

You don’t.

Look for them.

In the heat of summer, a boy who thought he was a man and a young woman who thought herself a girl meet in the shadows of a concrete jungle establishment.  

More clearly than ever seen them before, you watch them intently from where you are. And just like you remembered, you see the joy and excitement in each of their familiar faces and a glow from the weather that day.

You watch their awkward greet. They don’t hug even though they’d like to and you know that this was just another instance where they would never get the express their joy of seeing each other by the way of touching. But just as you follow them as they walk down the street, you notice how they nudge each other’s shoulders as they walk side by side. It is almost infuriating and you liken them to mad little indecisive magnets. The mirth is your laugh does not meet your eyes.

When they stop, you stop and you know why. You catch up to them until you are right behind them. They don’t know where they’re going because they can’t decide where they’d like to spend their time together.

This is not an attractive trait.

Frustrated, you walk to café you know they will end up and wait. When they finally arrive, you see him wait for her to enter first then after a long time, buy her a iced tea.

Watching them at their little tall table from behind the counter, you see the way she grasps her purse on her lap and the way he slouches on his stool. It’s clear that her animation enchants him. But what you didn’t notice the first time around was that whenever the passer-bys through the window distracted her, he always took the chance to take in all the details of the way she was, just as she was, in that very moment.

As you realise this, you cannot look at them again. You walk around the counter and walk right passed them, out the door and out into the light. You walk up the street and cross the road. Back into the shadows, you take off your dark clothing.

Week 5

Hera was conceived immaculately. At least, that’s the way her Grandma would joke about it. One time she got a simple exercise in kindergarten wrong and it made her mother cry. Hera was Dux of her primary school. Hera never knew her father but suspected she had served him at the supermarket she worked at when she was 14. She bought her first car from her grandmother at 19 but it broke down when she turned 20. Hera lost her virginity to the man next door because she loved him; at least she thought she did. When Hera married his brother, her first love was the best man. She died before either of them. They would tell her nephew it was because one day, she laughed too much.

Week 6

whitewash dulled the sky

cold and still, over the land;

the birds travel south

Week 7

The Frog Prince

There once was a princess, unlike any other,

whose beauty awed the sun and temper knew no mother.

Her favourite trick was throwing up a golden ball,

Until one day she could not control its fall.

When much to her dismay, she found it lost in a pond,

Her desperation made for her with a frog, a bond.

Though empty her heart, her king made her comply

To the oath her lips had made when she really meant to lie.

The frog was to be a companion, a bed fellow, an always present friend,  

The horror the spoilt princess seemed like it’d know no savoured end.

Until one day her disgust arose so high it began to consume her all,

She raged bright red and ended up throwing the frog against the wall.

And that was when the frog became true form in handsome prince,

and although she then could have loved him, he had left her ever since.

Now I wish I could say that she then turned hideous and ended up alone

That her father disapproved so much she banished her from his throne,

But honestly pretty people hardly ever end up this way…

She probably cried for a second before a suitor swept her away.

Week 8

It is a flower. It was a flower. Now it is just debris. This photo is the only thing that is left of it for it is more than five years old and it represents more than just a flower by the window, it is a cut off of a bigger more beautiful plant and it is was violently plastered across a taxi window, a victim to the elements. It is the bright innocent thing in a world of grey humidity, its green and pink now another plant’s colours.

Week 9

Asleep

Awake

Crusty eyes

Parched

Water

Or

Juice

Cool

liquid

Better

Voices

Mum

Dad

Aunties

Naps are better

Baby sleeps

short breaths

Little snores

Week 10

Put a lid on it. 

“… and so now that they’re both gone, I have to be the mum, dad and slave for my own stupid brother. And I have learned that it is actually a cruel curse to be a domestic goddess!”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

“I am. But seriously, I have to do all these things. My mum doesn’t trust anyone else in our kitchen.”

“Surely your brother can help out…”

“He can’t, even if he tried.”

“He can’t be that bad…”

“He can be and he is…”

“Really? Surely he can clean up… or you know… cook rice…”

“Didn’t I tell you about the last time my brother tried to cook?”

“If you did, I can’t remembered it.”

“Oh well, maybe I haven’t told you…”

“Really? That bad?”

“Worse.”

“What happened?” 

“He wanted to make soup in a pot over the stove and ended up burning half our kitchen before the fire brigade came.”

