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4am Untitled Fling Unlovable Dance 7 Ways of Looking at ... an enemy Eternally ... about christmas yih extended metaphor Untitled	Mugunghwa senseless piece of work "Rats" Andy's struggle Melancholy Soup Excerpt from Blade REALITY

4am

Some days ... sadness just overwhelmes us.
Some days ... you don't know why, but you feel like happiness has touched everyone except you.
Some days ... we cry.
Some days ... we don't want to see tomorrow.
Some days ... we question why? why this? why that?
why .... why .... why are some days like this ...
why are some days my every day.

author: hogan (me)

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Untitled Fling

I see her in mah eyes.....
..she scolds away and sighs...
..i remember the feeling of her lips.
......i can feel it now wit mah finger tips....
....Her beauty cannot be describe with a thousand words......
.i play her a beautiful song through the chords..........
.the tym she spends wit me
is heaven dat extend endlessly.....
..then she leaves and goes away from me....
...but she finds another and lucky is she.

author: Greg Lee

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unlovable

It was Thanksgiving, and a tired, old man inched his way down Surly Road at a funeral pace. He
only had to walk five houses down yet the aged man knew it would take him more than then minutes to get
there. He held a bronze metal cane to help him walk. A few winters back, his son's wife was driving the
elderly man home when the car had lost control on the slippery road and swerved into a steel ple. His
legs had been permanently damaged, limiting his walking ability to tiny steps. He never forgave his son's
wife for the accident. With a solemn look on his face, he looked around at the eerily quiet neighborhood
and the cloudless heavens, wondering why none of his grandkids came out to help him walk towards his
destination. He had a deep love for his grandchildren yet it was difficult for him to tell them. He rarely
talked to those grandkids that could only speak English. The old man had been in America for nearly
fourteen years and never attempted to learn the language. He barely knew some of his grandchildren and
his precious grandkids knew very little about him. He eventually reached the uphill driveway of his son's
house, slowly creeping his way towards the open garage. With a displeased expression on his face, he
wondered why his son had chosen a house on such a steep hill. Before entering the door that led to the
kitchen, he sluggishly removed his white Velcro shoes. Anticipating a warm welcome from his family,
he entered. He saw no one. Instead of trying to look for anyone, the old man sighed and sat down in his
old gray chair at the head of the wooden table. He sat, hands crossed and lying on the table, staring at the
opposite wall where his granddaughter's drawings were pinned up. For a long time, he sat motionless and
expressionless, until he realized how hungry he was. He began to get angry with the women of the family
for not having cooked yet. Before he could get any angrier, he heard footsteps and chatter coming up
from the basement; everyone had been downstairs. A door slowly opened and four of his beloved
grandchildren stepped out. He smiled. He smiled for the first time in months as his grandkids walked
toward him with open arms and warm greetings. "Hi, Grandpa!" "It's good to see you!" Although the
old man couldn't understand the words, he knew their meaning and he hugged his grandchildren as if it
were the last time to embrace them. He never wanted to let go. But just as quickly as they had come, his
grandchildren went into the other room, laughing and playing with each other. He was alone at the table
again. He sat there for almost an hour, listening to his grandkids converse and goof around, wondering
once again why the kids wouldn't come to him and just talk to him. The old man's two sons and their
wives finally entered the kitchen from the garage, carrying grocery bags full of food for the feast. The
sons and their wives respectfully greeted the old man, as was their culture to do so. But the old man cut
them off and began to yell in an infuriated tone. "Why are you so late? Why is there no food on the table
yet? Hurry up and cook! You all make me so mad!" His sons apologized for their tardiness and the
women began to unpack the grocery bags in a hasty manner. As the old man ceased his reproach, he
looked up to see his two youngest grandchildren standing in the doorway, frowning and simply staring at
their grandpa with woeful eyes. They had heard the yelling and halted their playing to see what the harsh
voices were about. The children stood and stared and the old man met their eyes with a sullen expression.
The old man couldn't bear the joyless looks on the children and began to weep. The frowns on the
children's lips turned to smiles as they walked towards their grandfather and embraced him. As the old
man continued to shed his tears, the children said to him, "Come and play with us, Grandpa. Don't cry.
Mom's cooking isn't that bad." The old man smiled once again, as did every soul in the room, and for
once in a lengthy time, the unlovable old man allowed himself to be cherished.

author: Hogan (me)

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Dance

The evening begins with the tizz, tizz of drums,
Just as the room goes dark.
But spotlights start to go insane
Stabbing everything with its blades
And then Trumpets and horns and strings
Fill the hall with tunes of zip, pep, and vim
Animating the jiving spirits of even the bashful
Couples flood the floor and skirts are flinging
As arms are swinging and legs are flailing
Men are hurling, curling, and twirling their
Women who are twisting, turning, tumbling,
The room swings with twined figures and music.

