MAKE IT RIGHT THE SERIES - REVIEW

I hadn't planned on being hooked to Make It Right The Series (MIR), because its trailers had promised a formulaic follow-up to the hugely successful (and iconic) Love Sick The Series (LS) which ended last year (also by Thailand's Mcot Station). As predicted, MIR has hewed lazily to the boys' love genre conventions, casting a few extremely pretty boys to enact what is less of a plot than a trail of tropes: Confused Uke (Fuse) ensnaring Passionate Seme (Tee); Nerd (Book) falling for Younger Flirt (Frame); Out&Proud converting Straight-for-Now, and in these combos, throw in some third parties (in Thai, these are called "third wheels"); and then stir in a few disposable girls into a sweetly fluffy meringue of a story (MIR, like LS is adapted from a Thai online novel). 

After watching the first four episodes (subtitled in English by fans), I can assure you that the story is just as twig-thin as any of the cast's scrawny arms. It's hard not to compare MIR with LS, as the two are almost identical - I would go so far as to say that MIR is the production team's attempt at getting LS right, ironing out some of its wrinkles and creases and smoothing out the edges (for instance, they made MIR a lot more racy, with sex in Ep 1, and lots of skin - whereas LS muddled along and it wasn't till towards the end of Season 1 before Noh and Phun actually got down to business). However, because of its similar territory, MIR suffers in comparison, possibly because it comes later, and thus carries the weight of having few/no surprises/ novelties. It's obviously mining a formula (as many are doing - even the recent Chinese webseries Addiction was inspired by LS) that had proven successful - I hope that I will be proven wrong in due course with a compelling twist or two - but I'm not holding my breath.

Of course what's really working, and credit should be given where it's due, is the excellent casting as usual. The four main leads (plus quite a few more in the supporting cast) are spot-on heartbreakers (but then Thailand is like a factory that keeps churning impossibly cute boys out - I need to take out all my savings and move there pronto!) that give MIR its sparkle and life. Again, this is like LS - you don't really watch it for the plot, but for those coyly seductive moments and intense looks of longing that only the really young can carry off - that's the heavy lifting there. The rest is merely working out the various moments/situations where Peak, 16 (as Fuse), Boom, 15 (as Tee), Ohm 15 (as Frame) and Toey, 20 (as Book) these looks can dart those deadly stares into the camera or wrap their nubile limbs fetchingly around each other. For now, Tee has emerged the real star - he's like the new Captain isn't he? Tee represents a new type, very Chinese-looking with the most sculpted of noses and full juicy lips. 

I think fans are watching because MIR fills the void that LS left - it's a pale shadow of LS, but it's a familiar shadow. MIR has to make it on its own merits to matter, and to prevent any more comparisons to LS. 

WIN'S THOUGHTS ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE PARTY

From Win's Point Of View

I can’t remember all the reasons why I agreed to go to Phun's party on Christmas Eve. Mark hadn't wanted to go, and said that I always let Mick arm-twist me into doing things that made me uncomfortable. 

I didn't want to tell Mark that it hurt me even more to see Mick so sad that he wasn't talking to Ohm anymore. I had hoped that seeing Ohm at the party would break that wall of silence –maybe they could sort things out after that. It's been a year at least!  

It wasn’t even a fun party, just the usual Friday faces but all grown up now – most of them have become people I used to know, not people I actually know. The first person I saw as we entered the hall was Noh, grinning and dancing, making a fool of himself, as usual. 

Then Per was suddenly and silently before me. (Mark had left my side to get us drinks from the bar.) Had I not initiated “hello”, Per would just have slid by without even acknowledging me. I froze up at once with upset; Per's further tepid attempt to make lame banter made it impossible for me to detain him any longer, so obvious and strong was his impulse to just bolt from me. 

“Where’s Ohm?” he asked, not looking at me, but scanning over the heads of the crowd. “Did you see Ohm?” he asked, almost rhetorically. 

I felt his indifference keenly; It was like I wasn’t even his friend, someone I had known since childhood, a neighbour as close as family. It was like he wasn't someone I spoke to every other day for years and years, and studied with, and confided in.

It’s really hard to bear, as if a huge chunk of myself was being ripped out and obliterated.

I whispered to Mark to just get me out of there; I will never go to another of these Friday parties again. 

