Friday 28 November 2014

Dear William,

"Your application for the Bachelor of Arts (Screen)

The Australian Film, Television and Radio School (AFTRS) takes great pleasure in offering you a place in the Bachelor of Arts (Screen)."

Thursday 27 November 2014

Christmas Wish List

I really really really really really want a record player or a turntable thingo.

Clothes are fine too but mostly, a record player. Thanks lol

Tuesday 25 November 2014

No vuelvas a limitar mi amor

CONFIDENTIAL: The contents of this document
cannot be divulged or discussed without the

prior written consent of (owner of Copyright)

© 2015, William Tran

William Tran

0423811008

Prologue: Dust

There’s a bridge that connects Dorothy Point and Saint Fellers, although it’s pretty useless. Actually, I’m pretty sure the only reason why it’s even had contact with anything other than dust is for its solitude. There’s a quiet breeze that hovers over the bridge. If you listen closely, you can hear slight whispers, secrets travelled all the way from Norway. I never understand them and I only ever hear so many, but I should learn Norwegian. I’m very curious. Nothing really ever happens to raise this dust though; no cars, no gang wars or any wild encounters – only lonely people wisping unnoticed. They linger in and long for this place because it’s one to think. It’s a place for the judged to be relieved of shame and for the quiet to be quiet – to have quiet. I was only ever there once. And it was beautiful.  It’s a useless bridge, but from time to restless time, it was someone’s saviour. For me, the bridge was the centre of my universe, the singularity of my very being and the meeting place of all my ghosts. It was sanctuary.

THE PHTHISIS OF THE APPLE

Part One: The Rocking Train

                The ride is routine, mundane but so absolutely, and painfully, necessary. Every morning I ride to the city on these terribly rickety trains and I know. I know that such is life and we all go through the trivial to find something amazing – something worth living for. But every single morning I wake up dreading, and how, in any sense, could that be considered living?
It’s always two blocks after Bluevine, the beautiful purple face that’s painted on the back of an apartment building. The face wasn’t ever completed, but it was a perfect outline. It held the most mesmerising gaze, made with eyes that held onto nothingness and yet held everything surrounding them. Over time, a little hedge had overgrown in front of it, and the face became hidden. It shuddered away from onlookers like myself, but I can still see it and feel it. I will always see it and I will always feel it. I’ve never really found a name for her, just- things to call her. ‘The violet lady’ – a popular choice these past few weeks. The train can only zoom past her. She is only seen for two seconds, and yet it is in these seconds that we have the most wonderful conversations, travelled at light speeds – a million words exchanged in one breath.

“Does your hair flow behind the wall, Violet Lady?”

“Are you happy, Violet Lady?”

“Were you ever married, Violet Lady?”

“Will you ever come out, Violet Lady?”

She answers every time, every question, and her voice is so soft and yet it’s so unbelievably powerful. Her lips never move in the process and yet, I feel as if she’s the most clever and beautiful woman I’ve ever spoken to. But, when she answers, I sometimes don’t believe her. I never tell her this, but I can never believe that she’s truly happy. And I can’t understand how she can live to let her hair flow so voluptuously behind a brick wall, never seeing, only believing that it exists.

“Will you ever forgive me, Violet Lady?”

Help, I’ve gone insane. I speak to a piece of graffiti every morning and she helps me feel less alone.

The train’s rocking slowed and I braced myself for the slight push that came upon arrival. It’s a very heavy push – those unfamiliar would fall forward and their cheeks would become bright red. The doors had slid open and there, coming into view with direct sunlight was Blue Vine’s busy landscape. The people left and right of me who had been waiting anxiously to hurry off to wherever they were hurrying off to pushed and pushed and pushed into and through their lives. I never really pushed; I always let them carry me to work. But this time, I felt like a heavy column holding up a pier, pushed and yet not affected by the waves that crashed into me. I proceeded to hold onto the leather strap that hung above me and after the carriage had emptied, I stayed standing. My vision became empty and before I knew it, the doors were sliding back into place.

                I missed my stop.

The carriage seemed so much lighter, like the train was under much less stress and the rocking – the rocking had stopped. It didn’t make sense but it happened. I could have sworn the rocking stopped. The rocking train had no longer cradled my inhibitions and yet I felt so safe. I rode the train all the way to the end of the line that day, and then I rode it all the way back home.

Part Two: Which way is right?

I rode the rocking train down to Wynona Beach today. I missed the sun and the salt and the blue and tan that raided my senses. My thongs were hanging from my fingers as I waded through the shallow seas. The water kissed the bottom of my legs, just under where I had stopped rolling up my jeans. And under that, I could feel my toes sinking slowly, finding solace within the sand that had crept between them.

