Spontaneous Prose

As time is the essential thorny bat that ends each day with a solid thwack, and a training course of monstrous proportions (and slippery contortions) attempts to envelope and bear-hug the life out of any sense of belonging and individuality left to embrace with my Freudian self, I shall attempt a short, yet thoroughly encompassing literary review of my secret idea-words based on Jack Kerouac’s 30 essentials to spontaneous prose. And, as that stealer of seconds’ padded flops echo throughout the hallways, I shall cut 30, as an inate cynic of Guiga, to 18, being a natural number.

1.Conglomerates – they’ll stifle it, so hide them in the closet, under the silky Christmas boxers
2. Steal words, but take them out of context
3. Congregate essentially with like ilk, drink, be merry and then meet the others you can’t handle sober
4. Source things from underneath things. Those pennies you find under the couch aren’t the only flubbertucks around
5. Lack of vitamins can lead to definitive prose and lying through your teeth but not necessarily in that order
6. Sixteen may be more than is warranted, given the current economic flibbergy
7. Keep you mind cocked, you never know when the wordthief might attempt a sneaky Pete at your grey jewellery
8. Puddles are made to splash
9. Don’t let the suede suck you in and lure you away from the hard-bottomed seat of tick tick tick, bang – fireworks; you’ve got it
10. Say it ain’t so, then explain why, with as much conviction as possible even if you don’t necessarily believe that conviction starts with a you
11. Close your eyes, open your ears, hold your breath and listen deeply
12. Wake with the swan of your soul fluttering the sparkles from its dewy back
13. Love it
14. Read and feed and nourish within
15. Stand up, stretch, and remember that coherence is the others’ problem
16. Sixteen might be too few when 15 gets itchy
17. Control and be controlled by the little mites that mold clay and rubber but trickle down your arms in spurts to drip onto pages
18. And alas, once plagiarised, attempt never to get drunk outside your own house

Portmanteau, Easter and the Jabberwocky

*I interrupt this April photoblog to bring you a little insight into how my brain works...sometimes when it's working*

Sir John Tenniel's March Hare and Mad Hatter

I've been reading all these blog posts about Easter while I'm up to my Adam's Apple in work, and supposed to be researching and writing a story for the International Kite Festival which took place in Vung Tau two weeks ago. Easter, by the way, is sort of a non-event in terms of commercialism in Vietnam. I do miss all the chocolate bunnies and such, but I appreciate not being bombarded with Easter madness sales at the shops. Secondly, I'm busy reading Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll (which incidentally features a bunny who dabbles in madness) and just got to the part where Alice is talking to Humpty Dumpty and he's explaining the meaning of the poem Jabberwocky by means of portmanteau - using two words to make a new one. For example, slithy = lithe and slimy and mimsy = flimsy and miserable.

So all these random facts and things collide in my brain and I've just figured out that if I were to eat liquer-filled Easter eggs until I pass out and the next day I had a hangover, it would be...wait for it...Passover.

Any new portmanteaus anyone?

6- word stories

A couple of year ago (has it really been that long?!) I posted about some famous sci-fi and fantasy novelists writing 6-word stories ala Ernest Hemingway’s famous 6-word story. A couple of weeks ago, a Swedish friend Henrik and I decided to try our hand at it again (at four in the morning). Here are some of the results. Once again, I’d love if you were to add some of your own – last time there were some rubies in the dust.

Vacancy: World leader. No qualifications required.

Capitalist seeks happiness. Will sell wife.

Angry axe needed. Heads will roll.

Seeking choir boy. Good voice unnecessary.

Party in jungle. Shrunk my head.

Indian binge. Curry will return…Viciously.

Door would not open. Tried windoooooooow…

He tortured her thoroughly. Good wage.

Shapeshifter seeks mate. Come as yourself.

Son of god seeks gullible partner.

On the road to Mandalay

The road to Mandalay by Rudyard Kipling

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea,
There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can’t you ’ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’-fishes play,
An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!

