The Old Lady and The Pigeons

I'm becoming interested in the French animation director Sylvain Chomet lately. He directed my favorite 'The triplets of Belleville', and other movies I really want to watch. His style is so weird, it's almost scary, and you have no room for predictions to come through, because you have absolutely no idea what's coming next. Here is a 20 minute short animation he did called 'The old Lady and The Pigeons.' It scared me to death, and yet captured me at the same time. You can see his strange style through this.

Kitchen Heart

Kitchen Heart
by Me(whatever)

This heart of mine is a kitchen,
if I were to describe it to you specifically.
the walls change colors on different days,
and the windows close and re-open,
according to the temperature of the weather. 

The pictures lined up prettily on the changing wall-paper,
need to be dusted every once in a while.
If the decor is disarrayed and messy,
I must use my hands, -quickly
before a guest comes.

The dishes can become dirty as they sit in the sink,
eventually a rotting smell seeps out.
I can ignore dirt and grime for a while,
holding my nose as I walk by,
though in the end I can't bear it.

And when I become hungry,
the refrigerator sits in the corner,
Preserving  memories I haven't thrown away.
Though they've cooled with time,
I can easily reheat them in the microwave!

If I wish to bake some cookies for someone,
the oven stands to be heated.
Though things I've kept in the freezer,
hoping never to be melted,
may also accidentally be thrown in.

The knives reside in their places,
clean and ready to be used.
To feed my boredom,
I grab the things I bought elsewhere,
and even if I'm cut, I chop and cook.

Pots large enough for a family,
and spiders unseen deep down in the cupboards.
Sneaky mice thieves running in at night,
the drawer that holds all the useless gizmo's,
thrown in by indifferent fingertips.

Yes, the chip bag hidden for a self-pleasure,
the cans over five years old,
people opening doorways searching for nourishment,
the stinky thing they find,
and the performance of dancing silverware.

Conversations are held here,
singing, twirling, crying, wondering.
The bottles of cleaning supplies sweep the floor,
scrubbing away with all their might,
a discoloration of Clorox. 

Plates all stacked up,
occasionally becoming broken,
the counter-top grandly adorned with candy wrappers,
the aroma of spices,
and the acquaintances walking through.

Hey,
if I said,
"my heart is a kitchen"
what would the glass vase roses say,
that are in the dining room?

Because,
no doubt,
a kitchen,
is a dangerous place.

Princess of the Next Life Soon After

Princess of the next Life soon After
by Me(whatever)
Birdy the Mighty: Decode(Ost) Main theme- Side Birdy-

Melancholic Jazz plays as my theme
This is the Revolution of a Girl!
Shatter salt into the Night sky
Move with the power of Love
to the next Life soon after

Become your own Hero,
The Princess was never Saved!
She is the Knight herself
Covered in teary scars and blood
to the next Life soon after

Running like the billowy wind,
The Darkness will hide me!
She screams and holds out in Kindness
The Dragon was defeated
to the next Life soon after

You are the only person in the world
This is my Sky Call!
Powerful beyond Belief
The Feelings were covered
to the next Life soon after

Shallow Tea-cup Sea
Her Beacon of Flight!
Never was such a Glittery Story
Turned into a Heart of Gold

to the next Life soon after?

Drowning Dreams

*Short Ghost story I wrote for English, yet had the idea way before then. English again, huh?

Drowning Dreams

My sister had nightmares about drowning. We would hear her thrashing about and moaning pitifully from our own rooms in the bleakest and darkest middle of nights. We were all sleep deprived. Being a family of three; my father, sister, and I, we considered ourselves close. But I think that we were farther apart than we realized. My sister never even told us the most important part of her nightmares. We had no idea until we read her diary afterwards. When she woke up, she was soaked in cold water. It wasn’t simply sweat; it was lake water, as though she had actually been swimming during the night. For the dreams we took her to a bunch of different people, thinking they could help, but they were to no avail. She still had those nightmares; we still woke up in the night. We eventually got so tired we had arguments. Oh, we had arguments. They were fierce and screamed for hours.  They were horrible beasts that raged on and on, chained to the floor, yet snarling and baring their teeth at one another face to face.  We would have to hold our ears while we screamed for fear of losing our hearing. Perhaps the anger was reason enough for her not to tell us about being soaked to the bone. I would certainly understand that.

                She told me about them once; the dreams. It was a solitary evening where we sat around the table half-heartedly doing homework while rain pattered like a soft drum-beat outside. Our town is very wet and cold, and can be depressing sometimes. I don’t know what came over my sister, but she suddenly started talking about them. Before then we had already debated about them for a long time, but she had always told us the exact facts of what she had seen, never more. This time she told me more in depth about what she felt. I remember it quite clearly. I always remember rain.

She had felt it when she was so small she could barely remember. We often went to the lake down a little ways from the town, and one time she was simply swirling her fingers in the water as usual, when she felt it enter her body. It was warm and light, so it delighted her, and she didn’t think anymore of it. We had learned that same day that a lady in her middle years had committed suicide by jumping off the highway bridge across the dam; tying her feet and hands together. She hadn’t put two and two together until she started having the dreams years later. She said they were the most painful experiences she had ever had. Whenever she entered the mind-stopping freezing water, her chest felt so heavy as if it was bleeding with heart-break. They were not her own feelings, but the memories of someone else. She couldn’t breathe either. She always woke up gasping for breath. That was one of her fears, she said; of drowning in her sleep, and dying in real life.

When my sister died, I remembered that evening conversation. No matter how hard we ran to find her, she had jumped and sunk herself down into the abyss of water. I had barely found her, when I saw her jump. I ran and jumped into the water after her, but I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t believe it, I simply couldn’t believe it. How could my sister, so joyful and happy before her nightmares, jump and kill herself? Did the nightmares have anything to do with it? Was it how she said? Did someone else’s soul drag her? As soon as I thought that, I felt something warm enter my freezing body. It started at my feet as though I was grabbed by an invisible hand, and spread upwards through-out my entire body. I felt paralyzed with relaxation. And from a voice in my head, I slightly heard someone whisper in my sister’s voice, “I don’t want to die.”

Growing Over

Growing Over
by me(whatever)
Princess Mononoke theme

Every so often,
I glance at the clock.
Whirring around imperatively,
without stopping; a few gears broken
A few years taken.

Once in a while,
I stare in mirror shards
lying only to be cracked once more,
splintering into the earth; a fatal cry
taken by and by.

I always wear a blind-fold,
to scars never seen.
listening to the spinning of life,
my reflection shattered; and time grows over
Like a tree I grow,
and time grows over,
as time grows over.

Morning Avenue

Morning Avenue
written 5/3-4/10(wow a long time ago)
by me(whatever)
to this song: Miku Hatsune- Chaining Intention

Rapid paintshots
create small dots
to traveling
unraveling
streams of flowing
make our knowing
the flavoring
is savoring
signs in city
designs are witty
the parallel
streets are
surveying the sound of
the morning bell.

Notice #2: Once again, another blog

Yes, I have once again created another blog. It's called Scarlet Notes of Hood. This is a blog that is entirely for Little Red Riding Hood's diary entries. She is traveling through the magical wood to her granny's house, and will encounter plenty of other fairytale creatures that possibly have nothing to do with red or hood. It only has one post so far, but I'm planning on plenty more through-out October. Check it out if you're interested!