Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night; Old Age Should Burn And Rave At Close Of Day. Rage, Rage Against

Classic beauty

Marilyn Monroe photographed by Richard Avedon, 1957.

Secrets of the girl...

One day, a lonely little girl knelt down to the ground, and stroked the roots of a growing tree. Ever strong it was that she was comforted by its silence.

Everyday she went to this tree and whispered to it, telling it all her secrets, knowing well her words would be locked away.

Years pass, but ever true, the tree was her north, and she could not stay away. The tree was big, as if every secret she told it watered it with life.

Ever beautiful this tree was, the leaves never falling, despite the change of season, longing for the girls presence. The tree was alive, yearning for the girls whispered words.

One day, the little girl, who now is ready to leave the earth as an old soul visits the tree one last time, with its beautiful strength and never falling leaves, strokes the roots one last time, and whispers her final goodbye.

The tree, feeling her spirit pass, sheds its own tears of loss, and it’s leaves fall away, floating into the sky, releasing all the secrets throughout the years. One by one, the leaves fall, and the final whisper was the first whisper of that lonely girl long ago: “Don’t leave me.”

Lover

Lover Skin upon skin lies beautiful pleasure, To be devoured and released with ones breath. Cries and pleas whispered in sensitive ears, As the Heart explodes in pleasure. The pleasure is in the beauty of passion As it rolls off the writhing body. The chest rises and falls with every gasp, As the heart dies a little death. But it still trembles from head to toe. Lover stares down at the golden beauty, Smiling with pleasure and total hunger. A kiss is a just a kiss, and a Sigh is just a sigh as time goes on. Skin upon skin lies beautiful exstasy, As love comes together in passion.

Our love making was great tonight.

I'm sorry...

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm sorry I never appreciated you while I was growing up.  I'm sorry that I didn't see the sacrifices that you made for me, as Asian immigrants.  I hated you when you would embarrass me in front of my friends or in public when you'd speak to me in Chinese. 

I hated that I was Chinese at one point in my life, and I'm so sorry for that, I'm deeply shamed by that now.  I was embarrassed by my heritage, and all I wanted was a normal life as a white American.  I wanted that so much that I prayed for it.  I hated my eyes, my skin color, and my general look of not looking Anglo Saxon American. 

I'm sorry that for that one year, I acted white, like I didn't understand Chinese, or refused to eat anything Asian.  I'm sorry I made you worry.  I'm sorry for myself, because for that one year, I could've learned so much. 

Growing up, I deeply resented you two to my bone.  You two worked so hard, accomplished so much, but it fell on blind eyes, and deaf ears.  You two were never home, and it was up to my brother to take care of me, which he used to resent me for as well.  I loved him so much, and he never really returned that love.  It must've felt like that for you too. 

I'm sorry that I don't trust you two, enough to share this with you.  That you won't really understand what I'm saying, or out right deny everything I'm sharing.  I'm sorry that you'll never know.

I'm sorry for everything that I've said that made you feel anything other than happiness, and I'm sorry for what I'll say to you in the future that make you feel anything other than happiness.  Such is the way of life, and not everybody is meant to die happy.

Seasons change, and friends move away, and life goes on from day to day, but I do know for a fact, that I love the both of you so much, so much that I'd rather die than see you both in a grave.  I want to thank you, and apologize for being so difficult at times, but I know, also for a fact, that your love is boundless, and beyond the farthest star.

Love

Wei Shing

This one night

Short Story:

I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.

He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.

Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.

So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.

When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.

The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.

Asian smart and a lie

I'm not as smart as I think I am. And I'm okay with that.

I dig it.

Groovy. 1975

Happy feelings

1950s Kitchen

My invisible friends.