Aktor with a ‘K’
Aktor with a ‘K’
How hard can it be?
I’m ready for my close-up.
My agent says so.
I’m a Big Star
Headshots and parties
Cocaine with Lindsay Lohan
This isn’t Kansas.
Business Meeting With Spielberg
Are there two of you?
No, It’s the Jaeger talking.
Oops, I puked a bit.
Crack Burning on Spoon
Snap, Crackle, Pop!
Serial killers, start my day.
Breakfast of Champions.
Aktor with a ‘K’
Look at me acting.
Hired from the casting couch.
My hand wave calls “Scene.”
Aktor with a ‘K’
How hard can it be?
I’m ready for my close-up.
My agent says so.
I’m a Big Star
Headshots and parties
Cocaine with Lindsay Lohan
This isn’t Kansas.
Business Meeting With Spielberg
Are there two of you?
No, It’s the Jaeger talking.
Oops, I puked a bit.
Crack Burning on Spoon
Snap, Crackle, Pop!
Serial killers, start my day.
Breakfast of Champions.
Aktor with a ‘K’
Look at me acting.
Hired from the casting couch.
My hand wave calls “Scene.”
Fractured by FEARtales
Once upon a time, back in time I think,
I was a small boy, a terror, a fink.
I was loud as can be, for all to hear,
“I’m six and I have nothing to fear!”
Running like the wind, wanting to be free,
I couldn’t sit still for the life of me.
Then the sun would set, dinner and shower,
jumping in bed, it was story hour!
Before lights out, I would hear tales and lore,
but I was six, these stories were a bore.
Trolls and witches! They really don’t scare me.
Just yucky little girls and their gootie cooties.
The story is over;
(Pantomime to check if the bedroom door is really shut)
My room door is shut.
I’m six! I don’t know fear….. but, but but…..
The lights are out and there’s nothing to see.
Staying up at night, the mind’s eye set free.
In the dark they creep, round my twin-size race car,
hiding in shadows, where the wild things are.
Scary silhouettes and all kinds of noise.
Is it Them? Or bookshelves, paintings and toys?
Huff and puff I hear. I’m going crazy.
The big bad wolf! Or is it the A/C?
I’m six and there’s nothing to fear…… I think.
Except words on a page, lines made of ink.
(Pantomime a light bulb idea moment!!!)
Under the covers is my escape plan!
You can’t get, what you can’t see Bogeyman!
(Pantomime appearing peaceful at rest, then hot and stuffy and then panicked)
The heat under the blanket……. like an oven!
No!!! I’m not Hansel and Gretel’s cousin!
(Pantomime yawning)
Sleepy. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
No Jeepers. No Creepers. Just self-esteem.
(Pantomime gaining courage as if it’s time to face my fears)
With all the bravery I can muster,
I switch on my night-light like a ghost-buster.
My eyes start to close, my fears have to wait.
I’m only six and it’s getting quite late.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say with laughter
Time to sleep, happily ever after.
Once upon a time, back in time I think,
I was a small boy, a terror, a fink.
I was loud as can be, for all to hear,
“I’m six and I have nothing to fear!”
Running like the wind, wanting to be free,
I couldn’t sit still for the life of me.
Then the sun would set, dinner and shower,
jumping in bed, it was story hour!
Before lights out, I would hear tales and lore,
but I was six, these stories were a bore.
Trolls and witches! They really don’t scare me.
Just yucky little girls and their gootie cooties.
The story is over;
(Pantomime to check if the bedroom door is really shut)
My room door is shut.
I’m six! I don’t know fear….. but, but but…..
The lights are out and there’s nothing to see.
Staying up at night, the mind’s eye set free.
In the dark they creep, round my twin-size race car,
hiding in shadows, where the wild things are.
Scary silhouettes and all kinds of noise.
Is it Them? Or bookshelves, paintings and toys?
Huff and puff I hear. I’m going crazy.
The big bad wolf! Or is it the A/C?
I’m six and there’s nothing to fear…… I think.
Except words on a page, lines made of ink.
(Pantomime a light bulb idea moment!!!)
Under the covers is my escape plan!
You can’t get, what you can’t see Bogeyman!
(Pantomime appearing peaceful at rest, then hot and stuffy and then panicked)
The heat under the blanket……. like an oven!
No!!! I’m not Hansel and Gretel’s cousin!