                I swear I’ve never been so frequently impulsive before. The most I had been before the train incident was back in high school when I truanted and got lost in the beautiful greenery that spread all the way along the river. I found myself chasing nymphs along the creek and they were so beautiful and they told me that if I was one with nature, I’d be just like them. So I buried myself in the bushes and leaves and sunk into the earth. And in the greenery, I met a boy who said he’d never met a single soul in his life. He told me I was pretty and that those nymphs didn’t know what beauty was if it ate them alive. He told me all his secrets, saying that he had to. He’d stored them up over so many years and he had to talk to somebody. So I told him mine and we laughed for ages. I had never felt so happy before and it was in the midst of our playing about that I was pulled from the leaves. A man in dull blue clothes dragged me home. The creek became so dark and lit by only torches of the adults I knew. I found my mother crying after I had a bath and then I wasn’t allowed to watch TV for a month after that. I did as I was told ever since. I guess it was in fear of seeing my mother cry again or never watching Danky Duck in the mornings.

                That day at the beach, I stared into the distant ocean ends and I had this odd yearning, deep in my stomach. I stepped forward towards the horizon and though the cuffs of my jeans were dampened I headed deeper into the seas. I waded, unsure of what I was doing or why I needed to. I had had dreams of Neptune finding my soul and telling me that I did well. I had dreamt of becoming the foam that rode up onto the seashores. I dreamed of being pulled down by the seaweed. I had dreams of finding Atlantis and being accepted as one with the ocean, but every single time I did, I woke up and I found myself drowning in bed sheets. So I walked as the tide climbed my hips, up to my waist, past my chest and until it took in my chin. I was merely part of a head peeking out of the blue. I closed my eyes and dreamed again. But this time I did not wake to be interrupted by the world. This time, I found myself in a deep spell. And when I opened my eyes, the sky had blackened and yet the water glowed. It glowed a light, neon blue and it lit up the sky, casting shadows on rainclouds. That day or night or whatever it was, gave sight to the most beautiful things I had ever seen. And like a dream come true, I was pulled down into the depths by an unknown force. Perhaps it was the seaweed. I lost the air in my lungs quickly – they ran away in their bubbles, away from me. I was being dragged viciously towards the centre of the Earth and when it had stopped and I was steadily floating in an almost empty ocean, I found myself in front of the boy from the bushes again. 

He gave me breath and told me I had grown so much. He said I smelled like salt and happiness and he touched my cheek. He slid his hand down the side of my face and told me I was beautiful. I was here again. I found my way back. He was just as mesmerising as the first time we met. I held onto him so tightly, and we talked about how our lives had been. I didn’t have much to share, but he had a whole world’s worth of stories of his adventures travelling through the silhouettes of city benches and walking bikini babes. I listened for aeons to the sweetness that felt like a cascade of blossoms would look or a warm bath in winter would feel. He had grown so much since we last met and I had a peculiar thought. I grabbed his hand and I pushed myself towards the surface. I could see the sun beam through the water and yet as I tried to rise towards it, I was yanked back into the depths until I found myself falling, as if off a chair, and into the hard, dry sand of Wynona. I choked out the last few cups of seawater. The boys in red and yellow told me I was alright, and that I shouldn’t have gone out so far. How far I had gone out, I still don’t know. All I know was that I met an old friend and I was so happy that day at the beach.

Part Three: We Are But Merely Human

                I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I dreamed of him often. But I don’t think I will again. I know how to find him, or, at least I think I do. But I will miss the times we had in my sleep. I remember this one time, when we stood at a hilltop in Taiwan. It was around midnight, but the lights of homes were still brightly lit. The lights were separated, shining like star signs and they added a tint of blue to the green of the land and the black of the dark. It was beautiful. We stood and we watched. I didn’t see his face in that dream but I knew it was him because who else could I just stand and watch and enjoy midnight Taiwan with other than him? I ask that question every day.

Part Four: Fae

I feel like a will-o'-wisp, floating through life. I feel completely weightless, as if I have no effect on the earth at all, and the earth has no effect on me. I'm filled with absolute glee right now. This can only last so long.

Part Five: Lost

                I lost my job today. They told me my position in the company was no longer available. I would’ve fought. But I was never really a fighter. I wasn’t a lover either. I was just lost – all the time. But this time, the feeling was different. The area underneath my eyes swelled for a few seconds and if I had any notion of letting go, I would’ve broken down right then and right there. But instead, I sat across from my manager and avoided eye contact. That moment was one of the lowest points of my life. If you had been sitting where my manager was, you would’ve seen the look on my face. The look of bottled-up pain and neglect and tears and anger and tiredness, all choked back. I was a mess, zip locked and ready to shrivel and burst and shrivel and burst.