Mick’s First/Last Kiss

Mick’s First/Last Kiss

I knew Ohm would be there at Phun and Noh’s Christmas eve party. Phun and Noh threw their party every year since Phun turned 21, and Phun’s dad had given Phun the old teak house which was set well back from Sathorn Road, hidden in a knot of mango trees. Noh had moved in with him a Christmas after – that was a major event – and then the parties started. It had become a tradition for all the old boys of Friday College to catch up at this party.

This Christmas eve, when I arrived with Win and Mark at around 11 pm, Ohm was already there. I hadn’t seen him in two years, but I spotted him right away, from across doorway, the center of an adulating circle, as he always was. Standing propped up next to the makeshift bar, Ohm was laughing raucously at some convoluted joke he had told, drink in hand and surrounded by the other members in is band, and some other guys I couldn’t recognize. He looked well – being in a hit band suited him  – or maybe he was very well be high on something; One really couldn’t tell with Ohm, even I couldn’t tell. Anyway, he didn’t think see us come in.

Just after midnight, we decided to leave. Mark was dying to go to a club to get away from what he thought was a pretentious party, to go and really celebrate with his other friends in Soi 4. So we said our long, drunken goodbyes to Phun and Noh and the others making a huge detour of the lovely old house. And just before we stepped into the velvety darkness of the trees in the garden, Ohm pushed up to us, ignoring Mark and Win, he took my face in his hands and kissed me on the mouth: “Merry Christmas, stranger,” he said softly, against my cheek.

Ohm tasted of wine and gum.

I half thought he might be wanting to pass on an E to me, as he used to do, but there was no pill in my mouth. I saw Win register this (his eyebrows went up the slight fraction his politeness allowed) but pretended he didn’t notice. Mark already had quite a few drinks and really didn’t notice.

On Christmas Day, quite hungover still at 3 pm, Win, Mark and I went to watch a movie at Quartier Cine-Art. I’d been thinking all night and all day about Ohm’s kiss: What could it have meant? Was he even conscious? Why didn’t he say anything else to me? Did he think I wouldn’t mind? I was thinking so hard about Ohm that I couldn’t follow the plot of the interminably long sci-fi blockbuster. Was it just the drinks, or drugs, or the sense that the year had ended, that things have ended, that our youth had ended that made him do that? Because Ohm was one of those that could drive perfectly straight even when stoned (he just gripped the wheel a little bit too tight, and leaned stiffly forward). And I’ve witnessed him order a three course- French dinner when he was completely off his face (that was when that year when we came back from our holiday in Paris and fell in love with everything French for a year). He didn’t eat any of it, but he ordered it, a little insistently, perhaps, and sat through the meal, drinking the wine automatically, chattering brightly as usual.

Imagine my surprise when we actually bumped into Ohm in the supermarket right after the movie, when Mark was having a coffee and Win was eating a burger, and I was sucking and chewing on a bubble tea. It was like I had conjured Ohm up by thinking about him non-stop.
Ohm was with Keng, an old friend of ours from Friday, and they were buying beer for yet another party; it was all a bit awkward. I know I wasn’t looking my best. I was aware that Win was studying me, and only Mark seemed blissfully unaware. Keng asked me to join them for that night’s party. “But Win and Mark are making me dinner, and I’ve got to work on my recording tomorrow,” I said. I didn’t want to go because Keng didn’t ask Win or Mark, just me; but mostly because Ohm didn’t ask me. He was talking to Mark intently, in his usual bluster.

The next day afternoon, when I went back to working on my recording at Studio 28, Keng texted.

He said that Ohm gave him my number, and that Ohm told him that we hadn’t been talking for a while.

Me: “It’s been years. Why rake this up now?”
Keng: “You should ask him out for coffee.”
Me: Ohm can call me if he wants to talk, or have coffee or whatever. He knows how to text.”

When what I really wanted to say to Keng was that the Christmas Eve kiss reminded me of Ohm’s first kiss so many years ago. It brought back the smell of his leather sofa where we sat for hours, learning the finer points of the French horn; It brought back the sound of the fountain in his garden when the birds had all gone to sleep; It brought back the sound of his dad's creaking Mercedes Benz (and the day he got his driving license and drove us straight to Rayong); It brought back the always too-sweet chocolate he made me, and which I had drunk anyway, for years; Our first fight at Block F, near the third floor toilet. The very first Christmas, the one which I didn’t manage to give him the Supreme hoodie I had saved up to buy for him.