(Pantomime yawning)
Sleepy. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
No Jeepers. No Creepers. Just self-esteem.
(Pantomime gaining courage as if it’s time to face my fears)
With all the bravery I can muster,
I switch on my night-light like a ghost-buster.
My eyes start to close, my fears have to wait.
I’m only six and it’s getting quite late.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say with laughter
Time to sleep, happily ever after.
Happy Ever After?
Happy Ever After?
Is it?
My life was supposed to be like them fairytales I used to read.
Ending so sweet.
See, things work a little different ‘round here.
Happy is if you still feel your heartbeat.
Course, here I am, got 7 little ones of my own. Not dwarfs. Kids.
Got me a King. ‘Cept he’s probably busy with some other Queen.
Last time I was near three pigs, they was reading me my rights.
I got kicked out of high school, ‘cause there was too many fights.
I was 5 when I lost my brother Tom. Thumbs cut off. Belly filled by a Colt 45.
He got capped by some girl in the hood.
Word is, he was wolf-whistling her.
She had no blue on, so she musta been a blood.
Tupac says “For every dark night, there's a brighter day”
So why am I being kept down, blinded like some Charlie Ray?
Snow White is what the kids is pushing so they afford to buy their dunks.
Street corners smell like the Pied Piper was smoking skunk.
Every night, I weave a rap on for my babies. Zealous that if they keep they head in they books and off the streets, they got a chance.
They might live past they 18th birthday.
Once upon some time, they can be a Prince-ton Man.
Once upon some time, they can climb that corporate beanstalk.
Be a lad in a corner office downtown.
Once upon some time, they can rescue this Princess and give me my Happy Ever After.
Happy Ever After?
Is it?
My life was supposed to be like them fairytales I used to read.
Ending so sweet.
See, things work a little different ‘round here.
Happy is if you still feel your heartbeat.
Course, here I am, got 7 little ones of my own. Not dwarfs. Kids.
Got me a King. ‘Cept he’s probably busy with some other Queen.
Last time I was near three pigs, they was reading me my rights.
I got kicked out of high school, ‘cause there was too many fights.
I was 5 when I lost my brother Tom. Thumbs cut off. Belly filled by a Colt 45.
He got capped by some girl in the hood.
Word is, he was wolf-whistling her.
She had no blue on, so she musta been a blood.
Tupac says “For every dark night, there's a brighter day”
So why am I being kept down, blinded like some Charlie Ray?
Snow White is what the kids is pushing so they afford to buy their dunks.
Street corners smell like the Pied Piper was smoking skunk.
Every night, I weave a rap on for my babies. Zealous that if they keep they head in they books and off the streets, they got a chance.
They might live past they 18th birthday.
Once upon some time, they can be a Prince-ton Man.
Once upon some time, they can climb that corporate beanstalk.
Be a lad in a corner office downtown.
Once upon some time, they can rescue this Princess and give me my Happy Ever After.
Here's What I Know
Here’s what I know.
I know what I know.
I know there is much I don’t know.
I know that I don’t know all I need to know.
If I really know all the things that I am supposed to know,
would there be any more to know?
Can I ever know all the things I don’t know?
Can what I know be enough?
Can I say I know enough?
To say no to what I don’t know.
To say no to what I need to know.
To say no to all that I don’t know because I think I know all there is to know when no, really, I don’t.
That would be saying no to the unknown.
That really is saying no to myself.
To resist.
To say no.
To deny.
To say no to knowledge is to deny.
Deny, Defy, Die. Death.
Every death brings life.
Life as a chance to begin.
I rush to begin and finally I start.
I start the beginning and I end at the end.
Each race has an end.
The end of the race.
What race?
The human race.
The race that encompasses each challenge, each obstacle,
each hindrance in my way.
The mini races that are part of the big race of life.
A life at war.
The battles that make the war.
The war with myself.
The war with others.
The war with nature.
The war with nurture.
The war within.
The war without.
The duality of nature.
Right and wrong, left and right, up and down.
To move, to stay, to be or not?
Which is the best choice to make?
Does it matter?
I am not always right but I am never wrong.
Do I want to finish first or last in the human race?
First, I want to do what I want to do from my point of view.
The point is to do what ever I want to do but I must make sure I do.
To be is to do.
To do is to be.
There is more to me than you can see.