                My manager, not sure how to deal with the situation, pushed a small box of Kleenex towards my way. I looked at the box, then at a paperweight at the other end of the desk and then back at the box. And like spit and slobber rushing out of his mouth, a waterfall of insidious, repeated lies spewed onto my very sad life. All this talk about severance and the opportunities that await me. And then came the quotes, “When one door closes, another one opens.” And so, I clenched my fists and my teeth started grinding. For the first time in my life, I was angry. And it worried me and like an avalanche, I was piled under a vast array of emotions that went from fear of my emotions to fear of what I might do. And within that second, my manager was everything that was wrong to the world – my world. I looked straight into his eyes and pierced right through them. From rabbit-heart to that of a lion, I grew fierce. I was ready to pounce and-

“Are you okay?”

He finally asked me if I was okay. I let out a small, broken breath from the back of my throat and quickly sucked it back in. I settled down. I asked him if he needed anything else from me and then I left – so quietly and calmly. I never wanted to be that person again. I cried in the women’s room and cleaned myself up with toilet paper. And then I walked through the streets of Bluevine Central and got lost. 

Part Six: I’ll Find You

                My mind was set like sediment. I was going to find him. I thought long and hard about how I was going to live my frail/fragile life and amongst all the slow-motion and the rays of daylight spread out and shining like lines on blueprint, I found that the sun was forgiving only when it did not show – in the depths of foliage, my mind and the ocean.

                I found myself floating in idle sheets, that night, completely and utterly awake under the flow of orange streetlights and the hush of stale nothingness in empty halls. I had never been so nervous about falling asleep before. Was I going to see him? Would he tell me where to find him? I shut my eyes and I shut out the whole world as well. I emptied my mind and let go of my body.

                It was sudden.

                I could open my eyes again but I was veiled by a light haze. I could move my eyes but the rest of my body was absolutely motionless. I was stuck still and my breath had become so incredibly heavy. I started to panic. This was so completely new to me and it felt so uncomfortable and I wanted to move but I couldn’t. I was helpless and I was alone and I was afraid.

                And yet again, it was so sudden.

                My heart slowed and I could… I could feel him. I began to relax. I felt this warmth right beside me.  I couldn’t turn my head to see, but I knew exactly who it was lying beside me. I was here again. 

                He asked me how I was. I said I was lost initially but that I had felt better. I told him how unsure I was about my life and everything that had led up to this moment – the slow rise and the heavy fall. I told him that I needed to find him and stick to him like glue on home-made wings. He asked me if I was absolutely sure and I replied that I had never been so sure of anything in my life. What scared me the most was that that was so depressingly true. He said that I already knew exactly how to find him. He kissed me on the cheek, softly and lightly, and left. 

                And one last time, it was sudden.

                I was released from whatever deep spell I was in. My muscles relaxed furthermore and I was washed anew with the knowledge of how to find the boy who held my hand in the depths. And in that heavenly moment, my life had purpose and intent and direction and it was real. I was going to find him.

Part Seven: Don’t Ever Limit My Love

                Within one step, I could feel the change. My bones unclenched and grew lighter. My whole body shivered and then relaxed and I could exhale for once in my life. I could breathe. This was it. I was here and so was he.

                My whole world had fallen apart so quickly, silently and effortlessly. He stood by the loneliest bridge I had ever seen. It slept wrapped in fog. He put his wilted hand up and I waved back. He stood like an oasis, new beginnings in flesh and muscle and skin. 

My legs, unfamiliar with this sensation of motivation and eagerness to reach, wobbled on and off the path. I just wanted to smell his skin like I once did and feel his arm hairs just touch my fingertips but I found myself being pulled back, held back, and dragged back. It was as if my prior life had finally collapsed within itself and a vacuum had taken its place. It called for me, like a voice down a well and pulled, like gravity upon a crashing plane. I was not going back. I refused to be who I used to be and so I pushed against the current, aching and longing for new teeth and new hairs and new cells – a brand, new life.

I put my hand out to him and he pulled me in – a girl lost at sea come across a wandering captain, a saviour at last. And within seconds of contact, the fog had taken us in and it cradled the both of us and within seconds, he whispered all his secrets, his very being, all of his history and everything to come – dust and air, time and space, all in one breath, all into my ear and my head and my mind. And within seconds, all I held onto was fog. My thoughts cracked under all the pressure of lessons learnt and knowledge revealed.

The fog had lifted, I was reborn with new hairs, new skin, new cells and a brand new life and I was filled with the energy of days upon days upon days. 