’Er petticoat was yaller an’ ’er little cap was green,
An’ ’er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes’ the same as Theebaw’s Queen,
An’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot,
An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ’eathen idol’s foot:
Bloomin’ idol made o’mud—
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ’er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the sun was droppin’ slow,
She’d git ’er little banjo an’ she’d sing “Kulla-lo-lo!”
With ’er arm upon my shoulder an’ ’er cheek agin’ my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak.
Elephints a-pilin’ teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence ’ung that ’eavy you was ’arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that’s all shove be’ind me—long ago an’ fur away,
An’ there ain’t no ’busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;
An’ I’m learnin’ ’ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
“If you’ve ’eard the East a-callin’, you won’t never ’eed naught else.”
No! you won’t ’eed nothin’ else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,
An’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho’ I walks with fifty ’ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an’ grubby ’and—
Law! wot do they understand?
I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

Monks in the teak monastry

Fishing

The Palace in Mandalay at sunset

Buddha on Mandalay Hill pointing to where the royal capital should be built.

A government propoganda billboard

The Teak Bridge outside Mandalay - the longest teak bridge in the world

Monks playing football outside their monastry

Thought for the day

If “forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it”, as Mark Twain so eloquently stated, then by logical reasoning, is the turd you step in “revenge”?

Like a worm

I saw some people blogging recently about the books they’ve read (Linka, Brian and especially Marissa who seems to read at a rate of knots) so I decided to try it as well.

Here’s a list of some the books I’ve read in the last few months ranked according to content and readability.

1) Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel by Susanna Clarke

Awesome reading. Clarke’s 19th Century writing style lends the novel such weight and credibility you feel like you’re reading a historical biography of English magic.

2) Imperial Ambitions by Noam Chomsky

Interesting information that you can gobble up in a day or two and impress your witless friends with.

3) The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby by Tom Wolfe

Classic Wolfe as only he can man - mind-blowingly detailed description of the who’s who and what’s what of middle-of-last-century America.

4) The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac

Killer Kerouac – drinking, backpacking and philosophising across America’s West Coast in the 50s and 60s.

5) Wilt on High by Tom Sharpe

The follow-up to Wilt, Sharpe is damn funny as always.

6) Coldsleep Lullaby by Andrew Brown

Attorney-turned writer Brown’s attempt at a psycholical whodunit set dually in modern and historical Stellenbosch is good, but I think it lacks impetus.

7) The Triumph of the Sun by Wilbur Smith

Set in 19th Century Khartoum, the novel is good but lacks the cutting edge adventure of, say, Monsoon.

8) The Romantic Movement by Alain de Botton

An interesting attempt at analysing and categorising relationships, but lacks substance and warmth. I think it's too Prousty and would do better in a Philosophy 201 "Deconstruction" class .

Currently reading:

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

Very interesting personal post 9/11 fictional attempt, but I’m not a big fan of this conscious streaming writing style

Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey

Looks like classic Kesey so far, will have to wait and see…

The 6-word story

Those of you who know me, know that I'm quite into fantasy novels, so it was cool when Wired Magazine asked 33 horror, sci-fi and fantasy writers as well as five designers to write 6-word science fiction stories. This was first made famous by Ernest Hemingway who said his 6-word story was one of the best pieces of writing he had ever written:

This is Hemingway's: For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn.

Here are some of my favourites:

Orson Scott Card: The baby's blood type? Human, mostly.

Stephen R. Donaldson: Don't marry her. Buy a house.

Ursula K. Le Guin: Easy. Just touch the match to

Brian Herbert: Epitaph: He shouldn't have fed it.

Some of them are quite thought-provoking and I never knew social and political commentary could punch so hard with 6-words. It's the literary equivalent of Bruce Lee's One Inch Punch.
For example, Richard K. Morgan's: K.I.A. Baghdad, Aged 18 - Closed Casket

I dare you guys to try some and post them in the comments. I'll get the ball rolling.

He said it would last. Longer.