Which comes after the letter B.
Part of the 23 plus 3 that makes up how we talk.
Talk of what we love.
Talk of how we communicate.
The communication of hate.
How we hate to speak but love to talk.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
Talk is cheap and so are you till you listen.
Do you hear me?
Do I hear me?
I speak to understand you.
I hear to understand me.
Me that you don’t know.
I know violence is based on the illusion that life is a property to be defended and not to be shared.
Why should I share?
Because daddy said so?
Because mummy said all good boys must share?
Is the act of sharing a piece of myself an act of love?
Or is it an act of pure selfish, self-serving, servitude to the self.
An act of self-loving, self-loathing, self-pleasuring.
Pleasure as a form of entertainment.
Entertainment for others.
Isn’t it entertaining to hear people share their lives?
The lives of others always seem more interesting than my own.
My own?
What do I have to call my own?
I can see the three walls around me. That’s mine.
I can smell the sweet perfumes of the one who loves me. That’s mine.
I can hear the songs of Sinatra who pleases me. That’s mine.
I can taste the fat on a slivered piece of pork, roasted to perfect sugary brownness. That’s mine.
I can feel my face, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my smile. That’s mine.
I can feel me feeling me. That’s meta-mine.
I can break the 4th wall and talk to you. That’s ours.
I want to feel you.
You who I don’t know.
You who you don’t want me to know.
I who I don’t want you to know.
Only then will you see there is more to me than you can see.
Only then will I perhaps begin to know what I don’t know.
Only then can I declare “Here’s what I know.”
Here’s what I know.
I know what I know.
I know there is much I don’t know.
I know that I don’t know all I need to know.
If I really know all the things that I am supposed to know,
would there be any more to know?
Can I ever know all the things I don’t know?
Can what I know be enough?
Can I say I know enough?
To say no to what I don’t know.
To say no to what I need to know.
To say no to all that I don’t know because I think I know all there is to know when no, really, I don’t.
That would be saying no to the unknown.
That really is saying no to myself.
To resist.
To say no.
To deny.
To say no to knowledge is to deny.
Deny, Defy, Die. Death.
Every death brings life.
Life as a chance to begin.
I rush to begin and finally I start.
I start the beginning and I end at the end.
Each race has an end.
The end of the race.
What race?
The human race.
The race that encompasses each challenge, each obstacle,
each hindrance in my way.
The mini races that are part of the big race of life.
A life at war.
The battles that make the war.
The war with myself.
The war with others.
The war with nature.
The war with nurture.
The war within.
The war without.
The duality of nature.
Right and wrong, left and right, up and down.
To move, to stay, to be or not?
Which is the best choice to make?
Does it matter?
I am not always right but I am never wrong.
Do I want to finish first or last in the human race?
First, I want to do what I want to do from my point of view.
The point is to do what ever I want to do but I must make sure I do.
To be is to do.
To do is to be.
There is more to me than you can see.
Which comes after the letter B.
Part of the 23 plus 3 that makes up how we talk.
Talk of what we love.
Talk of how we communicate.
The communication of hate.
How we hate to speak but love to talk.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
Talk is cheap and so are you till you listen.
Do you hear me?
Do I hear me?
I speak to understand you.
I hear to understand me.
Me that you don’t know.
I know violence is based on the illusion that life is a property to be defended and not to be shared.
Why should I share?
Because daddy said so?
Because mummy said all good boys must share?
Is the act of sharing a piece of myself an act of love?
Or is it an act of pure selfish, self-serving, servitude to the self.
An act of self-loving, self-loathing, self-pleasuring.
Pleasure as a form of entertainment.
Entertainment for others.
Isn’t it entertaining to hear people share their lives?
The lives of others always seem more interesting than my own.
My own?
What do I have to call my own?
I can see the three walls around me. That’s mine.
I can smell the sweet perfumes of the one who loves me. That’s mine.
I can hear the songs of Sinatra who pleases me. That’s mine.
I can taste the fat on a slivered piece of pork, roasted to perfect sugary brownness. That’s mine.
I can feel my face, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my smile. That’s mine.
I can feel me feeling me. That’s meta-mine.
I can break the 4th wall and talk to you. That’s ours.
I want to feel you.
You who I don’t know.
You who you don’t want me to know.
I who I don’t want you to know.
Only then will you see there is more to me than you can see.