“Oh my god, that is hilarious! Your poor mum!”

“Yeah She was livid! And you know the worst part about it?”

“There’s a worse part? Oh my god… ”

“My brother is screaming his head off, right… and the fireman rushes in, looks at the royal mess my brother’s done to a beautiful kitchen, walks up to the stove and puts the lid on the pot.”

“HAHA! What the fu-”

“I know! All my brother had to do was put a lid on it… isn’t he smart?” 

Week 11

PLEASE BUY THE FOLLOWING, DAD!

~ 2 Dozen Eggs (the free range kind, please… we shouldn’t pay for chickens to suffer, remember that doco we watches last week?)

~  3 sticks of UNSALTED butter (they’re the ones wrapped in foil or paper, 250grams. No tub butter!)

~ Vanilla Essence – Queens brand please

~ 1 packet of marshmallows (the one that comes in the pink packet, with the different coloured marchmallows)

~ Coffee Biccies (Arnott’s please… none of that plain black and white generic stuff)

~ Organic Strawberries ( remember the label has to say ORGANIC)

~ Homebrand Cocoa Powder (I know there’s still some at home but PLEASE BUY IT WE ARE RUNNING OUT!)
~ 2 bags of choc bits (Nestle brand)

~ 2 slabs of Lindt cooking chocolate  (THIS MUST BE LINDT OK)

~ 500ml Thickened Cream  (Dairy Farmer’s)

Thank you, Daddy! Remember you aren’t allowed to buy ANY GENERIC BRANDS! If you do, your bday cake will be gross.

<3 Saskia

Week 12

Waris Dirie was born in 1965 in Somali. She first became known as a model in Great Britain after fleeing an arranged marriage in Somali and is also an actress, author and human right activist. In 1997, she abandoned her modeling career to become a UN Special Ambassador for the Elimination of Female Genital Mutilation.

I watched in horror as the dark figure outside the window proceeded to break every bit of glass until he was able to enter my home. It started in my stomach, fear and dread, so cold and disabling. I couldn’t move, I just watched his swift hands tear away the thin glass, my only protection here. Every now and again, my eyes darted to his. I could see his light eyes through the holes of his mask, watching me hungrily as I stood paralysed.

Had I seen him before? I could not recall…

“Why didn’t you wait for me? I have followed you all across Europe for you. Get inside, you unfaithful whore!”

I had seen him before hadn’t I? Somewhere…

He shoved me into the corridor, I felt him drag my feet along the carpet. He told me to do as he said. He told me not to scream. But I did anyway.

He hit me. And hit me again. He was so angry. So fierce. My limbs were still so frozen, so unable to fight for myself. I watched in horror as he attacked my body.

I thought I was safe, away from Somali. And I realised that night that I would never be free of the evils of this world and that I was a fool to ever think anything otherwise. 

z3217544 Tamryn Bennett 4pm Wednesday Tute

Week 12 - Historical Figure

She had an unusual name. Corrie Ten Boom. The sound of each syllable echoed through my mind. What had those letters endured?

I envisioned the clockwork of her life and considered her occupation. Watch maker to refuge taker, adjusting the hands of time. I studied the constant ticks that guided her career path made up of yes’s that could never be no’s.

I read the name of her homeland and listened to its pronunciation. Haarlem. The sound it made during invasion, the running feet of Jews, and the silence of the hiding room.

I imagined wearing her clear frames. My eyes looking into the darkness of the interrogation rooms, seeing the bodies of family and the aftermath of war. The images of tragedy passed before a collection of faces appeared of those she came to know. The eyes and noses of those she saw pass from death to life, the ones that walked into gas chambers confident it was not the end.

I read her lines as though they were mine.

“They were well worth all our suffering. Faith is like radar which sees through the fog - the reality of things at a distance that the human eye cannot see.”

I considered the letters of my name.

Week 10 - Suburb Poem

We’re the Southern Cross on our ute

Fictionalised slang, you little bute!

We’re double doors and second storeys

Talk of farms whilst walking dogs

We’re the anthem of our footy club

Fridays at Northies or the pub

We’re fresh cut lawns and private schools

Multiculturalism in our books

We’re Peter from the butcher shop

T-bone steaks and lamb leg chops

We’re the Sunday paper by the door

Cappuccino or protein shake

We’re the crashing surf before the sun

The riot after a workout run

We’re the shire, come on by

Have a barbie and share our pride!