Ohm had made me who I am today, dry eyed, looking back, unable now to read any of my feelings at all clearly, even when I tried.

A FASHION FAIRYTALE: A GLAMOUROUS COCKTAIL

CHAPTER 10

A Glamorous Festival Festival Cocktail Party, 6.30pm

In the third change of outfits for the day, the gruelling day in the fashion trenches just got a little longer for the fashion practitioners with the official festival festival cocktail for VIPs. You need your clothes to look immaculate and fresh, because the faces got wan and weary as the day drags into night without a moment to call one's own. As a weary Dana Lee made her way into the champagne salon, in the converted foyer of the museum (British Colonial style), she immediately caught sight of Bella Teo making her way towards her with purpose, "like one of those stray wild boars at Bishan Park," thought Dana. Bella Teo was in all-black Prada ("boar-coloured" thought Dana) and as they air kissed, which was the habit of the fashion flock, even after a parting of half an hour, between friends or enemies. Cutting through the throng like a hot knife through butter, Bella took Dana’s hand, saying into her ear, “I’ve just been hearing the most ridiculous thing about you and Eli Kee! You, really, we, I mean, must do something to stop this. Dana, the whole room is heaving with the rumour that you are seriously seeing Eli – of course I’ve been defending you! I’ve been saying to everyone ‘of course not. Dana and Eli? Perish the thought. There must be at least a decade between them!’ Let’s go and talk in a quiet corner shall we?” said Bella.

She led Dana to the center of the salon where there was a gazebo artfully trailing with ivy, and here, the two leading ladies of fashion sipped champagne and talked in private, in full view of the party, which circulated around them. This is what they said:

Bella: Dana, I want to tell you this because although you are now my competitor at work, I still regard you very much as my mentor and someone who has taught me lessons I will never forget. I’ve said this before and I say this again – you are like a mother to me – a mother I never had; I lost my mother when I was quite young, as you know…(Here, Bella paused and the sly light once again flashed momentarily in eyes). Dana I’ve been wanting to confide this to someone for so long and I’ve not dared to, but when I heard you were quite close to Eli, as a friend you know, I immediately thought ‘but Dana Lee is the perfect person to confide in’; I’ve been wanting to say this the entire day sitting next to you at the shows, but you never gave me the opening; And perhaps a fashion show isn’t the best place for me to tell you what’s on my mind, and with the ghastly music, probably not the best place to solicit sympathy after all. But I can’t bear it any longer and I need to tell someone at once.”

Dana: (She had started off quite cool towards Bella, but had to admit that her curiosity, if not exactly her sympathy, had been aroused) You are being too modest Bella Teo. As you know, you’re perfectly able to fend for yourself in your career, and I’m certain, in every area of your life. I’ve never claimed to have been a mentor, much less a mother to you, and all I can say is you deserve exactly what you’ve worked so hard to get. As for this other matter, which sounds personal, that you seem to want to tell me, perhaps you may want to reconsider. I’m hardly in a position to advice you... on this or any other matter.”

Bella: Oh but Dana. I’m sure you’ll want to know what I have to say. It concerns Eli.

Dana: Oh. Eli. I’ve said this to everyone and I repeat – Eli and I are good friends. I happen to think he’s a very gifted musician, and has the makings of a star. I’m supportive of all talent as you must know. It's merely a function of my job. Please not to make anything of it.

Bella: But it’s just because I know that you are so supportive of Eli that I feel I can broach this topic with you. I know you are just friends with Eli. I believe you, because Eli told me just the same, when I asked him.

Dana: Eli what?

Bella: I asked Eli. And he said that you were just friends – exactly what you said Dana, almost to the word. And as you probably know, Eli is not given to lies – he wouldn’t lie to me especially. It’s just that you are now such good friends with both of us that I feel that you are in the best position to advice me.  

Dana: You know Eli… well?

Bella: I don’t know how you mean by ‘well’… But we’ve been on and off for years. Didn’t he mention me at all? ("Never," thought Dana.) We were already in a relationship before you picked me to join Glossy. During those years I worked so hard for you, and I probably neglected him a little, but things are good between us again and with everything quite settled in my position, and with Eli making something of a career of his passion for music, I’m thinking perhaps it could be time to make the relationship something more permanent… more generally acknowledged, instead of it being so hidden as it has been thus far.”