The percussion and company rests and
A song with heavier beats follows.
Swinging souls take their seat
And the spinning specialty someone struts in.
The man starts, flowing with the beats,
Fast footwork, then falling to the floor,
Legs enlacing, shoes squeaking, maneuvers
so so fast
Then onto his back, legs V-shaped, upper body
A human torque, the man's legs rotate so swift
And become blurry to the eye
Still spinning, he stands on the head,
To him the room becomes unclear as
He is a Circumvolution all on his head.

The final melody
Soothing and soulful tunes pervade the quieted hall
Partners join hands, sauntering to the middle
And bodies become body and a triste
Air populates the room as the end is near
Looking down upon the floor
Beings are bonded and waddle to the
Slow rhythm
Grazing lips, tight cuddles, all souls
Desiderate an endless night.

author: hogan (me)

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Seven Ways of Looking at ... an enemy

His name was Nick; my neighbor; my playmate
A future crony? Quite the quandary.
who can recall The Shift - blithe to bitter
childhood chums turned sour; causer forgotten.

We develop, he wears glasses - not me.
Laughter after a rock blasts through the glass
He stares, scoffs, stands in stubborn mockery
Lax, not angry, my eye aims the BB.

Blackness - Bedecked to blend with dense umbra
Our vendetta only begun - spytime.
No more - What kind of family is this??

Days trudge, umpteen escapades or antics
an old western flick; gaunt aura - squally
Backyards mold battlefields, safety long past
I can't trust him for he cannot trust me

no soundness in him, I am blind to that,
My eyes home in on handicaps, loopholes
No question, I must have the advantage

Quarrelmonger, pet peeve, a demon neighbor
Foolish games formed my odious tableau
One neighbor a pal, the other? He's satan.

Myriad days discarded but what for?
Mortification? vesting comeuppance -
I relish victory, I loved tyke life.

author: hogan (me)

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Eternally

Unnatural it is to miss your fairness
Which even a sightless being could embrace
If the world had rendered my eyes forever dark
I would yet be enamored by the beauty
Flowing from the faithful capturings of you

author: hogan (me)

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a little something about christmas

.....the kind of christmas when you're sitting
in this cozy cafe next to an old friend who you don't have to put up any
pretenses with....with a fireplace and cocoa with the right amount of
marshmellow on top and people are walking past the steamed up window
clutching fluffy packages...and all of a sudden it starts to snow....and
children's noses become bright red and you see lovers snuggling up under
the streetlights and old couples smiling at each other and that's when it
hits you....
i love christmas....

author: Changmee

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yih

Acquaintances say hi to you
as you walk past each other.
Friends say hi and walk with you.
Those few close friends
notice ur head down when you are walking

author: hogan (me)

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extended metaphor

Under my bed sits a myriad of irreplaceable keys
That liberates captured memories.
The Grand Canyon, my first camping trip,
Each scene incarcerated in a cell of color and frozen time

Pining to recollect unique memories,
I open my shoebox, or keeper of my past.
Hundreds of precious openers lie unorganized
And none are exactly alike.

I choose a key, any key, and visit
That certain cell within my prison of yesterday.
I enter and I am 8 years old again trying heartily
To blow out the candles on my ice cream cake.

I wander through other compartments
Using other permits to recur the times
When my sister smiled with her diploma
Or when I hit a home run to win the game.

By placing the shoebox to its place,
I return to the present, my asylum of remembrance
Visited enough for today. Perhaps tomorrow I will
Visit my dad when he was a child.

author: hogan (me)

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Untitled

to see the world in a grain of sand
and heaven in a wildflower
to hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and eternity in an hour

author: William Blake

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Mugunghwa "Rose of Sharon"

The flickering flame of the small white candle dimly lit the room in
a sporadic dance as Jung Chul-Yun stood in front of the antique
mirror as he buttoned his shirt. His rough, calloused fingers
are a proof to his hard youth; however his hands were very nimble
as he quickly wove each of the thirteen buttons up and
through the small slits. His eyes strained to find his
reflection on the mirror as his fingers moved in the daily task of
putting on a silk tie.