Dead Metaphor

Polluted water fell from the sky as Lewis’ soles met the wet pavement of the street and dodged the traffic of cluttered men. He adjusted the collar of his trenchcoat whilst failing to prevent a few lone drops from caressing the curves of his back. This sickly sensation invoked a sense of discomfort across his face quickly met by the gaze of intrigued women on the prowl, and were he a different man his steps may have joined their direction. Still reacting to the water’s infiltration he found shelter under a nearby awning and checked his peripheries before undoing the top buttons of his shirt. By using his trench coat as a covering he peered beneath the layered cotton hoping no further rain had ventured in. Through the gaping hole in his flesh Lewis examined the open cavity of his chest. Everything that was to be expected for proper function remained fixed within the white chalk cage of ribs. His bare heart beat rhythmically to the pulse of his veins and despite its blood red saturation it was held beneath a silver padlocked chain. At the assurance that potential rust was of no danger he carefully buttoned the shirt once more and returned to the duty at hand. His leather shoes continued to walk as the single line of his mother’s dying lips echoed across the brain; you will know the truth and the truth shall set you free.

Week 9 - Powerful Memory

Sand in eyes

1. Weetbix in my teeth

2. Talk back radio in the air

3. Sister’s uniform against my leg

4. Bush, trees and gravel road

5. Mutilated screams

6. Saw the sky three times over

7. S t i l l n e s s

8. Mother’s instruction in my ear

9. Hands grip unknown hands

10. Sitting in a stranger’s seat

Week 8 - Poetic Cliches

Together we will roam this earth

I the moon, you the constellations

Our meeting fixed before our birth

A love so pure, mirrored through the generations

My Lover holds me as time itself

The Nintendo wii to my hyperactivity

This romance shall not age upon the shelf

We were meant to be, double whopper to obesity

I adore you as a poet adores poetic cliche

Yet amidst this technological age,

I fear tis harder to woo upon a tumblr page

z3333240 Wed 4pm

Week 2 

Shoes were perfect, right to the tip and everyone could tell that he carried himself with a military precision so sharp it reflected through his black leather shoes. That was the only formal thing about him, despite the charges being set which was manslaughter on 3 counts although he begged to differ that it was damage to personal property, the judge asked “What did they damage that was yours?” He looked up with an intimidating look that sent shivers around the room. “My shoes.” He said.

“Please leave a message after the beep and we will get back to you as soon as we can thanks!” Peligia said as the recording ended and produced a beep. It was my 81^st time today calling her, and it never got old. I made sure the phone company left her line intact, just so that I could hear her voice over and over again. It was my grandmother, she passed away due to the enlargement of her heart. I felt that if I listened to her on the phone and spoke to her through my head she could hear me so I left a message.

Week 3 Third Person

Third person Omniscient Narrative

It was 12 o’clock in the Philippines the peak of the sun, with a massive crowd gathered at the Malacaniag Palace revolting for the dismissal of soon to be ex-president Marcos. A formidable middle aged man, with selfish characteristics, he lived lavishly, until greed got the better of him and the people sought for another leader. He looked out the window remembering what his father told him many years ago, “Son, to test a man’s character give him power.” His father said. Although it seemed more like he had failed that test, and had no power he still thought to himself, “… Everything is alright.” His uniform was neatly pressed, with a fragrance that did not match his country which stunk of shit. You see, with every villain there is a hero, and that hero died under the orders of Marcos himself. Noy Noy Aquino, the peoples champion, was banished from the Philippines and death bestowed him upon his arrival. There are many videos of his execution in the Airport itself, which was named after him, and Marcos could only think of the words that uttered greatness in his nemesis. “The Filipino is worth dying for.” Aquino said with the Victory of change in his country at hand upon his death which he believed was a timely and worthy sacrifice. With his wife at his side, Marcos and Imelda tried to vision the end of the sea of protestors which was impossible. Imelda did not worry on the other hand, looking proudly with her chin held high as if she had done the right thing building a mansion with the populace’s money just to incorporate her many children of shoes. She was beautiful, yet there was nothing pretty in theft and as a young woman with hundreds of aspirations she had very little at this point in time. The roars grew louder and louder. Pedro who stood watchful of the two from the door knew that he would have no choice but to give his life for his former leader who spoilt him like a dog. Sweat trickled down his cheek, thunderous like sasquatch feet and the general knew that the promise that he made to Marcos as children would be over once swarm of people broke through the gates. The ex-dictator had no clue. Friendships interestingly are indeed valuable yet breakable elements in life, and as Marcos turned his gaze to Pedro his loyal General could not look him in the eye. The dictator thought “Putangina.” Which translated “I’m fucked.”

