A Big Mess, A Small Achievement

Foreword:

If you listen to yourself, you will stand tall before the wind. If you don’t, your will won’t bend for bread but the PEN.

The Pen.

A Purple Diary, A Golden Pen

Thinking back, the past three weeks were somewhat dramatic.

Two weeks ago, apart from drawing, I have been rewriting, based on the old writing, on and off, not so good and seemed almost stuck there.

The week before last, everything seemed a big mess but fun. –

On Monday, I met a good friend (E) and another old friend (D) joined us. I shared a wonderful dream with D first. In the dream, D was a super hero who killed the bad guys. We then talked about all sorts of things, many naughty topics and I shared another dirty dream. We laughed, toasted, blushed and shared more life. That night, something sleeping long and deep inside me suddenly awoke. As a result, I masturbated like crazy.

On Tuesday, I listened to myself as I listened to Yesterday Once More. Except eating and sleeping, I did walking, wondering, thinking, drawing, missing some friends and masturbating.

On Wednesday, I listened to myself as I listened to Big Big World. I forgot eating until the evening. I lost some sleep in the night but I overslept in the morning. I went out facing the wind, walking further and further, wondering about more things, missing fewer friends, thinking harder, and masturbating more.

On Thursday, I listened to myself as I listened to the leaves falling. I had lost the sense of time completely. I felt as if time stayed  still and I was the only subject moving beyond time. Again, without feeling hungry almost all day, I did drawings, walking with the leaves dancing on my feet and before my eyes, missing only one friend, wondering only one thing, thinking even harder, masturbating like the body was not mine, seeing and fearing a deep hole swallowing my soul. 

On Friday, I couldn’t listen to myself, partly my body seemed to be worn out and partly my mind was burning like hell. Instead, I went out only for food and came back home straight afterwards. Then I watched a movie, The Foxcatcher. I was into the heavy images with my heart hanging in the dark, so intense. The end of the movie was shocking. Meanwhile, Black Swan was awoken naturally. I then wanted to get drunk by the evening, which I did, but not as drunk as I had expected. Though I did get more drunk when arriving at home by myself. It was like a torture being half drunk half awake. With no choice, I played with my toy Rabbit till I fell asleep.

On Saturday, by the late morning, I woke up with the toy still in my hand and hungover. The whole day, I was like a zombie or a fly without a head. Yet there was a decision being made after dinner. That I must stop this and write on.

On Sunday, consciously I was back to usual writing habit after a light breakfast. It seemed as if I was enlightened. My mind was unusually clear. I divided the old writings into several different chapters. Then I made them all blank. Soon, my imagination seemed to grow wings and I seemed to fly freely.

So for the last week,  I wrote nonstop about 3000 to 4500 words each day and finished rewriting the whole bit by the midnight on Saturday. Now the last edit will be reading the whole fucking book, I felt relieved. But it was never enough as the work will never done till the happy ending.

Rain Girl

White and Blue

White and Blue

The girl in the rain, once was a sort of boy who only hung out with boys. A number of times, she would do all different things in the rain, alone or with someone. The midnight before graduating from high school, she couldn’t control herself but led a bunch of boys running in the rain on the road. It was all dark. But she wasn’t afraid of the darkness. she was suddenly afraid of growing up and leaving an old place.

In the darkness, along with the boys, she laughed, cried and screamed; she lifted her face up, welcomed the rain pouring down; she kissed and tasted the rain; she sensed the freedom of the rain; she felt behind such freedom was sadness. The rain comes and goes, just like people coming and going. She really enjoyed how the rain washed something away from her heart and added something else to her mind. It was exactly the same feeling as how people gave her memories and she was afraid to lose them.

When leaving a place, she was always the last one to leave. She sent off everyone. She then quietly left alone. She even pictured her future without people coming and going. But she knew it was her sheer illusion.