Epilogue: Last Words

                You’ve been searching for beauty your whole life – in talking street art, glowing waters and Midnight Taiwan – and you ended up finding me in the thick of it all. I know you’ll be hurt but it’s time to lift the fog and for me to leave. I’ve explored the world, my dear, and believe me, there is beauty everywhere. Unshroud your mind and look around. Don’t ignore the plains you walk in. Find beauty, not just in day-dreams but in your real-life surroundings. Find beauty in the fall, the crash and the burn. Find beauty in the steps you take, in the rocking train and in the hearts of strangers. Turn around and start anew. Your life neither ends nor starts with me but rather, it continues. It begins again if you want it to. 

We’ll never meet again but you don’t need me as much as you used to. You’re not that lost little girl anymore. You’re a wiser woman now, I should hope. The world is still unknowing of how gorgeously powerful you are. But that will all change soon.

Clara, I want you to listen very clearly and very carefully. Once this fog is gone, you will have to make a choice. Behind you is your life. If you turn around, then you might find that everything will be eerily familiar, like déjà vu. You will walk your life the same way you did a year ago. Clara, I present to you a second chance, a do-over – you could change the world that used to be. Or, you could cross the bridge. The future is unknown, my dear, but it’s exciting isn’t it? You won’t know a thing that will be coming your way and that’s just as scary but you’re smarter now. You’ll be okay, either way, I’m sure. Consider this a parting gift, Clara. You’re standing at the centre of the universe and the singularity point of all beings. Your life lays now entirely in your hands. Choose wisely, as I know you will. Goodbye and good luck. The fog is lifted.

He kissed me on the head and left. I breathed in again and it was as if I was breathing through brand new lungs that were no longer so tightly wound. I had become a whole person and I was standing between two completely different lives. I looked behind me at the life I once lived. He was right. I had many regrets and I had a chance to rewrite everything. But I looked at the fog ahead of me as well, and it seemed like it was lined with silver, the mist. Where the bridge lead, I had no idea, but it was a tempting offer. I took one last deep, unforgiving breath and walked – complete and anew.

Monday 17 November 2014

Dentists and the Dark

Hahahah remember when I said I'd post every two days? If you guys have been reading for a while, you know I never stick to my word. Anyways, I'm out right now, at that park next to museum station, and it's nice weather. Easy breezy. I should be omw to nini's house to do god knows what but she ain't picking up. It's four. She's still asleep or SCREENING ME!!!! Or just afk.... But still, ruuuuude. She was supposed to be my get out of jail free card for this friendly meet up if it were to go wrong, but obviously she's FAILED. Fair enough tho, she's sick as a dog. Anyways, so I'm at the park with nothing to do so why not waste my precious battery life on the blogger app? Anyways, let's poem and make this up as I go. Haha, remember when I said I'd stop releasing poetry unedited and just as is? NOT TODAY, MEINE FREUNDE. 

~~~~~

Take 1:

It's a lie, what you're living.
Six days penance, one day forgiving.
You've grown accustomed to reaping,
The bad fruit that you sew.
It's not your fault but it's sickening,
Eating it up, what you don't know.

Take 2:

Freestyle rapping,
Life tapping,
Gift wrapping,
No fapping.
Rhyming words to make the world spin,
American apparel, they'll never know what's in.
Word.

Take 3:

Run away, run away,
It's too late now.
Somewhere far away, you're scared,
To lose it now, to lose it now.

Take 4:

River life, unmoving, so quickly.

Take 5:

I had a dream,
I spoke to the sea.
She said, get away from what you know,
Get lost in the scenery.

A line so familiar,
It riveted through my whole,
A line so peculiar,
Trembling through all that I had known.

Get lost, she said, and so I wondered,
How?
So I jumped in the deep end, and eventually,
I drowned.

~~~~~

Okay, I'm tapped, that was lol. Nini, wake the fuck upppppppppppppp. U is da wurst sausage, gatdamn.

Bye, thanks for reading, stay tuned, maybe I'll c y'all in two days Hahaha, au revoir!

Oh boy, it's cold now, damn.

Wednesday 12 November 2014

Half-Thai thickie, all she wanna do is Bangkok

Let's talk about boys.

But first, myself. I've noticed that I have this strange sort of attitude or way of life where I act a lot more gorgeous than I look. Like I compliment myself way too much and I go around acting all pretty and shit. Acting like I'm that chick who can get a free drink in a second. I realise that I'm not, with my many physical flaws, but I like to embrace my face and act all ace (hahahha fun sentence, I'm very lame). And it's a good thing I guess, but sometimes it can be a bit excessive, hey? Like self-confidence is fantastic, don't let anybody ever ever ever ever take that away from you. It's sacred and precious and so powerful. But you know the phrase "drunk on power"? Sometimes it can be obnoxious. It's the premise of a douchebag (hahhaha look at me try to write go0d) and it can ruin a reputation. And I can definitely be a bit excessive. But you've seen it before, right? It's marked by too many selfies and an obsession with the camera. It's those people who are just a bit above average but they act like they deserve to be instafamous, posting selfies left right and centre on IG (das me) and then they feed off all the likes they gather from said selfies (das me). And I know, I know, I know, I know I said all that stuff about the sacredness that is self confidence but sometimes, you can be a bit annoying. And it starts sounding a bit more like self-obsessed than self-confident. And when you're in this position, you don't stop being who you are - it's just who you are!