First Person Pedro

I stood deadly still in the midst of Marcos and Imelda but that’s not what scared me, it was the thunderous roar of people outside which grew louder and louder as the minutes went by. My golden made colt 1911 government issue had 7 bullets, and another magazine drifted in its pouch. Even if I did kill him, they would still bring me to justice, “tangina” I thought I could never live in a cell. I looked up, Marcos looked troubled and it was the first time under his rule I had ever seen him so afraid, and Imelda without a care in the world looked onwards as if her husband would save her. Ignorant “puta” I thought, only a simple minded girl would think of such a heaven. My thoughts raced through my head and I began to weigh the life I had lived as a god to the life I was going to live as a peasant. I looked back on the day that Aquno announced his return. “HE will DIE! It will show everyone that I am not fucking around. It will show you that the time of my rule will stay.” Marcos said. “But if you react to his arrival you will gain nothing but defeat.” I said, surely. I advised him many times to not go after Aquino, but he did nothing but revolt against the idea. He turned to look at me and I dropped my gaze hoping to let him know that it was over. As a General I would always be 10 steps ahead with options, but now, we were just in a stage of checkmate.

Third person limited narrator.

He walked firmly and steadily pacing himself to the door, the roars outside could be heard from where he walked. Lance was scared, bringing the news to his already troubled leader who he hoped would bring him along after hearing what the United States had to say. Although his mind drifted to what would be the worst possible outcome, that was rhetorical he thought knowing he would be crucified outside Malacaniag palace. He reached the end of the hallway and continued firmly, now faster than ever it seemed like a power walk through the eternity of the hallway. He stopped, breaking a drop of sweat he took a breath and knocked. “Pasok” the voice behind the door said, which meant “Enter”. “El presidente, The United States have flown a chopper here from their Airbase just 10 miles off our coast, and have reprimanded your presidency, lo siento Hefe, but they have also taken care of your accommodations in Hawaii. We must leave now senore”. Lance said mumbling and thought “Fuck… please take me with you.” There was a moment of silence in the room as Lance looked at his pondering leader. A thunderous noise struck the ears of all those in the room and Lance ran to the window to find the first barricade broken through, “Hefe! We must go now!” he exclaimed. The leader looked at him and Lance could only wonder what he was thinking of… Imelda did not even look at him as if he was of no great value to her. Finally, Marcos said, “No. I will live and die in my contry”. There was nothing noble in what he said, Lance thought. What was he even thinking? “Hefe, you will surely die.” “Then so be it.” He said making Lance uneasy, he took his gun and said, “It was an honor serving you sir.”

Week 4 Second Person

You look at the ground its covered in ash and coffee stains. You try to put yourself into the head of a killer, a mobster only to find its much more difficult considering the nexus of occupations. You decide to turn on some music and light a cigar to relax. Thinking back to the strange clues, you recall several interesting issues found at the scene of the crime. The blood spatter, the rounds of bullets, the bodies - a crime of emotional distress, of anger. You get up, looking through the filing cabinets you think of the possible suspects, all of which are America’s worst gangsters. Flipping through the mountain of papers, you find yourself sitting at the same desk a year later, going through the unsolved case. You’ve lost everything, including your family your friends, all because the mystery was never solved. Looking troubled you stare into space, realizing nothing was gained only defeat.

Week 9 Memories

1. It was definitely hot as the music blasted through the club

2. I could hear shouts of enjoyment

3. People were dancing and bumping into me

4. The lights that flashed were multi colored until the club lit up and the music stopped.

5. Girls screamed behind

6. I turned and saw my friend bleeding

7. The man who bottled him was suddenly in my grasp

8. My knuckles connected each time i swung at him

9. Girls continued to scream

10. I was fully concentrating on the man, and everything seemed so silent.

11. A hand had stopped my last swing

12. I felt a warm liquid on my hand which was blood

Week 10 ‘Kicking the bucket’

Benson had lost all hope in his father as he constantly refused to take him to the toy store. As Benson sat outside on the porch he began to scheme on how he would be able to convince his mother to take him. Hours passed as he waited for his mother to return home from work, preparing to convince her on taking him to the store until his father said,

“Don’t even think about trying to convince your mother Benson! She wont listen to you.” 