Jung Chul-Yun could have turned on one of the bright and unnatural
electrical lamps in the room to reduce the stress upon his slowly
deteriorating eyes. However, he felt comforted by the warm light
whose warmth caressed his body. Jung had spent many nights of
his youth studying from schoolbooks, banned by the Japanese
occupiers, in the candlelight. He thought of the small, little flame
as his friend and companion.

"5:33," Jung Chul-Yun softly whispered to himself as he studied his
gold, Rolex watch, that he had received, a long time ago, from his
old Japanese boss from the old machine factory, which was now his
own. Jung was given that prize for being the most efficient
plant manager in company history. Winning that watch was
his greatest accomplishment. As he left the bedroom, through
the sliding paper-covered door, he stopped for a moment, turned and
gazed at the sleeping form of his wife; he watched every
rise and fall of her sleeping form.

Jung thought about how much he loved her. He reflected back to the
day, back when he was a seventeen-year-old youth, when his parents
announced to him that he was arranged to marry the daughter of a well-
to-do farmer. He hated her at the beginning. He hated the idea of
getting married even more. Jung wanted to enjoy life,
just like any other teenager who yearned for the torch of independence.
He dreamed of becoming a great scholar in the court of the
king, as his father had once been, or a revolutionary
for the liberty of his homeland. Instead, this girl tied him
down at the age of seventeen. During the first two decades of
their forced union, his treatment of her was the same treatment
a Yang-ban would offer on to a Sang-nom. However, with each
harsh demand he made of her, she always replied the same.
She would smile, no matter how great her pain, and reply,
"Yes, my husband." And with every gentle reply, his hard
heart was chiseled by her words and he had grown to
love her.

"Have I ever, during these thirty-eight years of our marriage, ever
told her that I loved her?" He wondered to himself. "No," he answered
himself, "Never flowers, nor gifts, not even a kind word." He gently
crept over to her side and knelt down beside her sleeping body. Jung
did not want to wake her up that soon in the morning. "I could tell
her later when I come home from work," he told himself and he then
gently placed a kiss on the top of her forehead. He thought that he
could make out a smile forming on her face. Jung then wondered if he
needed to get his eyes examined.

Jung got up slowly and left the room, careful to not make a sound.
He put on his pair leather Italian business shoe and left for the
factory through the iron gates of his homes outer wall. He had a car
and a chauffer also, but that morning he felt like he needed
a walk that day. He wanted to enjoy the cool, fall air and
maybe, if he had time, he could have picked a few wild flowers to
take home to his wife at the end of that day. Jung walked
out onto the rough path, which was littered with small, brown
stones and the occasional piece of litter, towards the
city.

As the path took him under the shadow of a large hill, his eyes
caught sight of a single pink Mugunghwa, which still clung to its
branch, at the top of the hill. He could not believe his eyes. A
bloomed Mugunghwa in the middle of November was unheard of. He
thought of his wife. Would not her eyes glow in pure happiness if he
would present her with the magnificent flower? Jung slowly
started walking up the steep incline of the hill towards the pink
flower. As he advanced closer and closer, the wind blew harder and
harder. He looked up towards the Mugunghwa and realized it
would be ripped from its branch if he delayed any longer.
His pace quickened; soon beads of sweat began to drip over
his forehead as his heart thundered with pain. The wind took to
the challenge and picked up is own speed. The race was on.
Jung Chul-Yun��s feet begged for rest, but the love for his wife
forced them to give it all with each agonizing step. He finally
arrived at the peak of the hill and plucked his prize. He gazed
at the queen of flowers and saw the face of his wife, who
smiled. He smiled back. The sweet aroma of the Rose of Sharon
enveloped his body and his heart gave out. Jung Chul-Yun breathed his
last and crumpled to the ground.