So embrace it. Embrace how eh you really are based on conventional beauty standards and then flaunt it. Don't just flaunt your average looks, flaunt how comfortable you are with it. Important though - don't be a douchebag. Don't adopt a sense of superiority when you do this. Be humble. Humility is a very important thing. And above all, give back. When you see a selfie, like it. If the person's nice and you don't hate them or dislike, like their photo. It's a nice gesture and so easy. Don't be prude and don't be that guy who feels as if their likes represent their freedom of speech and that you have to earn likes. That's cool, man, but get over yourself for at least a bit and like a friend's selfie. Yeah, you are allowed to like what you like but seriously, there are those people who act like their likes are better than everyone else's because they "refuse to throw them away or give them out willy nilly". Ugh.

Anyways, getting away from instagram selfies but continuing on from this notion of 6's acting like 9's - I've also noticed that when it comes to boys - I like them pretty. But do I deserve pretty? Or rather, with my looks, will I ever get a pretty boy? And it's become a thing where I'm too good for some people or so I think and that's what makes me a douchebag. And yet, it's something we all do. That's why that second most popular line from perks of being a wallflower was so powerful. Because it was so profoundly but also plainly true - "we accept the love we think we deserve". So are most of us douchebags? You'd think this is a rhetorical q aimed at you but really it's a real question that I'm actually asking myself as I write this post. Because really, idk what I'm saying lol.....

OKAY LET'S JUST TALK ABOUT BOYS, I'VE CONFUSED MYSELF.

I want a boy who will make me laugh. I have plenty of friends who make me laugh but they're all either women or just not quite for me. I mean, I guess based on the people I've had feelings for in the past, I'm not attracted to very funny people and if anything just people who will laugh at my jokes (also a very important quality). But it'd be so nice if I found a boy my age who I could get along with so well. I want a best friend kinda bf, that's what I'm in the mood for. Dangarang. Okay, I'm done with this post.

But of course, with my attitude, they gotta look good.

BTW, I'm gonna try and get a post out every two days and see if that works lol. BYE.

Monday 10 November 2014

Thought of you as my mountain top.

So I handed in my AFTRS app and since then, I've been getting so many mixed feelings about it. Recently, my brother came into my room talking about all the bad things an arts degree really is. It's a mountain of HECS for something that really has no real-world value. You should do what you need and then do what you want. But, knowing me, if I did what I "needed" (really, what do I need? What's realistic? Is being unhappy what life is supposed to be? Should I accept that sort of reality? Yeah, I'm being mad dramatic. Wait, let's close this bracket and finish this sentence, then get back to this), I'd be so unhappy and unmotivated that I'd fail the semester, tbh, which is terrible, holy hell. Anyways, I know, I'm being mad dramatic about it and twisting it horribly, my brother's idea, to make it seem bad because ultimately, I just don't want to do the hard work that is studying for an "acceptable" degree. And really, it's not gonna make me unhappy. If anything, it'll just make me wait for my happiness. But, like, how fucking weak. I'm done doing what people suggest or what's expected of me. I did that last year and I tried to smother my sadness in smoke.

Pro's & Con's of getting a stable degree:

Pro's:
  • Getting a degree is not easy. It's hard work. I would be proud, I guess, of myself to some extent.
  • I'd have a safety net. Better safe than sorry.
  • I'll be better able to get a job that can actually pay off my uni debts.
  • It'll mean I sucked it up and did what I should have - my family would be content.
Con's:
  • Should I?
  • Four or more years of bitterness and loneliness and sadness.
  • You came up with the idea that uni just wasn't for you. Why are you back?
  • Are you that weak? (or is it weak to go straight for an arts degree?)
  • I love my family but fuck what they think. I have to think for myself at some point. I've noticed that when it comes to decisions at work, I always ask my co-workers what I should do. This or that? And I'm the supervisor, smh. It's gotta stop.
It's been a while since I gave in my application, and to be absolutely honest, I am not at all confident. I'm very confident with my best work but of course, with my insecurities, I really don't think it's good enough to get away without a powerful crit essay and writing task. And mine were honestly half-assed, the 500 words tasks. I wish I bucked up earlier. I did at first and that died down and I was left with a few days to finish them off. For my essay, I wanted to be deep and philosiphical and show off my artsiness with The Tree of Life, but I took the easy route and went with The Office. It wasn't a bad essay, I don't think, but it was simple. I guess I let it all come down to the max 500 words, but really, I could've written something with so much more meaning in 500 words or less. I'm so disappointed with myself. And there's that caretaker shit I gave in, wtf. I'm not a person who can write a full story in less than 500 words, I've found out. I suck.