Only then will I perhaps begin to know what I don’t know.
Only then can I declare “Here’s what I know.”
Ode to Singapore, Mom Haiku Series
I leave Singapore for LA on January 3rd 2005. It is the first time I live away from my parents. I am ready to go but I cannot forget the events 26th of December 2004. Here’s to the friends I lost.
Tsunami
Nameless faces lay
Buried in sand and water.
A child cries alone.
I arrive at LAX with my bags waiting on the other side. Stepping up to the immigration counter, I present myself for inspection. I do not cross the blue line. Careful not to cross the blue line. My entire life is in two bags that I cannot touch. Funny how you can fit your whole life into just two suitcases. I have nothing to my name, no identity except what I hold in my hand. Here’s to those who fall into the cracks of society.
Passport
A book of stamps,
Alien or citizen,
Can I come in now?
I spend the first few days alone in LA and I think about where I have just come from. Here’s to ones I left behind.
Red & White Tri-Ku
Singapore, my home.
Fam’ly, friends, food: Shiok siah!
Tak boleh tahan.
The Lion City:
Like a bright-eyed child smiling,
She lights up my soul.
O little red dot
The island I call my home
Does she miss me too?
My mother arrives soon after to help me settle in. I spend two weeks with her. We find a place to live and a way to move about. We eat, we speak, and we listen. It’s the first time we speak to each other. Funny how you can go your whole life not knowing who your parents are. It’s time for her to go back. Now her bags are packed. She tells me to call her. I will. She tells me to eat well. I will. Before she walks away, she offers me a pearl of wisdom.
Here’s to the woman who lives her words.
Relationships
Build bridges today
For crossings in the future.
Hand in hand we walk.
Thank you mum.
I leave Singapore for LA on January 3rd 2005. It is the first time I live away from my parents. I am ready to go but I cannot forget the events 26th of December 2004. Here’s to the friends I lost.
Tsunami
Nameless faces lay
Buried in sand and water.
A child cries alone.
I arrive at LAX with my bags waiting on the other side. Stepping up to the immigration counter, I present myself for inspection. I do not cross the blue line. Careful not to cross the blue line. My entire life is in two bags that I cannot touch. Funny how you can fit your whole life into just two suitcases. I have nothing to my name, no identity except what I hold in my hand. Here’s to those who fall into the cracks of society.
Passport
A book of stamps,
Alien or citizen,
Can I come in now?
I spend the first few days alone in LA and I think about where I have just come from. Here’s to ones I left behind.
Red & White Tri-Ku
Singapore, my home.
Fam’ly, friends, food: Shiok siah!
Tak boleh tahan.
The Lion City:
Like a bright-eyed child smiling,
She lights up my soul.
O little red dot
The island I call my home
Does she miss me too?
My mother arrives soon after to help me settle in. I spend two weeks with her. We find a place to live and a way to move about. We eat, we speak, and we listen. It’s the first time we speak to each other. Funny how you can go your whole life not knowing who your parents are. It’s time for her to go back. Now her bags are packed. She tells me to call her. I will. She tells me to eat well. I will. Before she walks away, she offers me a pearl of wisdom.
Here’s to the woman who lives her words.
Relationships
Build bridges today
For crossings in the future.
Hand in hand we walk.
Thank you mum.
The Five Sides Of W
Who makes you smile?
What is your favorite food?
When are you most happy?
Where were you when you had your first kiss?
Why does time fly when you have fun?
Who was the first person to break your heart?
What do you miss most when I say the word “home”?
When was the last time you had a good cry?
Where does the soul wish to reveal when the sole crumbles?
Why are programmed to hide pain with a smile?
Who are you to cut me o…?
What universe do you live in where everything revolves around you?
When will you just shut up so I can get a word in edge-wise?
Where do you hurt most? I’m only curious so I know where to aim.
Why do I only see red when I hear you spout bull?
Who is that hiding in the dark?
What were the last words of the passengers on MH370?
When did the fear of cooties give way to the fear of being alone on prom night?
Where
Why
Who
What
When
Where
Why
Glad
Sad
Mad
Scared
Surprised
Who makes you smile?
What is your favorite food?
When are you most happy?
Where were you when you had your first kiss?
Why does time fly when you have fun?
Who was the first person to break your heart?
What do you miss most when I say the word “home”?