A clenched fist uncurled and out dropped the pink Mugunghwa.
The wind felt pity for the old man and picked of the flower with
her breath and carried it through the air, over a small village.
The flower descended towards a large walled-in house, into the
large courtyard. There a small, middle-aged women quietly worked hard
to do the laundry. She scrubbed the clothes of her husband
against the hard, grooved edges of the washboard, that was
extended halfway in to a large, metal wash bin. The women smiled,
as she wiped away the sweat from her face. She picked up the small
flower and admired the beauty of it. She took a deep breath
of the sweet flower and planted it in her hair. She then
continued her laundry, as she whistled a happy tune.

author: Lynn Lee

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senseless piece of work

bring back the original pieces,
so i can create you.
devastating art increases,
you seem to pass through.
In a person's state of mind,
happens to show lust.
As I come to the end of time,
You lose much trust.
Please walk by my side,
and tell me about beauty.
You try to disguise and hide,
your fragile personality.
Needless love endures respectively
And I will always like you truely.

author: Greg Lee

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"Rats"

The twirling, candy cane cylinder displayed its colors to passing
cars as it hung next to the ancient, ��Benny��s Barbers�� sign,
fulfilling a stereotype on small town barber shops. No one really
knew the significance of the cylinder, but everyone expected it to be
there and nobody asked any questions, it was just how things were.
This particular barber's shop belonged on the "Andy Griffith's Show".
It was a very clean and old fashioned. They were reputed
to cut hair pretty well. And it was also the gathering
place for men. A place where town gossip and discussion
on nonsense politics were exchanged from ten to six everyday,
except Sunday.

"BZZZZZzzzZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZzzz....."

The buzzing of the electronic hair trimmer added to the symphony of
rattling newspapers, comments about the Reds baseball team, snapping
clippers, the creaking of the leather barber's chair, and a heated
debate on 700 wlw that shot out from an old Sony radio. An occasional
silence sometimes even butted in during the din.

Inside, Kevin sat on that old leather barber's chair that swiveled
around with a push and rose or lowered with the pump of a pedal. He
had been to this particular barber's shop many times before.
He wasn't sure why he got his hair cut here or even why he
had kept coming back. Their haircutting skill were average by
his standards, Kevin had experienced nightmares at other
establishments. He came up with the conclusion that he liked the
sounds. Not just the sounds of the buzzing hair trimmer or the
crying, little boys, who moved every second, but the combination of
it all. The lights, temperature, and people all fit perfectly in
with the music.

Cool, air-conditioned air rushed out onto the threshold of the hot
summer day as the front door slowly swung out onto the sidewalk.
Meanwhile, the tingling of the bell, hung from the handle of the
glass door, politely announced the entrance of a new patron.

He waddled in, like a duck, a big fat man, dressed in a button down
shirt, with beats of sweat rolling down his broad, wrinkled forehead
and patches of sweat marks under his armpits and around the neckline
of his shirt.

"Gawwd, it's hot out!" He informed everyone in the midst of his
huffing and puffing, "Thank the Lord for air-conditioning!"

Kevin looked up to see the intruder, who had broken up the flow of
music. He wondered why fat people always had that annoying high-
pitched squeal. Of course, not all fat peoples, just some. Kevin was
always careful not to stereotype, but it was too easy sometimes.

"Yup, damn near ninety degrees it is today," acknowledged Benny,
the "proprietor" of the place, "Friggin�� air better be cool, I pay
good money for this air conditionin"

Benny, the "proprietor" of Benny��s Barbers, looked like a gnome. A
very generic gnome. If the old, bearded man had put a red stocking
cap over the crown of white, puffy clouds on the top of his head, and
stood still in front lawn of some house, it would be a funny sight to
see. Kevin thought that Benny resembled David the gnome, from
back in the days of watching nonstop Nickelodeon. Benny the gnome,
riding the back of a red fox, evading evil trolls. His
imagination amused him at times.

The fat man sat in one of the wooden chairs that were set up against
the wall; opposite of where the two barbers were cutting hair. The
wooden feet seemed to bend at the sheer weight of the man. One could
probably see the splinters forming, if he or she looked close enough.
But no sane person should ever stick his or her head.

Under a weak chair that a fat man is sitting in. His huffing has
slowed down, however a shrill wheezing of air has started.

"psssssssh. Hey, Benny! Listen to Cunningham dis mornin��...pssssssssh."
Squealed the fat man, "Had Mayor Charlie Luken and that black reverend.
What's his name? Lynch of sumptin�� aint it?"

"Yup I heard Charlie and Lynch. Bunch of bullshit, that's what I
think of all this," responded Benny.