And now I'm in this dumb funk where I don't think I'll make it in, but I'm still holding on to some deadly, fucked-up hope that I will, and then when I don't, I'll be done. So really, with this lack of self-confidence there is no bright-side, no lower your expectations so you won't be as disappointed. Because I'm still a little unreasonably hopeful - and it's gonna consume me when the time comes.

But it's better to be hopeful than completely lacking of, right?

That's it for now, thanks for reading. Bye.

Sunday 9 November 2014

I thought that you were different.

To start off this post:  A song I love so much right now. This is JOY. She was featured in Peking Duk's recent Triple J performances (coolest cover of Kylie Minogue, btw, youtube it!). This is her song Captured and it's so goooood and relaxing. You could just lie back and listen to it super loud and it'd be so bliss, it's so good and on spotify lol



And a little bonus, her cover of Marvin's Room (super good around the end)



Anyways, I keep seeing pics of the moon everywhere and I'm just realising now that the only time I ever see and enjoy the moon is when I'm out, usually with friends and we're just chilling in nature. I fucking love nature. I love it so much. I love going out and being surrounded by beauty. We need to go camping a$ap (rocky). I want to see the stars dance again and I want to breathe fresh air. We neeeeeeeeeeeed to go camping this holiday!!!!!! Ah!!!!!!!

Night.

OMG, when we travel Europe, we have to go hiking, I want to see those huge gorgeous bodies of waters with the mountain skyline, fuck me, I need to LIVE. I'm getting too excited at 2am, I should tone it down and sleep. Alrighty, nighty night, y'all.

Tuesday 4 November 2014

Can't Get You Out Of My Head

T-minus four hours until my application to AFTRS is due. Fuck me, I'm tired.

----------------------------------------------

I HATE MY 500 WORD CREATIVE WRITING PIECE, IT SUCKS AND I SUCK AND OMG I HOPE IT DOESN'T ALL COME DOWN TO THAT OH LORD PLEASE NO.

Below: I'll copy and paste my several attempts at writing a story. First off, the complete original story I had written before.

1. Life After Death

                Was I a cruel man? Did I commit too much sin without confession?

                I stayed the same. I had the same skin and I had the same cells. My mind remained unchanged and so, like my old self, I accepted the circumstances I had crashed straight into. My old life was over. I was violently ripped out of reality and pushed into this world of quiet, unmoving oblivion. And it was nice.

                The sand was cool under the freshly set sky and like every other evening, I sat against a multitude of dusty blue that spread from the slow-motion waves that crashed in an even, forsaken tempo, in time with the rest of the world, across and empty sky that loomed above my faded head and down to the hilltops behind me, lined with silver – a skyline made up of nothingness.

                I lived a good life. I did well in school, I studied further for four years in Pharmacy. I met a nice boy who went on to marry me. I never saw death as a real possibility, or rather, a soon one – something that could take all that away so quickly. And yet, I always believed and understood that everything was temporary and that nothing gold could stay. Everything here was surreal as ever but I ended up getting used to surreal because it was the same time, time and time again. It was an orchestra of silence submerged in cool blue, day in and day out.

                And that was why the slightest change in temperature became the signifier of strangeness. I was warmer than usual. The breeze was… warm. And within a second, the quiet was pierced by the crack and shatter of a street light that nearly scared me half to death. And alas, the last eerie sound that broke the silence:

    “I don’t know why I keep coming back,” echoed across the plains.

                My pupils dilated and my heart quickened. Suddenly I was feeling emotions I hadn’t felt in so long that they became nostalgic even. It was Mark. It was him, such a familiar voice. He sounded just like he used to, just more hollow and tired than before.

                What was happening? I screamed out into the void that was my afterlife.

                “MARK!” a long cry filled with desperation.

                Where did it come from? Where did it go?

                And as if travelling with the howling wind on a broken wire, his voice came back, interrupted and static.

                “I’m so sorry, my dear, but I’m letting you --. The doctors say you’re not improving and ---------- you so much but it’s like you ----, nothing gold --- stay. Goodbye, my love. I ---- you and I’ll see you on the other -----“

                His last words filled the empty air and one by one, street lights shattered and the waves settled and slowed further to a halt. And so, I stood in the presence of a hushed and darkened world. I gathered all the information I could and came upon a theory with the following conclusions:
  1.      The afterlife was not what it seemed,
  2.       I was only just beginning to understand what true loneliness meant,
  3.      I had never been so cold before,
  4.     This was the end – an instinctive conclusion and,
  5.       I took my life for granted.