Upon hearing this Benson screamed and thought of ways of how to murder his old man. A few minutes passed as he paced around the garden until he finally realized that there was no way he could win. Benson was now calm as he pondered on kicking the bucket.

Week 11

“Hey this is Joan, leave a message!”

BEEP

“Hey Joan! long time no see, or talk… call me back when you get this! Much love, Bob.”

BEEP 

“Hey Joan! How are you going? You’re not answering my calls, call me back asap! Its Howard…”

BEEP

“Joan, its your mother… where are you? Call me back”

BEEP

“Ms. Rosario, this is Richard Hanson from the NYPD, we have to talk. Please call me back.”

BEEP

“Hey girlfriend, I just heard… I’m so sorry you had to testify against him… He deserved it though. Call me if you need anything.”

BEEP

“Hey, this is Joan. LEAVE ME ALONE.”

BEEP

WEEK 12 Famous Person

Emmanuel Dapidran Pacquiao otherwise known as Manny Pacquiao was born on December 17 1978 and is a Filipino Professional Boxer. He is the first fighter to win 10 boxing titles in 8 weight divisions and the first to win the lineal championships in four different weight classes.

I couldn’t help but think that the man in the other locker room would be better than me. Shane Mosley, what a fighter, he loved to get into the thick of things, especially in the Margarito and Mayweather fight. God those were good bouts as I recalled them. Either way I remember kneeling in the corner of the room with a Rosary in my hand and the sweat of the 30 minute warm up my trainer had just made me endure flowing down my stomach. As I spoke to God I realized that he had never left my side all these years. From poverty to greatness I had always been faithful to him as he had always blessed me with the gifts I now had. This was just another one of those gifts I thought.

I remember Mosley’s introduction into the ring and before the blink of an eye it was now my turn to enter. I smiled and remembered that this was all just fun and games, that I would be the victor, or would I? As I approached the ring the crowd’s cheer went wilder and louder and finally silence. The gloves on me were tightened and the robe on my shoulders removed. The bell that I had heard for so many years fighting had rung and it was time to add another notch to my belt. I approached and swung.

z3317874 Gerhard Orias

Week 7 (Sorry I Blogged out of order I found this on my comp I forgot to Blog it when I put up earlier weeks.)

Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet Sat on her Tuffet

Smoking a durry a day

Along came her supplier

And sat down beside her

Giving her the reason for a kick a day.

Little Miss Muffet fell off her tuffet

Consciousness slipping away

Along came her supplier

And spat on the ground beside her

Her life lay washing away.

Week 11 

You can buy anything on eBay.

Monday 1.6.11 10:20pm EBay girl: Hi thanks for purchasing the item listed “ Blue Ralph Lauren Jumper”. Please make payment within 48 hours to insure shipping

Kind Regards EBG

Monday 1.6.11 10:25pm Fast talker 18: Can payment be made in person?

Hope full FT18

Tuesday 2.6.11 9:00am EBay girl: Payment must be made via Pay pal.

Kind Regards EBG

Tuesday 2.6.11 9:30am Fast talker 18: Your description of the product was amazing, can I meet you?

Smitten FT18 

Tuesday 2.6.11 2:30pm EBay girl: This is inappropriate conduct, please pay for the item and discontinue contact.

EBG

Tuesday 2.6.11 6:30 pm Fast talker 18: Can you please supply one more photo (of you wearing the jumper ;)) prior to purchase?

Can’t wait to see you FT18

Wednesday 3.6.11 9:00 am EBay girl: Your transaction has been cancelled; please accept removal of item from your payment listing.

EBG

Wednesday 3.6.11 10:30 am Fast talker 18: Fair call on the jumper, how bout dinner?

Wednesday 3.6.11 9:30 pm Fast talker 18: No reply?

Thursday 4.6.11 9:ooam Fast talker 18: Who said you could buy anything on eBay?