A moment of silence echoed throughout the shop. People reading
magazines looked up to hear more of this sensitive subject. The riots
had started the day before and the news of a curfew made them
curious. From that moment, everything revolved around Benny and the
fat man. The fat man was a supernova and Benny a brown
dwarf, the people were the planets and other miscellaneous space junk.

"Mother fuckers down there ..pssssshhh... causin�� all dis trouble.
They're never happy wid anything. I mean we give them goddamn welfare
and you know what they do? They go out and snort fucking crack!
.....psssssssssssssh.... Then they have lots of more little runts
so that they can get more money to buy more crack and hope
that one of their bastard kids becomes a basketball player
.... pshgappsha.." complained the fat man with small wheezed
chuckle at the end of his statement.

Kevin, who had been in his own world prior to the fat man's outburst,
was wrenched from free space into the gravitational pull of the
supernova, that we know as the fat man. The music has changed. He is
shocked at what the fat man has just said. That was some racist shit
he had heard. Kevin looked around the room and searched for
similar expressions of shock, but all he was were the smiled
white faces, with a glint of amusement in their eyes. He then
glanced at Benny, who is about to say something. Kevin knew that
Benny would be on his side.

Benny opened his mouth and screeched out a, "HEEEHAWWW!"

The old man's whole body was convulsing with laughter. Tears could
almost be seen forming around his eyes.

"That, by golly, is so true. So true," agrees Benny the gnome, "Huha!
How hawd is it to stop when you're tole to be stopped? Huh? That kid
there was doin something wrong and a policeman shot him. Those people
down there, they got nothing up there you know? They're juss smoking
up their dope and having bastard children."

A patron, whose orbit was the closest to the fat man's, decided to
add his own wisdom in as he said, "Y��all know what? Them always
killin�� each other and shit down there. The Cop was doin them a
favor by helping out with their work."

The whole room was in laughter. They seemed like predators to Kevin.
All of them, lead by a large carnivorous pig and a little evil gnome.

"PSssHaahahPsss .....," half-wheezing and half-laughing the fat pig
says, "Y��all know ...psssshhhhhahhhahhhaaaaa.....," the gigantic pig
hardly contained his delight of his yet to be said joke, "We should
all buy sum extra guns and leave dem all ....ppssshhhhahhhapssssh....
in Ova the Rhine and they could all just shoot
each otha. That��s how ya solve crime."

Kevin felt his face burning with anger. How could they, he thought to
himself. How dare they? That pig, is the object of pure hate in
Kevin's mind. He tried to imagine ways he could kill the fat pig.
Kevin gave the look of hate to the fat blob seated on the flimsy
wooden chair. The bloated body was full of evil. The man's face even
looked like a pig. Pink, drooping cheeks and a high flat nose.

The gnome's mind was churning and twisting, trying to think of
something funny to say. More would rise up to the challenge, so he
would need to something that would blow the rest out of the water.
Eureka. Benny the rotten, evil gnome scrunched up his face in mock
anger and stomped his booted foot on the floor, his feet almost
slipped on the disheveled bits of cut hair, and he began his
tirade of angry words.

"These ni...ni," Benny stuttered as he said the ��N�� word, either
from anger or the shame, "Niggers. That's what they are. NIGGERS!
They like the rats that rampaged over Australia last year. They
ruin everything that we give them. They run through the streets
like rats, destroy all of their own businesses, kill each other,
and have lots of babies. They are Rats! These niggers are rats!!!!
ALL OF THEM!"

"Rats...."

author: Lynn Lee

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Andy's Struggle

* this poem/compilation is Greg's and mine's dedication to our boy
Andy ... we were talking on IM one nite and were just throwing these
verses back at each other for the sake of Andy ... coz he our boy and
we gonna be his friends to the end ... this for u dawg !
it doesn't make alotta sense though, enjoy yo ! *

your eyes are like stars in mah sky
because his heart is fill with love and beauty
and his mind is like a shooting star, bright and
brilliant yet rarely noticed ~
but how could we mock his beautiful talent...
he shares his feeling through his works of art

and shares with the world only in words yet his
words are merely his vain attempts that maybe his
words can capture his true expression, but he knows
that will never happen, but yet persists in his
attempts to convey beauty.