When was the last time you had a good cry?
Where does the soul wish to reveal when the sole crumbles?
Why are programmed to hide pain with a smile?
Who are you to cut me o…?
What universe do you live in where everything revolves around you?
When will you just shut up so I can get a word in edge-wise?
Where do you hurt most? I’m only curious so I know where to aim.
Why do I only see red when I hear you spout bull?
Who is that hiding in the dark?
What were the last words of the passengers on MH370?
When did the fear of cooties give way to the fear of being alone on prom night?
Where
Why
Who
What
When
Where
Why
Glad
Sad
Mad
Scared
Surprised
The Movie Inner Monologue
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
In the back, the couple who’d rather pay $12.50 to make out than get a room.
You hear the partition between the seats squeak up. If he isn’t down with this movie, she will be.
The pork chops sitting up front who finish their snacks before the trailers end. I bet it’s closer to the exit so they don’t have to walk as far.
The second hand Ebert & Roepers who comment after each trailer,
“Yes, that Tom Hanks fella sure makes me want a box of chocolates.”
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
Somewhere in front of you Ms. Douchebag decides to text during the one scene in the movie where they are in a dark pit.
The balding fat man, presumably Mr. Douchebag in the fake Polo tee-shirt goes one better and answers his Techno ringtone.
“I’m in a movie, I’ll call you back….No…I’m in a movie…..I said.. No…I said… IN A MOVIE!”
The entire cinema erupts in a loud “shhhh!” like a large man unloading his bladder. Down to the last satisfied the last drop.
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
You hope deep inside that there won’t be any running commentary with this movie. Last time you checked, this movie didn’t have subtitles like “Oh Damn.”, “No, don’t go in there.”, “Oh, no he didn’t.”
You hope against hope that the empty seat in front of you doesn’t get filled up by Shaq at the last minute.
Of course, the ticket you buy comes with the option of Crying-Baby. You can also upgrade to a Bronchitis-Cougher.
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
Does the dude behind you really have to take of his shoes? Really? Does he know his feet smell like napalm in the morning?
The movie is halfway through and then you spot stragglers coming in. Perhaps they were stuck in a jam, perhaps they’re just cheap. Two movies for the price of one. Heck, I’m Asian, I like a good deal, you best believe I’ve done that.
In that dark room, we are united to hear an offer we can’t refuse, to see something with class that could be a contender, to see the stuff that dreams are made of.
Yes, when the house light dims down and the screen brightens up, you meet all kinds.
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
In the back, the couple who’d rather pay $12.50 to make out than get a room.
You hear the partition between the seats squeak up. If he isn’t down with this movie, she will be.
The pork chops sitting up front who finish their snacks before the trailers end. I bet it’s closer to the exit so they don’t have to walk as far.
The second hand Ebert & Roepers who comment after each trailer,
“Yes, that Tom Hanks fella sure makes me want a box of chocolates.”
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
Somewhere in front of you Ms. Douchebag decides to text during the one scene in the movie where they are in a dark pit.
The balding fat man, presumably Mr. Douchebag in the fake Polo tee-shirt goes one better and answers his Techno ringtone.
“I’m in a movie, I’ll call you back….No…I’m in a movie…..I said.. No…I said… IN A MOVIE!”
The entire cinema erupts in a loud “shhhh!” like a large man unloading his bladder. Down to the last satisfied the last drop.
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
You hope deep inside that there won’t be any running commentary with this movie. Last time you checked, this movie didn’t have subtitles like “Oh Damn.”, “No, don’t go in there.”, “Oh, no he didn’t.”
You hope against hope that the empty seat in front of you doesn’t get filled up by Shaq at the last minute.
Of course, the ticket you buy comes with the option of Crying-Baby. You can also upgrade to a Bronchitis-Cougher.
In the dark of the theatre, you meet all kinds.
Does the dude behind you really have to take of his shoes? Really? Does he know his feet smell like napalm in the morning?
The movie is halfway through and then you spot stragglers coming in. Perhaps they were stuck in a jam, perhaps they’re just cheap. Two movies for the price of one. Heck, I’m Asian, I like a good deal, you best believe I’ve done that.
In that dark room, we are united to hear an offer we can’t refuse, to see something with class that could be a contender, to see the stuff that dreams are made of.
Yes, when the house light dims down and the screen brightens up, you meet all kinds.
