Saturday, June 13, 2009

Sleepless Nights 9 - Stranger than Fiction.

In response to finally accomplishing the feat of watching Stranger than Fiction from the beginning to the end (Including the credits, mind you.), I have only to things to say.
  1. That it was a fucking good movie and it gave me inspiration to continue on my long lost novels; even if it meant writing them again from scratch due to a certain dead external.
  2. That I have officially put Maggie Gyllenhaal as the hottest woman to star in a movie. I am not shitting you.
FUCK!

She is hot, I swear to God, any movie decorated with her face in it will be a must see movie for me. Sigh. We need more of her genes around in this world.

Okay, enough on that. Let me introduce you to a few characters that have been waiting in silence because of the lack of attention span I have.

  1. Mr. Hafri Rykes. He is from my novel 'A Broken Pencil, OCD and a Serious Nicotine Addiction', though I might change the title. He doesn't smoke that much in the novel or maybe he does, only that it doesn't really show in the novel. Basically the story is about a random guy leaving home due to family related shit and finding himself in dire straits when something that he imagined turned out to be the most sought after 'thing' by the people from another dimension. Seems too sci-fi like? It's not, believe me, far from it. Here's a preview.

    It all started with a broken pencil. And suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder. And having an addiction to cigarettes. Well, in life, things can start with a shitload of things.

    Being in a hotel room alone with the company of noisy air conditioning and the distinct scent of old bourbon wasn’t the ideal getaway for Mr. Hafri. Mr. Hafri Rykes. If a nineteen year old teenager, new to the outside world, with only a couple of crumpled notes in his back pocket- well, forty five bucks to be precise- could be called a Mister, then yes, he would definitely be one. Otherwise, he would be happy enough with any other name which is directed to him.

    He sank into the creaking and rotten furniture he assumed to be his bed- every moment spent worrying whether the bed would finally succumb to his weight and break, the springs in the mattress violently jutting out and brutally impaling him to death- and smiled. He loved the churning feeling in his stomach, the hurricane raging in his mind and the cold sweat breaking all over his body. He loved all of it. He was, in the simplest of terms, in misery. Now, the term misery could differentiate in meaning to different people. Some, usually the pious, take earthly pleasures as misery. Women, money, a stable income and a bloody house. Oh God! I am suffering! Take it away! Take it away before I fall into the depths of hell just because I want to live comfortably! Yes, the pious. The mentally deranged and disturbed takes misery as happiness. The wrong way. It is as if happiness and other joys of the world acts like dilute hydrochloric acid. Pour it on your hand and the first minute passes like watching a couple of children playing in the playground. Second minute, it becomes a wee bit itchy. The big bully comes. Third minute, keep on scratching and the big bully accidentally hits a kid too hard on the head and voila, his neck breaks. Well, speaking metaphorically that is. Then comes, the people who take compliments as misery. It is less torture to run them over with a ten tonne truck with spikes for wheels and molten steel poured over their bodies every three seconds than to give them a simple compliment such as, “Nice dress.” Be prepared to be machine gunned with moans of how bad the dress actually looks and so on. How it would be better off being shipped off to a third world country for the less fortunate. The ugly fact is that the dress will look bad afterwards.

    Do comment. Be as destructive as possible.

  2. Next comes Ned Teasley. No, I do not create names for fun, it just pops up in my brain while I'm thinking. Anyways, Ned is from the novel The Life and Times of Ned Teasley. Okay... Obvious enough huh... A-hem.

    The thunder roared as if God had accidentally pressed the big red button labelled Armageddon. The earth rumbled and brought down skyscrapers (not that there were any in the place we are in now, but just so you know, it was quite the scene.), lightning flashed across the sky every second. A house in a rural village was filled with naked men and women alike, all covered in seven different kinds of animal blood, all chanting and dancing around a woman deep in labour. Every few hours, a medium will step up and force her to drink a suspicious looking yellowish-brown concoction. She screamed as if what she was going to give birth to was the world in it's whole context itself. Then, with one final sip of the suspicious yellowish-brown concoction, a final massive heave and a final I-am-giving-birth-to-the world scream, she, well, finally gave birth.