He feels the everyday struggles he experiences,
but he always adapts to his conflict and goes
beyond his comprehension of life itself.
and by doing so, reveals to himself and
all around him how beautiful life's struggle
can be ... he makes it believable that struggle
is not just about hardships but also about the
beauty of resolution.
We are admiring his pieces of work, and from
that, we express through words the philoshopy of
life. Our incredible mind may prevail.
The incredible individual named andy has inspired
the KL boyz beyond comprehension and thus has made
us more proud to live. Gratitude is not enough for
such a favor ... we owe our brotherhood to the man
for he be the one true BBoy AJ and the world looks
up to him.
Indeed we should give ChungMaster how deepest sympathy
and love for him guiding us to the meaning of life.
We now may avoid the ignorant thoughts in the modern
day society and take advance to another level of thinking
thanks be to the online pimp of all pimps ... may we live
our days trying to be as noble and pimpish as him !

.......The end.......

authors: Hogan (me) & Greg Lee

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Melancholy Soup

The mall is crowded almost to capacity with people on the busiest shopping day
of the year. They move en masse, almost instinctively towards the
best sales in gathering numbers to snap up merchandise. However, the stores
that take advantage of this influx are the various vendors who come and go
like nomadic squatters. They establish a place to stay for the day and lay
out their wares under roofs of humming flourescents, adding to the multiple
huts spotting the aisles. Patrons walk up to smudged display cases
and pretend to be interested in the useless novelties. These huts with
their glass-cased front porches, divide the flow of traffic, as the people
swirl around them. Shoppers separate and come together, weaving in and out
with occasional “oohs” and “ahhs.” All this follows an silent
rhythm: an eerie waltz of stop, look, move. Stranded on these little
isles of trinkets and accessories are the keepers and distributors of
these forgotten treasures. Paradise? Hardly.
On one of these islands, swamped by the stream of money spending pedestrians, a
girl sits watching the tide of people split, flow, and unite trying to
appreciate the complacent rhythm of it all. With careful attention, she
studies the people as they walk by feigning interest.
Out of the edge of her eye, she notices a woman peering into the display case
and she gets up from her torn, Coca-Cola stained cloth stool that squeaks a bit
from the relief. The girl musters a smile, too real to be fake.
"May I help you with something?" she says in a polite voice.
The woman startled, looks up from her gray overcoat, and into the girl's Asian
features.
"Actually I was looking for an Egyptian symbol... it's like a cross with a loop
at the top... It’s called an ankh."
"I think I know what you mean." The girl reaches into a display case to the
left of where the woman is looking, and in one smooth motion, pulls out a tray
littered with silver charms. They glitter like weak stars on top of the black
velvet under the sickly pale lights. Picking up a flat silver cross,
looped at top, she hands it to the woman. Slowly, she takes it and examines
its dull, subtle dignity with flinted, critical eyes.
"It's very beautiful," the young girl says, trying to encourage her customer.
Silence is the response. The woman is not buying. There is a paused
beat: "What does it mean?" She tries again, as a last attempt. "Courage,"
the older woman replies. At this, the young girl is reminded of a few
nights ago. Something inside of her shifts, and she keeps this under control
once again, scolding herself for doing so.
Once again, smiling as sweetly as before with her eyes following in turn, she
asks, "Would you like to try it on?"
The woman smiles apologetically, eyes crinkling. "No thank you, maybe next
time," she says, turns around, and leaves.
"Alright have a nice day." As the woman blends back into the monolithic,
writhing crowd, the young girl's smile slowly fades. Courage. It was
something she needs, but she is not the only one.
Down the aisle of bodies, she sees her manager arriving and she knows she does
not want to deal with him... least of all him.
"Hey, I just got some soup. Want some?" he says in a nasal voice that grates
on her frayed nerves. His gold chain, bounces out of his shirt, catching the
honest light, reflecting its gilt glitter.
She gives him a wan smile: "No thanks."
"You sure?" He proffers her an extra spoon: “I got one for you too,” he
says referring to the flimsy white utensil in his hand..
"Yeah I'm sure," she says in an upbeat voice. Then she lets it slip: the
shine in her flickers only for a moment. She is too tired right now to care.
Apparently that flicker had been long enough, because Al asks her if she is all
right.
The young girl sighs. "Yeah Al I'm fine," she says as she rebuilds her smile,
and finally it looks natural once more on her face.
"Are you sure?" he asks again, this time he leaves the spoon in his egg drop
soup proving he is sincere.
She looks at him and stops short of rolling her eyes in annoyance. Still, she
smiles at him in her soft way and reassures him she is all right.
"You sure?" he asks one more time for the charm.
A sound of mixed frustration and disgust escapes her. It is a cross between a
sigh and slight growl. "I'm fine," she says.
"You don't smile like you used to," he goes on in a slightly whiny voice,
pushing the issue. There is a hurt look on his face, and the girl rips her
eyes away, refusing to feel guilty leaving him to wallow in his own soupy
sadness.
After some time, she regrets snapping at him and turns to apologize with a
sigh, trying to mold her face into a semblance of a smile. However she does
not need to pretend, because Al with a plastic soup spoon stuck to his nose, is
waiting for her to turn around in hopes of cheering her up. At first she
is stoic, but cannot help the smile that breaks across her face.
"You're such a dork!" she says laughing in a way that seems dance on the air
around them, all airy and light. It rings subtle but sweet in the chaotic din
of the crowd around her. To laugh again feels so good and she realizes
she misses that feeling.
Shrugging this thought, she finally asks her question in a quiet way, coyly, as
a sister would wheedle her brother into doing a favor: "Al? Can I buy two of
these ankhs?"
He looks at her and sighs. "You're buying more stuff? You know you shouldn't
be spending all this money. Once you get money, you always find a way to spend
it on someone!" He says incredulous.
"I know but I promise I'll be more careful!... Please? Just this once?" Once
again, she uses the doe eyes, the cute smile, and the apologetic, sweet tone,
knowing they have never failed her before.
Finally he succumbs to her girlish charm and lets her purchase the two charms.
Smiling, she thanks him and lets a slight whisper of a giggle escape her
penchant lips. She suppresses this and grabs a spoon: “I think I’ll
have some of that soup now.”