Dana: Your relationship with Eli? What are you talking about? Do you mean a romantic relationship Bella Teo? I’m sorry this is a little confusing and I’m sure I’m not getting something… I…

Bella: I’m sure I’m making myself quite plain; but perhaps you don’t believe your ears. Here, Dana Lee, let the pictures speak a thousand words.

And for the second time that week, and hopefully never again, Dana Lee found herself staring at pictures of Eli Kee in a handphone not her own. Bella’s photo archive was full of pictures of Eli, sheepish Eli, suave Eli, Eli with his Labrador Chopin, Eli in his panel van, Eli with a familiar woman on a sofa, Eli with the same woman at a meal. That woman wasn’t Dana. Mostly wearing black, that woman in the pictures was Bella Teo.

A FASHION FAIRYTALE: WHO SITS WITH YOU?

CHAPTER 9

Front Row at the Singapore Fashion Festival, 1pm.

Pandemonium.
Loud rock music.
Strobe lights.
A hectic schedule of fashion shows in the stuffy heat of a white tent in the middle of town. Long lines forming to get pass the door whores for the civilians. Red carpet, air kisses and fake accents for the fashion professionals. Welcome to the silly world of the fashion circus - some dread it, some thrive on it. Dana Lee, who craved order and perfection, had never been so grateful for the distraction of a fashion festival as she was for this present one. The tedious (but predictable and orderly)  rituals of the semi-annual spectacle provided a welcome relief to the current chaos of her personal life. As Dana was fawningly ushered to her accustomed place dead centre on the front row of the catwalk, she was more conscious than ever that all eyes were on her. She supposed that on top of everything else there was to say about her (and there are many rumours, almost all untrue), there was now making the rounds in the uncomfortable white bleaches of the back ranks that tantalising matter of her romance with Eli Kee. 

Young Eli, the new music star, a younger man, was someone deemed quite unsuitable for Dana Lee. This was the general opinion, as she was given to understand by Adam Tan. It wasn't anybody's business but her own, but if you live in the public eye, whether you liked it or not, the public would be eyeing you, good or bad. Her thoughts drifted back to the jarring end of the dinner when Adam Tan had brought up a topic rather unlikely: The topic of her romantic life. This struck rather a wrong note (oh, where's the order in things?) to what had always been a cosy, familiar relationship with a trusted friend, who however intimate, had never entirely been more than professional in concern. That Adam should have placed any emphasis on her intimate life, or that he should highlight something so personal, had in a twinkling between fruit (Shizuoka melon, Kyoho grapes) and cognac (Grande Champagne Verreries, 1904, Berry Bros & Rudd), shifted the tone of her long relationship with Adam Tan into something she no longer recognised or could think of as reassuring, easy or unambiguous. Between digestive and the drive home, Adam Tan had not only questioned the wisdom of her ‘going out’ with young Eli, but also insinuated himself as a possible alternative.

“It’s time for me to settle down dear Dana, and I’m accustomed to the finest, as you know,” Adam had said, like a business proposal. “I’ve been looking about, I’m not ashamed to tell you. My standards are high, but of course, only the best for me always, as you know… and my future family. In short, Dana, I’ve come to consider you as the perfect candidate for this particular role,” had been Adam Tan’s final words. “The role of my wife.”

  

As Dana took her place at her seat, with a couple of photographers flashing snaps at her, she noticed the empty place on her left, wondering who it could be reserved for. The regular faces (all bored and impassive) were all already in place, and it was already more than a half an hour late. “Perhaps,” thought Dana, “a celebrity of some sort. They do love a celebrity nowadays." Though why celebrities, however minor, must always be later than everyone else is something Dana particularly disapproved. She prized punctuality and order, more than precious gems and perfume. "Who could it be? Someone pleasant I hope," was her dismal thought. What does one say to these celebrities? 

And then a commotion erupted in a knot of flashes heading Dana’s way. And who should be shown to the empty place left of centre on the front row, right next to the famous Dana Lee, the undoubted queen of fashion? Why, it was none other than Bella Teo, of course.