SCRAPPED, completed but wasn't good enough, a little dumb

2. Some Crazy Shit (unofficial title lol)


In my eight fresh years of work, I had never seen a case as peculiar as Emily Marswick’s. She was a woman of English descent and was suffering stress caused by a past trauma that involved three fatalities and one injured sole survivor. I had seen this many times before, yes, that was true. And yes, the case was textbook – she was acutely aware at all times of her surroundings but never quite ready for the occasional slamming of a door or knock of the wind. And yet, she had caught my eye and not through any means of lust or anything of the like (I was a professional man and I held my work above everything) but rather, it was because she was a poet and I do love a good spot of poetry.

She started writing two months after the unfortunate incident. Her wrist slowly ceased to ache and she seemed, as many would have described, unnervingly calm. Dr Peters, my mentor and my father, had put Ms Marswick solely in my care, as if a project for my very coming of age, as a doctor and his son. I started procedures by simply observing the patient but observing proved to be of little fruit and so I took to speaking directly to her, asking questions about who she used to be and how she felt about her new self. Her replies were sheltered and most likely untrue. Eventually, I coerced her into showing me her poetry. She was clearly unsure at first but like any good doctor, I cloaked myself in a guise, that of a saviour or such. It was often said by my father that delusion was a very powerful medicine for the mess itself. Her words and her verses were the most intricately beautiful things I had ever seen. I was caught in a spell by her artistic attempts at normalcy. She never spoke a word about the accident in her writings, just about what was. All her poetry was filled with beloved memories of her old home, her life as little Emily Marswick – a pocket of sunshine wrapped within baby teeth and pigtails.

SCRAPPED

3. Fire On Water rip-off

There was a quiet hum that hovered over the night and it seemed like only the moon and I could hear it. I was never quite the type for specifics, I let life cradle me in its arms, never knowing where I was floating in this great, big sea. The waves of my life were slow-crashing, gentle pushes against the shore. I’m a slow-moving creature. I always have been. But she wasn’t quite like that at all. She was fire on water. She had the reddest curls you had ever seen and she went out just as quickly as she came in because her waters were rougher than mine ever were. She lived her life dancing through stormy weather and as soon as she came into contact with a boy like me, as soon as I took her hand, I had been swept in by the current and lost at sea. She took the very hum of the night and played it like strings on a cello. My life had changed tempo and I had never been so unfamiliarly happy. I was consumed by a blazing sun and it was beautiful.

Eventually we fell apart.

The first night we met was a flurry of hands and booze. Daylight had proven to be more violent than I had wanted and I entered the evening battered by the strains of work and practically everything else that I took upon my shoulders. It was a Friday night and I guess I just fell victim to the shared belief that Friday Nights were always forgiving. I attended Andy’s 30th which wasn’t my intention when given the invitation the week before but I convinced myself to go and talk to new people. I met a nice girl who studied accounting and grew up in Oakland but my mind must’ve floated out of my body and into the stars at one point because I barely remember anything else we talked about. It was unlike me. Eventually, everybody at the party had paired up and I stood by the pool clutching onto my beer not quite sure what to do. I finally decided that I’d leave. My confidence wasn’t anywhere near peaking and I started to feel as if my deodorant wasn’t enough to cover up the dread that washed over me day in and day out.

And yet, right as I turned to leave, she said, “

SCRAPPED, couldn't think of an interesting end to lead to.

4. Fire On Water rip-off second edition

My father was a broken man. You could see it in the way his eyes dragged the rest of his face down. He was a gentle but tired, old man. He was naturally a slow-moving creature. The waves of his life were slow-crashing, soft against the shore. My mother grew up in rougher seas and so, she had a knack for dancing through stormy weather. She was fierce, fire on water. She never went into the specifics but essentially, she had married my father because she fell in love with his rock-steadiness and ease. She found his side of life soothing. But eventually, he was caught in her current and seasick. He loved her very much as well but my mother grew to crave bigger waves again and my father’s resistive nature took him back to shore, away from my mother. They left each other half a year ago and my father became and has remained a broken man.

I took him to New Orleans on a long train ride as an attempt at cheering him up or getting him closer to moving on. There was a florist’s convention happening there and I thought it’d be nice if he met people with common interests. He often tried to pass his hobbies and interests onto me but I guess the green thumb wasn’t as genetic as he had hoped. But I always appreciated the flowers he grew in our yard. They were gorgeous year in and year out.