author: Andy Jeon

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Excerpt from the movie: Blade

vampire girl: So whatcha got down there little man ?!?!
innocent white boy: Oh, that's my heat-seeker ~~
vampire girl: You bet it is !!~~~~ ROAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH !$@~#!@~!@~!~~~
innocent white boy: OOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~~~~
vampire girl: hahahahhahhaha
innocent white boy: so, where we goin??
vampire girl: it's a surprise ~
innocent white boy: well i like surprises ....
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~~~~~~

the end

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REALITY

Of reality I keep, of bitterness I touch
Of pain and hurt I reap the pangs in my chest I clutch.
I can not even mask it, wanna be under a casket,
Better dead then alive, rather be bread in a basket.
Ask it, the eight ball points to eternal sorrow
Lasted 8 millions years of a dreadful tomorrow.
I can't lift my spirit, not even with these lyrics
You can take your fake "you all right?" and fucking keep it
Up your ass, where all that shit should be eternally hidden
And forbidden to be said like your were some innocent kitten.

I Pray Violently, then Silently, In misery
OH GOD, where you at, You aint next to me.
I remain in the distance of your holy existence,
like I am trynna talk to you but you gimme resistence,
Persistence, I try and I try and I try,
But where you at God, ?? Not here with I

The pain crawls beneath my skin like some X-files alien
My whole body feels heavy like quadruplets I am carrying,
Expecting them to break the water any place and time
And eat their father like the cannibals eat other fucking prime-
mates, in the subterranean climate
Or mediterranean seas, what? rewind that shit.
I sed the kitten that you feed now ends up wanted you dead,
It takes a M1 Guran and shoots you in the head.
Or grinds you slowly until nothing is left, and call it death Motherfucker
You don't even get a last breath

I Pray Violently, then Silently, In misery
OH GOD, where you at, You aint next to me.
I remain in the distance of your holy existence,
like I am trynna talk to you but you gimme resistence,
Persistence, I try and I try and I try,
But where you at God, ?? Not here with I

Pain is like alcohol you can get a good tolerance
The more shit you take, the more you give exonerance,
To those fucked up niggas with no morals or ethics
They Just fucked up niggas, with that horrible fake shit.
Maybe you just born with it, or maybe its maybelline,
That Make up of yours can't conceal your ugly inner being.
Everybody been seeing your synthesized exterior,
But knowing you better I see your rotten interior.

I Pray Violently, then Silently, In misery
OH GOD, where you at, You aint next to me.
I remain in the distance of your holy existence,
like I am trynna talk to you but you gimme resistence,
Persistence, I try and I try and I try,
But where you at God, ?? Not here with I

author: Fan