Category Archives: Prose

01/12/09

The Pretext of Discrimination

Through a selective reality you perceive.
The world in hues of colour,
Not shades of grey,
But you make it black and white.

Foist not your beliefs on others,
Nor dictate morality by your dictionary.
Irony, plain irony;
You contradict with your actions.

Allow the varied colours to soar,
Unrestricted by repression,
Free from shades of grey,
Live, and let live…

Logen L.

Many people are giving the pretext of religion to repress the rights of gay people. There are others fearing for their insecure manhood because of gay people.

At the same time, racial prejudices are arising also out of the pretext of religion.

One can claim that religion seeks peace. I agree. Yet the followers of certain religions rob the rights of fellow human beings in the name of god…

Logen L.

03/5/08

The Red Mist of Nostalgia

This is a recount of a dream I once had.

—

I stood rooted to the cold concrete, entranced by what I saw. Before me were glowing red mists, swirling in a curious fashion.

It gained momentum and slowly manifested into people I knew. At this point more than twenty of them faced me.

Though, they still had the reddish quality of the mist, each were frozen into the mannerisms they were well-known for. He had his trademark smirk, she had her cheeky grin; another had his hand on his nose, as if he had been rubbing it previously; yet another had her left eyebrow raised in exasperation.

I gazed on, appreciating the quirks of my friends. I thought about how they left a huge impact, even though some didn’t talk much to me. This is the funny quality of youth. Drama was always round the corner. I continued my reminiscences and contemplations.

Suddenly, just as mysteriously as my friends had manifested, each of them began to glide swiftly away from me. One by one they reached a certain distance, and there they lost their statue-like quality. With a whooshing sound, they had once again become smoky red; the mist that they were fashioned from.

All this while, as they left, I felt a distinct emptiness. Deep down, I knew it would eventually happen but I chose to ignore the truth of it.

So lonely…

Logen

02/5/08

The Irony of You

Under the starry skies shall we lay for eternity. Calming acoustic sounds drift from the distance. It is upon the sands of time that we sit, listening to the whispering seas. Discussing the cosmos of life and death and as ever shall I appreciate your voice.

As the cool zephyr sieves through your hair, like it does the palm trees, your ethereal face shan’t go unnoticed. And while we huddle for warmth, we draw our breaths as one. Thereon, eyes closed, your scent is adequate reassurance.

With suddenness, I gasp; you are gone. Too bad. This is but a dream… Irony…

Logen

01/11/08

Blinded and Silenced

A dam brimming with tears, awaiting salvation.
A shaver running against one’s eyes, dripping crimson.
A sharpened hook slices the tongue; speech suspended.

The torment of being blinded and silenced,
While hearing the wails of inmates echoing off the cold concrete.
Back within the asylum… the place I fear.

Nobody notices that I’m no longer here.
My impetus of hope now gone, what more is there to live for?

Logen

01/2/08

Is It Wrong to Want to Feel Wanted?

I wrote this at school:

At no fault of mine; why do you hate me so?
Forsaken and feared; I am an animal in your eyes.

I ask nothing of you but friendship.
And in return, you renounce my name.

I. A monster whose tears meander in the cold;
A frightful experience indeed!
-Logen

I am having the Wednesday blues. The day began well but as it wore on I felt worse. After years of torment, I still get affected by the things people say. In my opinion, two things hurt the most; the truth and the anticipation of a bleak future. Both of which I happened to gain insight on.

I hate returning to these feelings. While running on the treadmill, I pictured myself losing my footing and the momentum hurls me towards the concrete wall, shattering my skull. A tad bit melodramatic and morbid, I’d think.

Equally sickening is the fact that I seek some form of validation from people. I’m too nice to friends who deserve a thorough telling-off from me. But due to my pathetic desire to feel wanted, I don’t. Is it wrong to want to feel wanted?

No matter. At least now I’m clear on the wherefores of my moods. Otherwise, it’ll be another day of melancholy.

Logen

P.S. Happy B’day mum.

12/24/07

The Paradox of Dreams and Love

It’s Christmas Eve. Yet I lack the complete enthusiasm associated with the season.

I looked through my writing journal just now. This is what I wrote months ago…

I see it in my dreams. But no one can take things from Dreamland to our world. The gates separating both realms are sized to our bodies; nothing else would pass through.

Regretfully, I should have slept on, eternally dreaming about my forbidden fruit.

Well, I love my dreams. They are usually vivid and weird. The above prose obviously talks about my love, or rather, lack thereof.

Happy Holidays.

Logen

11/18/07

Past Sonnet: Wishful Androgynous Lust

Over a year ago, I wrote this sonnet. It was inspired by the sleep paralysis that happened nightly. I saw things that caused me terror, but on certain nights, I had some control over what I saw. Hence the sonnet. My first, if I remember correctly, about the pains of unreciprocated love.

Written first in logishlifestyle.wordpress.com, here it is:

In darkened skies -the moon, the stars- they glow,
My heart, my soul, my bed belongs to you.
Eyelids shut and thence, thy sensual dew.
Beguiling scent; tight cords that bind my bones.

Stifled by sweet lips, the groans and moans…
An angel’s face, no doubt, the devil’s deal!
Charming eyes of fiery passion brew,
My wish, as such, for spinning Earth to slow.

At daylight’s prod, I see you nowhere here,
Beknown to me, enslaved by night-time’s bid.

Dire desperate lust, my futile tears.
To thrive, in other’s dreams, you need to feed.

Henceforth, pray I, the bleedin’ sun to die
Till then, my nightly visions, live to lie.

– Logen Lanka

You must really think I’m pathetic now. The first stanza talks about the paralysis process; I likened it to being bound.

Anyway, I’ve talked about wanting to take up drawing again. Maybe I’d do a concept drawing for this sonnet.

Logen

Upcoming: I’ll be talking about religion. Then, I’ll do a post on Section 377A.