cling wrap around my skin. stay dry – even blood runs like water here. cling wrap, like i’m preserving this body flesh to be kept fresh for another day when it’s ready, just not today cling wrap must be the reason his touch no longer electrifies the reason i can put myself face… Continue reading waterproof
Writing Exercise 1 for Words Of My Body (WOMB) – an acting workshop at HCAC. Prem Do you remember when we used to hang out almost every day after school? We’d play these educational computer games — there was this chameleon one that taught us how to spell, the tongue would extend and reach for… Continue reading Do You Remember?
This was written for a devised theatre workshop that I’ll be attending this Friday. My teacher told me about ether once. He said it was the substance that embodied the universe, a backdrop against which all other objects took their bearings. I remember thinking how comforting this must be, to know your place in… Continue reading Words Of My Body
For the one that has been with me every day and night of my existence, here is a letter to you. We haven’t had it easy since we hit 15. Maybe 13, if we were being completely honest about secondary school. 12, if we count the days of running away from home and playing truancy… Continue reading Dear Brain,
–sits in his lap, wondering, “Is that a penis or a pistol?” And exactly what is the difference? She screams, “Murder me. I’m telling you to murder me.” If she begged for it, is it still a crime? Can you still be blamed, Mr. Humbert? – Lolita’s Revenge, by Twoey Gray 11.12 p.m. I told… Continue reading Of Mice and Men.
i think i love you somewhere in that bubble of time when a word leaves my lips and yours begins, a smile already hanging by the window. somewhere, through translucent blinds your fears and beliefs do a pas de deux twin lovers feeding the other fuzzy, blurry — no. in your tendency to squirm, i think… Continue reading *whispers
Fiction is helplessly entangled with truth of some kind. Much in the same way that Orson Scott Card believes the reader takes in the fictitious material and constructs something in his mind such that he connects with it, identifies with it. And in that sense, fiction becomes reality for everyone, although everyone has different realities.… Continue reading When Love Arrived.