SCRAPPED

5. Fire On Water rip-off third edition

In my twenty-six years of growing and living and loving and losing, I had never felt as afraid as I had until today. She was fire on water. I knew that from the start. Her temper was as red as her curls and she had very red curls. But I grew to love her fighting and fire because her love was just as powerful and just as passionate. But daylight proved to be more violent than I thought it could get and I was afraid. I was afraid that things were no longer going to be the same.

She was the love of my life. I knew that from the start as well. She made flowers grow in every part of me – under my ribs, behind my ears and on the tips of my eyelashes. She made the sun warm again and the rain cleansing. She made me feel unsure about how I even lived my life before I had met her. Really, before I did meet her, I was a slow-moving creature. The waves of my life were slow-crashing, gentle pushes against the shore. I was content with just floating through life but in the middle of it all, there came stormy weather and I was swept out to sea and I found myself cradled in the arms of rough waters, holding onto her for dear life. She was the most beautiful storm I had ever seen. (What is this, a fking nicholas sparks book/taylor swift song?)

Eventually, life had dealt her a cruel hand and she was known for a short while to be the sole survivor of an unfortunate accident by Trilson’s beach.

SCRAPPED

5. Final Story, submitted for the fking application, smh, The Caretaker

I was born into a respectful family in an inescapable trade. I was taught from the moment I could walk how to take on the family business. My father was a silent man but he took the job very seriously. He spent my whole childhood teaching exactly what his father taught him and what his father’s mother taught him and so on. My job was simple. I was to take those unfortunate to have lived and ceased thereafter to a place they always knew they would end up but avoided at all costs. And I was at the ripe age of sixteen when my father decided I was ready for work. Within my many years of training and preparation beforehand though, my father had pounded three golden rules into my head:
  1. Only speak the Last Words Oath and nothing else to the patient,
  2. Be forgiving, cruelty is not part of the trade, and,
  3. Nobody cheats death. It is final and it is sacred.

My first patient was a mortal by the name of Emily Brunswick.

“You’ll step into the lower plains and find yourself exactly where you need to be. Just follow your sixth sense you’ll know exactly which mortal she’ll be. Just one touch and she’ll be yours to deliver. I love you, be safe.” He kissed me on the head and urged me to leave, handing me a large parcel. “You’ll need this to make sure the patient is comfortable when she passes between realms.”

I leapt between our world and theirs and just like I was told, I was in the Brunswick’s dimly lit living room. A quiet hum formed a small aubade over the dawning city and with the start of the new day, Emily Brunswick was to meet her demise. My sixth sense, a fruit bared from the family tree, lead me to a room at the end of the hall with the door wide open. I took a deep breath and entered, nervous about the whole ordeal. At the end of the room stood Mrs Brunswick with her back towards me, surprisingly awake at such an early hour. The room was just as dark as the rest of the apartment but it was also a lot colder. Silent and invisible to the mortal eye, I wisped my way across, a wretched mist over shadows. Standing behind her, I reached out for the back of the neck, ready to take her as my first patient and yet, right before I even touched the hairs on her neck – an unexpected sound, the coo of a young child.

“Go back to sleep, Emily. We have a big day tomorrow. Mummy’s going to take you out for a stroll, how about that?” Mrs Brunswick whispered.


My heart had stopped right then and right there. I quickly moved aside as she turned to leave the room. It couldn’t be. I leaned over to look inside the crib and of course, there she was – young Emily Brunswick, just barely aware of her surroundings. Was this a lesson in itself? Was this a test? The second rule ran through my head, ‘Be forgiving’. Was this a choice I had to make? Was I even allowed to be forgiving? The third rule was clear as ever, though. Nobody cheats death. I looked through my father’s parcel for answers and there it was, plain as ever. I unfolded an old, black pram. I knew what I had to do and within that night, I knew just how unbearably cruel being a caretaker was and I learnt exactly why my father was such a quiet man. He was such a quiet man.


PUBLISHED AND REGRETTED

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The enddddddd, that was it. Scary? Spooky? You can tell I have a thing for the afterlife, hey? First Gravity and then this and that. Anyways, I'm okay with The Caretaker, but really, I left this task all to the last minute and ofc, I paid the price. Dangarang. Oh well, I really hope I get in.

Although, consider this: I do make it into AFTRS, I graduate and then what? I keep writing, I try for tv shows, do I move to America? Where do I get the money to move to the states? Do I even? I don't want to have a career in Australia, tbh. But what if nobody wants me? What if I'm not special, what if all the writers who are better than me (and there are so damn many) take up all the space? I'll be a man with a useless degree? Wtf am I gonna do with an arts degree? Gatdamn. The future is such a scary thing. Oh boy, I feel sick.

Bye, hope you enjoyed my shit.