Week 12 

Germaine Greer (born 29 January 1939) is an Australian writer, academic, journalist and scholar of early modern English literature, widely regarded as one of the most significant feminist voices of the later 20th century

Sitting in a pub in Melbourne filled with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke I look around at the people who sit amongst the pub walls conversing and drinking. There are women who sit with women talking about their bitterness towards ex husbands or jilted lovers, drinking shots of vodka to wash away the pain. Men who drink with men discussing how every Thursday Bill from accounting tells his wife of 15 years he is playing squash so he can go bang the floors secretary for 2 hours every week. I inhale not only the smoky air but also the perfume of deceit, sexuality and prostitution. Prostitution of women of both their body’s to men and the night, I look to my left and I see a very attractive young woman. Her hair was hazel and she was tall and slender with piercing blue eyes, she was a very attractive woman stunning one would say. Her image to me was tarnished and that feeling came over me of disgust like when you see pure beautifully clean skin violated by cold dark ink of a tattoo. She stood there with a cooler in one hand and no self-dignity in the other as she flirted both obviously and outrageously with a man standing opposite her at the bar. Her top button now undone and her hair obviously fluffed up to look more alluring, this mating ritual looked almost animalistic as the courting between the two began. I observed the pairs behavior each of them acting out an extreme sexual courting ritual. The more I observed the more I realized that the man didn’t care much for the conversation just his ability to stare at her and think about her in a way that demoralized her being. The woman however didn’t care or was just too naive to think that the man could merely be buying her drinks to seduce her rather than befriend her. The more drinks the young beautiful lady consumed the less attractive she became to the eye but the more pleased the man became with her. I jotted down notes on my beer coaster as I watched the behavior of the couple, it interested me to see that the woman’s appeal came from her decrease in sobriety. From this example I created my own thesis “that women do not realise how much men hate them, and how much they are taught to hate themselves.”

Henry VIII

He was so fat he couldn’t fit through a doorway.

His three chins wobbled.

He didn’t outlive the last one.

“Divorced, beheaded, died,
Divorced, beheaded, survived. ”

Well technically the first Catherine and the second Anne were annulled.

Cheating Catherine.  

She cheated on the King.

No consummation.

Not with Anne.

He was 20 stone by then.  

But he was dapper in his day they say.

Mary

Elizabeth

He wanted a boy.

Six wives to get a boy.

Well technically he was on his third when he got a son.

Edward.

Anne Boleyn and Kitty Howard were cousins

Talk about keeping it in the family.

He killed both of them.

Jane died.

Anne of Cleves also outlived Big H

But that’s a triviality.

In fact she was the last to die.

“Divorced, beheaded, died,
Divorced, beheaded, survived. ”

It’s not quite right is it?

Annulled not divorced

Annulled and beheaded

Died

Annulled again but also survived the King

Annulled and beheaded

Survived.

Doesn’t quite have the same ring though does it?

Sam. Tamryn 4-5 weds

Odin, don’t forget the rent money.

Porkchop in the fridge for you.

Dad

*

almost out of weet-bix

-Odin

*

There are more Beet-Wix in the cupboard.

Dad

*

I will replace your beer today.

Dad

*

don’t worry about it

-Odin

*

Daddy long legs eggs hatched

*

Soup on the stove.

Dad

*

soup was great

-Odin

*

things are okay

-Odin

*

Don’t forget rent money (x2)

Dad

*

Congratulations.

Chicken soups on the stove.

Dad

P.S. Don’t go out and splurge just yet.

*

Happy Birthday.

Dad

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I highly recommend this book

< check out what Yas got me

-Odin

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The name of the movie “The Wild One.”

Porkchop in the fridge for you.

Dad

P.S. Don’t spit in the sink asshole

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Yasmin/ Tamryn 4-5 thurs

“Hey It’s Prashun, I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep!”

“Hey Prashun, it’s Hannah calling about your job application to our company. Just give me a call when your’re free. I’d love to talk about some openings have at the moment. See ya.”

                                ———————————————

“Hey It’s Prashun, I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep!”

“Hey Prashun, it’s Hannah again. It’s been four days since I left a message but I still haven’t got a call back. Was wondering if you were serious about the job because there are still some openings left. Call me as soon as possible.”

                              ————————————————

“Hey It’s Prashun, I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep!”