    The child, who had an amazing future ahead of him, will one day be the owner of the world, more hated than loved, more prophecy related stuff, was a miracle to some and a curse to others. However, unlike most stories where the hero or main character opens their eyes in some magical or Oh-My-God-This-Child-Must-Be-Special-Quick-Inform-The-King-So-That-He-Can-Dramatically-Plot-To-Kill-Him way. He had no flaming sword in his small hands, nor did he kill the chanting naked people in front of him just by staring at them. He did not even have horns. Talk about being special. Still, looks could deceive; a harmless looking baby could, by defying all odds and destroying the imagination of avid readers, in fact be the chosen one.

    Three figures in black robes suddenly swept forth and they exchanged happy grins. They did not speak, yet everybody else heard them in their minds.

    "He who thhall bring forth the apocalypthe hath (they didn’t speak old English, its just that they pronounce ‘s’ as ‘th’. Being servants of the dark lord requires one to have a speciality, however foolish and laughable it may be.) been conceived!" and they swept out of the hut, the stinging smell of sulphur trailing behind them. Among the words or phrases that the villagers could think of were:

    1) Damn.
    2) Holy hell.
    3) Fuck.
    4) Those are some cool hoodies!
    5) Check out that ass!
    6) Umm, this is pretty awkward isn’t it?

    This all led to one idea (Except for the last three. Surprisingly, they are labeled as the village’s wise men.): They were truly and thoroughly fucked. Now, if that was how you think Ned was conceived, then sorry to disappoint you mate, but that wasn't it. That kid is just a pebble in a quarry full of stones, rocks and boulders. Ned did not even share the same birthday with the pebble, which when is demetaphorized, means that Ned did not share the same birthday with 'he who shall bring forth the apocalypse' or the one who the king is going to dramatically kill but fails as he made an escape which makes many of us go ‘What the fuck was that?!’. In fact, Ned was older. By an excess of one week. Therefore, using logical thinking skills, the kid, who is dubbed 'he who shall bring forth the apocalypse' or the one who the king is going to dramatically kill but fails as he made an escape which makes many of us go ‘What the fuck was that?!’, being methaphorized and demetaphorized into a pebble and back to being a child, has no connections with Ned at all. This reduces him, metaphorically speaking that is, into a grain of sand.
Well thats the only thing I could think off. A moment silence for the fictional characters that did not make it through. Oh well, casualties are needed for progress to take place. Do tell me what you think kiddies, I do need catalysts to continue writing you know. (The author admires his ingenious tactic of gaining feedback.) I know it seems childish, I think both of these were written when I was in Form four or when I was fucking 15. Do excuse the excessive use of curses, those were the days when... Let's just forget it.

Aaaannyywaayyss....

Anatomy exam is in one day and I haven't started to revise what I studied. Goddamn the fucking 100 over muscle in the human body. It gets to a point of irritation. I'll revise tomorrow, I swear. Apart from the hot Maggie Gyllenhaal, what else is new?

  1. Maggie Gyllenhaal!!!!!!!!!!! AAARRRGGHHH!!!
  2. I hate General Writing's site. 139 FUCKING VIEWS AND NOT A DECENT COMMENT??? Come on people. *sigh*
  3. I know that everyone is entitled to do whatever they want with their belongings but seriously, if you have a P90 and you just leave it there to fucking rust, give it to me, I'd be fucking happy to pay you. I wouldn't even care if you took camwhore pictures with it, just don't buy it, parade it and then chuck it somewhere. CAMERAS HAVE FUCKING FEELINGS!
  4. Megadeath's new track is ouuuutttt!!!!!!! Oh yeah bitch!
That's it I think. I know have decided to launch a genocide against mosquitos. Need to get more mosquito-cide. Let's rock and roll bebeh!

2 comments:

Anila P. said...

Gotta say, Zuffie, Ned is pretty cool. But your style is a little cluttered, for some reason... I dunno. Maybe it's just me.

Zufar Ismail Zeid said...

Cluttered? Do explain.