Later she became a woman. The feeling never changed. One late night, thinking of leaving another place, with an impulsion she couldn’t help walking in the rain, alone. It was a dark street. The rain made her wet all over.  Even her brain was soaked. This time, she didn’t laugh or scream. But she did cry in silence. She tasted the rain more deeply. She opened her mouth, let the rain fill in naturally. She then would swallow a mouthful of rain, as though the rain was not rain but beer. She drank one mouthful and another. Until there was a motorcycle coming towards her. The driver waved, whistled and asked if she wanted a ride. She shook her head continuously without looking at him. Apparently, he was disappointed. As a result, he suddenly sped up, drove a circle around her with one hand touching her tits roughly. For the moment, he was a ghostly dark shadow and she was so horribly terrified that she couldn’t see anything. The only sound she could hear was the engine from the motorcycle. The only thing she could smell was the cigarette from his nostril. The only thing she could feel was the dirty hand that she was not fast enough to push away. Once she could see something, he already disappeared in the darkness with only the sound left. She wished she could cut off that hand and have it feed the pig.

Since that night, she stopped walking in the rain in the darkness by herself. But tonight, she had the same feeling. She walked alone in the dim light, missing the rain. Passing through the crowds, she felt as though she was the only one moving. Stealing a glance at the others whose eyes were as emotionless as a dead fish, she wished she could take a cold shower in the rain.


This blog is to remember a great Penguin in a particular way. 

Drawing#6: Writer’s Block

Writer's Block

Writer’s Block

A writer, more or less, would suffer from writer’s block. So according to such an experience of my own, I have sketched out to make it visible.


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

In middle school, there was a drawing teacher who, I would reckon, was the best and the only drawing teacher in my life. Yet, the lesson was basically the teacher talking and we listening. Not because the teacher didn’t want us to practice drawing but we couldn’t afford the paper and the school couldn’t afford drawing paper for each student. Thus one day, our school held a sort of competition, giving each student one hard white sheet of paper to draw on and a piece of red soft paper to cut. (Paper cutting was very traditional in my hometown. Both weddings and funerals require it absolutely.) I had no idea how to cut properly. Nor did the others. Everyone just cut randomly and chose any picture in the book to draw. To my amazement, my drawing was shown on the wall as the second prize and my cutting paper the first prize. And that was that.

For writing and drawing, no one really cared or cares in my hometown. It was the scores in the examinations that were most important to the parents, the teachers and the schools. Even then, two of my schoolmates, who were really talented at drawing, just become teachers and have a normal family. 

But not me! I always want to follow my heart. Many times when there’s an image floating in my head, I believe it would be good if I can put it on paper to make it visible. On February 28th, 2015, I was using the toilet and one image strongly forced me to capture and sketch. So The Left Eye became my first drawing to share here. Then Be Wild and then The Solitary. Now Confusion.

PS: I have been quite “productive” in drawing lately. So this first round is black and white with ballpoint pen. Next will be in color.

Thank you for reading and appreciating! I hope you all are happy doing what you really want! 🙂

Drawing#5: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Devil

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Devil

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Devil


Inspired by a Chinese character 人 (people), this is a challenge, an action, emotional and soulful. – People eat people and the devil eat all. 


 

From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

In middle school, there was a drawing teacher who, I would reckon, was the best and the only drawing teacher in my life. Yet, the lesson was basically the teacher talking and we listening. Not because the teacher didn’t want us to practice drawing but we couldn’t afford the paper and the school couldn’t afford drawing paper for each student. Thus one day, our school held a sort of competition, giving each student one hard white sheet of paper to draw on and a piece of red soft paper to cut. (Paper cutting was very traditional in my hometown. Both weddings and funerals require it absolutely.) I had no idea how to cut properly. Nor did the others. Everyone just cut randomly and chose any picture in the book to draw. To my amazement, my drawing was shown on the wall as the second prize and my cutting paper the first prize. And that was that.

For writing and drawing, no one really cared or cares in my hometown. It was the scores in the examinations that were most important to the parents, the teachers and the schools. Even then, two of my schoolmates, who were really talented at drawing, just become teachers and have a normal family. 

But not me! I always want to follow my heart. Many times when there’s an image floating in my head, I believe it would be good if I can put it on paper to make it visible. On February 28th, 2015, I was using the toilet and one image strongly forced me to capture and sketch. So The Left Eye became my first drawing to share here. Then Be Wild and then The Solitary. Now Confusion.

PS: I have been quite “productive” in drawing lately. So this first round is black and white with ballpoint pen. Next will be in color.

Thank you for reading and appreciating! I hope you all are happy doing what you really want! 🙂

Drawing#4: Confusion

The more a person has been through, the more easily he would get confused; the worse, the more likely he would become a confusing person.