A FASHION FAIRYTALE: ADAM TAN'S BOMBSHELL

CHAPTER 8

Dana Lee at home, 5pm.

Dana is flat on her chintz chaise (faded cabbage roses), wrapped in a linen robe from Morocco (puce stripes). Cordelia Theresa Cheng (denim dungarees), facialist to the stars, was working her magical fingers on Dana Lee's lymph nodes, rubbing and stabbing her face into submission in readiness for dinner with Adam Tan. It’s been a tough, white-knuckled period at work with Pulp Productions, which was putting Flair online (at last!) and in an App. This immense digital project, which seemingly involved a cast of thousands (fraught), and a multitude of copyright issues, has certainly taken its toll on Dana. The digital project came on top of running the paper version of Flair, on top of keeping to the trappings and routine of being a fashion figure (which were as rigorous and as demanding as a geisha’s in training) – of which this facial in a darkened room (black-out roller blinds faced in Thai silk) formed part. And above everything else, Dana also struggled to fit into her corset-tight schedule the now regular covert dates with Eli Kee – too much for a girl to do, surely?

What's romance without one or two challenges to make things more interesting? Dana and Eli were going on proper dates at last, and no longer meeting (slyly) on platonic pretext. Over the months, Dana had come to rely on Eli’s simple habits and good nature: his idealism and optimism, balanced by pragmatism and common sense provided perspective, and his natural manners provided an escape from, and a reality check for, the high pressure bubble of glamour publishing. Eli was like a prayer answered, and Dana Lee wasn’t about to give him up for anything in the world.

“Dana Lee, you actually look radiant,” declared Cordelia Theresa (behind a hygiene mask). “I don’t know why you wanted this emergency facial when you’re only due next Tuesday. You hardly look stressed, really. You almost have the glow of youth – did you do something at Dr Chong’s?”

“Cordelia Theresa Cheng! You are super kind,” said Dana, her eyes hidden by cotton pads (witch hazel). “It’s been months since I saw Dr Chong; It can only be the Bach I’ve been listening to,” added Dana, almost giggling under the salt mask (Dead Sea). “And thanks to your weekly facials too, sweetie! But now you really must let yourself out and let me lie quiet for another 15 minutes and then I have to run! Turn on the bath for me will you my sweet?”

At Dinner with Adam Tan in a Private Dining Room with a View, 8pm.

Dana Lee’s dinners with Adam Tan were partly routine, cozy catch-ups with an old friend and business partner made charming by a bat squeak of flirtation. And Adam had just come back from another of his mysterious business trips (Seoul, Tokyo), brimming with news and projections. Adam’s wide business associations placed him squarely in the increasingly diminishing map of the real world, and as the young mogul sat across the table talking about world finance trends, the competitive world of LCD screen makers and the rise of commodities and the fall of property, the hurdles of e-retail, etc, Dana’s thoughts drifted (unwittingly, but very pleasurably) to Eli. This was uncharacteristic. Dana Lee usually sat rapt, some would say "geisha-like", as everything Adam Tan said bore relevance to her work and reflected her world. But tonight, Adam sounded insignificant, a dog barking in the night in an empty house down the street. Only Eli seemed real and alive, his smiling image flitting in the sparkle of the wine glasses and his breath warm in Adam’s cigar fumes (Havana).

Then Adam broke into Brooke’s reverie: “Are you alright dear girl? You seem distracted, which is unlike you.”

“Ooops. I'm sorry Adam, I’m perfectly alright. Maybe I should have skipped the dessert and I'm more than a little drunk? Maybe it’s time to call it a night, actually,” said Dana, suppressing a yawn (a struggle).

“Dana…” Adam said with uncharacteristic hesitation, for it was ever his habit to bulldoze his way into any given topic with the confidence of self-made millions, “Dana, I don’t quite know how to say this but I…”

“Oh Adam, you Silly Billy, out with it,” said Dana Lee, still dreamy, unaware. “We are such old friends now, you can say anything to me… just that I’m so-o-o sleepy.”

“Dana, is this true?” Suddenly Adam was all business. “What I hear about you seeing this young musical protégé of yours? This jazz singer, is it true?”

Dana said, suddenly snapping into the present: “What can you mean Adam Tan? Whatever can you mean?”

