12:05 p.m. - 2006-03-18
creative writing consists of reconstructing nonsense into extensive wire sculptures praising the human condition, tiny sculptures with outstretched hands.
student at the academy
i was a student at the academy in 1985-86. i was in the 2nd class. our teachers always liked to motivate us by telling us that we have to beat the 1st class. i think that's quite dumb frankly. Because... because...because i hate being first. okay that's a stupid reason... i just dun like the idea that because you are placed in the 2nd class, you have to try and beat the 1st class. what is this?
On monday mornings we have reading lessons. One time, we read a play and were told to act out an alternative ending for it. Me and my friends discussed for a while and decided it should end this way:
A meets B, B stares at A, A finds it annoying, they fight; halfway through, a bunch of gangsters appear, and then they fight the gangsters together, but the gangsters are very strong and so they lost. in the end, they were lying on the ground and peed on by the gangsters.
the teacher laughed and almost clapped when she saw this. i was reminded of a girlfriend. she also had this characteristic of laughing and clapping whenever something funny was said.
i have a habit of daydreaming in school. i know everyone does. but mine are seriously retarded. i daydream about quarrelling with strangers or even people i know; it seems to start with some misslight, maybe a bruised ego by an arguement about over-generalities of human behaviour, or it maybe just a quarrel because you don't like his face.
Anyway (i hate using the word "anyway" because it seems so dismissive, almost like "yea he died, anyway, let's get on with the story"), and yes anyway, i daydream about quarrelling with people and then fighting them with fists and kicks. i imagine smashing an elbow into someone's back, or biting someone's arm, or kicking their nuts. sometimes i imagine that i am on the receiving end of a senseless violent gang, but i can't imagine pain much as i try, i can only act out pain. With a contorted face, tightly shut eyes, i curl up and think about death.
the academy was where i learnt to walk away. i walked away from crowds, i walked away from classes, i walked away to the outside where i needn't need to walk with anyone.
but i lied to you. i was in the first class actually. and i imagined that the kids in the second class were told to beat us and well, that's what they wanted anyway, because they want to be first.
i tell a fair amount of lies to anyone. Usually its just harmless stuff concerning places i've never been to. Like some great mountains in Guilin, about these black birds with rings around their necks that fishermen employ to catch fish. These birds have thin sharp beaks, but they never use it to spear fish, instead they choose to catch the little fish and try to swallow it. But of course they can't because of the rings around their necks, and so they choke up and vomit out the little fish and the fishermen pick up the vomitus and sell it. i find it an amusing story because i like to think we are chewing on someone's vomit.
i had a friend in the academy. he died because of an accident a few years after we got out of there. i dun think he knew how much he influenced me when i was in the academy. i get influenced easily. i am like a follower. we are all under oath.
the academy has many rooms. but in one room there is a secret. In total, i have lost 15 minutes of my life when i was in that room. the room is filled with books. because it is a library. i didn't lose 15 minutes of my life because i was reading some romance fiction and jerking off. i lost 15 minutes of my life because that was the price i paid in exchange for asking the results of Manchester United versus Blackburn United, from the Pen Deity. Specifically it was the Pilot Ballpoint Black Deity. he writes fluently in thin black lines that crawl in ecllipses.
last night i went out. we smoked and drank beer watching hbo movies. we didnt talk much and i left before 12. i couldnt say anything because there was someone in the room and also because what i wanted to say was too personal, something i thought maybe he wouldn't understand or take seriously, because it's a lesser degree of what he went through before. that's the problem of having friends who are as dramatic if not more, as you.
our dramas were doomed. but our dogs kept us up. these hairy creatures of such optimism and spontaneity brought joy and wonderment into everything they touched, their little furry paws dragging soil and dirt onto our bathroom rugs. what we lost, we gained in the moment of watching him/her lick our palms and fingers.
in the academy is an old lady she twists wire into tiny sculptures of figures with open arms, to receive her beloved who had gone away, if he were to come back one day, and that day she were gone.
i want to believe to love is not to always receive or possess.
but i lied again.
i can't believe in my lies forever.
i just want to hold you without knowing you. and without you knowing me. i am afraid of whats inside, what my intentions are, what drives me, what i am.
i return to the academy.
through the stone gates, i see a classroom with its doors open. my friend he is not standing there, if he were, i would be spooked! i get spooked easily. but in the classroom, i see you standing there. there is hesitance as we watch and wait.