“I still haven’t got a callback, but I got a message at 4 am last night asking me to come over? I’m assuming that I’m not the only Hannah on your contact list. This type of behavior is completely inappropriate. Consider your job application declined. Good luck”

                              ———————————————

“Hey It’s Prashun, I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep!”

“Do you want to get dinner tomorrow night?”

                         ————————————————————-

-Prashun Thipaiah

Isabel Hudson 3330882, Tamryn’s Wednesday tut 4pm-5pm

Week 11 - She’s a clucky girl

Maybe this is a story of good girl turned bad, maybe it’ s a murder story, maybe a romance with cowboys and Indians? I couldn’t tell ya. Cause I was init wasn’t i, a subjective party as they would say. But I’ll tell ya I didn’t mean it to go down that way. With big bam at the end, lull in the middle and nuthin’ at the beginning. No. All I wanted was to take that darlin’ with the spider  long legs home and lean into those eyes. Those eyes. Dark wells that I could be swallowed by. With a mouth full of poison I would end my life for chance just to stare and hey, I wouldn’t die for my country, but that I could die for. That and she. All she had to do is let the smoke seep out of her lips, caress her face up to the whits of her eyes and give me that look and then I would be all tied up. The deadly viper had me strangled from the beginning and I’ll tell ya, I loved every moment of it.

They call me Bucky, for no particular reason other than that’s my name. I’m cop and for all its worth, a woman too. I can only remember bits, flashes, just images that come up. The pearls on her neck. The blood on the mattress. Her smile over the edge of her champagne glass. The hat on my head. The singing of the local drunk. The splash of some person’s feet through the rain and slosh of blood as organs hit the ground. And her laughing. That dam bitch, always laughing. But I have to tell someone, otherwise the little that is left will slip away with torrents of rain that have plagues L.A for the last two weeks.

I pulled my up my collar against the rain and heard someone call through the gush of sound.

Hey, you where I can finda Bucky?

Yeah she standing out there in the suit.

Suit? Not one of those dam lesbian types.  I knew the line before he had said it.

I threw the cigarette to the ground. Dam, they paired with those of those bastards again. The last one ended up digging himself a ditch because he was too stupid to call for my help down on Fifth Street in some bust. Well, I said to the boss, don’t send a man to do a woman’s job. I’ll get it done, kept it clean too. And I did.  And now they have sent Chip here to replace the last dead dog.
I work alone and I still do sonny Jim.

I called back at him above the rain but refused to look at him, I savoured that for later, for they caught a look at my scar. Their reaction was always their tell.

My name is Pete.

Well ,they are all Jims to me, I said turning so he could see me in the light. Go on, I thought have look at this. I could feel his eyes trace the scar that ran direct parallel to the side of my face. Jaggered and red, it cut down my eye, leaving it white and ghost like. I could always tell when someone was looking, even if the night ran the black. Their face would twitch and itch in a certain way.

I returned his scrutinising glare to notice a piece of vomit which sat lonely on his collar, a drunkard’s calling card, as  my ma used to say. Dam, I thought, this one is gonna be trouble. I’ll tell ya, men can’t stand women who can hold a gun steady in their hands unless it’s the one in his pants and I could tell immediately, Jim here was no exception.

Week 12-

Ok, I took some poetic liscence with this week’s exercise and sorta just took the idea of a person from history and taking on a different voice from the past. So I am taking from the Black Dahlia case which you can read about here, which might be a good idea because some of the of the poem references the way she was was mutilated.

My Black Dahlia

Elizabeth short was the third of five
left dead and hung
with blue born eyes, and black disguise
And that smile and that smile

A dirty postcard brought to life
knees cracked, elbows bent
hands shackled
bile bled
And that smile and that smile

Soaked in gasoline
an angel of LA
stripped of clothes
Hollywood dreams and gleams
Once a Scarlet O’Hara,
Lie, cheat, I will never go hungry again!
now she is the  black dahlia
With that smile, with that smile

That bitch should’ve never
told me to eat shit
slurped  and slipped
instead  I made her gargle on it
Now she is the dead dahlia
Gimme a smile, gimme a smile

Cut, pull, kick
a stolen kiss
 let her drip, leather rip
 stop her  breath, keep her white
And that smile and that smile
All Mine. Mine. Mine.