The more a person has been through, the more easily he or she would get confused; even worse, the more likely he or she would become a confusing person.


From now on, I’ll post my drawings weekly, or maybe twice a week. To share the below auto-biographic stories, I’ll keep being creative, transforming my thoughts into words and images.

I started school when I was ten. In primary school, there was no lessons other than Maths and Chinese. The rest were merely reading on your own and doing homework. So basically, I had to skip the rest of the classes to do housework or farmwork. And the teacher used charcoal to write on the wooden board. Not to mention that I never owned any proper paper. One evening after dinner, I invited my best playmate to visit my room. We sat up on the bed face to face, looking into each other. Then we came up with an idea to draw each other’s face. So we used the back page of my Chinese and Math books, which were blank and white. In the end, we looked again and again at the drawings, laughing with pride. Too bad, soon the pictures faded away naturally. Now the drawn face has become vague, but the memory of my very first drawing with a pencil is still vivid.

In middle school, there was a drawing teacher who, I would reckon, was the best and the only drawing teacher in my life. Yet, the lesson was basically the teacher talking and we listening. Not because the teacher didn’t want us to practice drawing but we couldn’t afford the paper and the school couldn’t afford drawing paper for each student. Thus one day, our school held a sort of competition, giving each student one hard white sheet of paper to draw on and a piece of red soft paper to cut. (Paper cutting was very traditional in my hometown. Both weddings and funerals require it absolutely.) I had no idea how to cut properly. Nor did the others. Everyone just cut randomly and chose any picture in the book to draw. To my amazement, my drawing was shown on the wall as the second prize and my cutting paper the first prize. And that was that.

For writing and drawing, no one really cared or cares in my hometown. It was the scores in the examinations that were most important to the parents, the teachers and the schools. Even then, two of my schoolmates, who were really talented at drawing, just become teachers and have a normal family. 

But not me! I always want to follow my heart. Many times when there’s an image floating in my head, I believe it would be good if I can put it on paper to make it visible. On February 28th, 2015, I was using the toilet and one image strongly forced me to capture and sketch. So The Left Eye became my first drawing to share here. Then Be Wild and then The Solitary. Now Confusion.

PS: I have been quite “productive” in drawing lately. So this first round is black and white with ballpoint pen. Next will be in color.

Thank you for reading and appreciating! I hope you all are happy doing what you really want! 🙂

Me, Myself and I

Photo shot in 2011

Me, often be seen deep inside or at a “footless place”, and ocasionally seen outside by only some people I am comfortable with.

Audrey Hepburn(Source:online)

The first impression…oh, the eyes and the bold look…

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Once upon a time, Juses rejected my friend request.   Because he thought I am one of those people  who use fake pics as their profile pictures.

There was a long story. He “bombed” me and called me “The Worst Blogger Ever”. However, I was too bored to ignore such a “fight”. Basically, a blog that I wrote in 2012 can explain something.

To Remember Juses Wept

It began with my “worst blogs” and ended up with his “nice shoes”.

There were some scary imaginings from his aggressive responses to those “worst blogs”.

Just could see his killing eyes from his every single sharp word in the very beginning.

Not easy to find something exciting like that in real life before SZS.

No Chinese man would do it to a girl with a rare pic on site.

It’s like the best music composed of heavy tones only.

Hard beat!

Beat up !

Damned f*ckin beat!

Then never expected to meet him up by chance with a friendly handshake , two nice smiles and a joking “Nice shoes!”

After that , crazy silence and disappearance….

Jesus Wept gone…for ever?

And another “mysterious ” guy PM about my related “nice shoes and nice face” from a common comment.

By chance,when we met again and sat beside each other, I hardly recognized his face.

God Damn it! It’s him with the strongest perfume I ever smelled.

PM to confirm he is the one with mystery but not the same style as before.

Asked what made him so “different ”and why no longer that “aggressive ”.

No answers. –Fine.

True Grrit(Great)!

No more letters to “Juses”.

No longer dumped shit to fill up the site.

More peaceful feelings for eyes.

Some even can heal a black heart.

Please don’t guess it’s “yellow ” or “wet”.

Just try to remember to remember…

PS: Why “Juses”? There is another story too. Thank you for reading! 🙂