And it was at that moment that Snowdrop Catherine Yeo Lay Leng’s world came crashing into Dana Lee’s. Over the snow white tablecloth strewn with the glittering detritus of an expensive meal, one that Snowdrop had never eaten, Adam handed Dana his iPhone (4S), on whose screen displayed, in grainy colour, a picture of Eli, with stars in his eyes, and a chick, in a vintage brocade Yves Saint Laurent dress - a chick who bore a complete resemblance to herself. 

A FASHION FAIRYTALE: SOMEWHERE, SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU

CHAPTER 7

1am, A room in a four-room flat in Boon Keng Road. 


In quite a different world from that of Dana Lee and her ilk, in a flat in Boon Keng to be precise, Snowdrops (aka Catherine Yeo Lay Leng) a 22 year old blogger and president of Eliments: The Official Eli Kee Fan Club sat in her sunless bedroom, before the flare of a snow white laptop monitor, a floor fan whirring away the afternoon stupor. She’s uploading pictures of Eli Kee onto the Eliments website for the 3, 481 Eliments members to admire. These pictures ranged from those of Eli at his album promotions (sheepish Eli), to those scanned from magazines (suave Eli), such as those from Flair, as well as paparazzi-style snaps taken of Eli unawares (goofy Eli), waiting for coffee at Starbucks, say, or picking up dry cleaning (very goofy Eli). Some of these photos were sent in by Eliments fans, and hence were of varying picture quality. Snowdrops herself didn't like many of theses amateurish shots, but they did seem to up the site traffic: Pictures of her idol ambushed by one rabid girl after the next (but all curiously similar) with their faces pressed up against their Eli’s, saying ‘cheese’, and with their fingers in a ‘peace’ sign. Click, click; Snowdrops had seen them all.

But today, the intrepid and enterprising Snowdrops, who on top of running the fan club and website, also worked waiting shifts at various posh eateries in town, had something rare and revealing to post: She had stolen two snapshots of her idol on her iPhone on what appeared to be a romantic dinner at The French Place last Friday.  To think that Snowdrops had wanted to call in sick that night! She really can’t stand her supervisor there, the prissy Maitre’d Kennerf De Silva. But she would have kicked herself blue had she missed her idol Eli in such intimate circumstances. Table 12, the table in her section, the one by the French window! The two snaps weren’t really up to Snowdrops's usual standards because the lighting was truly quite low (how these people can eat such long meals practically in the dark was beyond Snowdrops) and the candles did flicker so in the aircon – but here was Eli (with stars in his eyes) and a mystery lady in what looked like a Chinese coat (Snowdrops couldn’t rightly identify a 1991 Yves Saint Laurent couture dress even if it was lit by lanterns). Who was that chick? How was she going to caption this? Snowdrops knew that these two pictures were going to rock the world of Eliments – and beyond – for even the mainstream media never managed to catch “Eli on the sly with mystery chick” (that was her caption for these pictures). Sly Eli! That would be a new spin for the Eliments – “Oh the ripples this will cause,” thought Snowdrops as she clicked ‘publish’.

Little knew Snowdrops that with that one fatal click of her clammy finger, that the ripples would cause her world to collide with that of Dana Lee’s rarefied one, in wave after wave of misery.

Weekend Reading List

On F's instructions, I actually bolted all the four floors up to Basheer at Bras Basah Complex (isn't this the most old school of names for a building?) on Bain Street, to buy Fantastic Man and Vogue Homme International. The whole building smells of musty books and yellowing paper which is such a nice smell, redolent of my schooldays spent in second-hand book stores. And then home, and with a tub of strawberry ice cream, I settled down and studied the mags and couldn't wait to discuss every picture and page with F. I don't know anyone who's as crazy about models, mags and photography as F and I can't think of a nicer way to spend an hour (or two!) chatting away about the images and words and stuff that moves us, on the hottest of afternoons (aren't the days fever hot now?).
F and I don't always agree on everything, but that's part of the fun.
As you already know, I love detective stories (with a clinking glass of Ribena and the ceiling fan whirring) so I'm thrilled to discover the enigmatic Father Brown, created by the eccentric G K Chesterton. I'm now reading the superb collection of short stories Father Brown: The Essential Tales. These would be great on a flight. On a slightly more serious note, my bedtime reading is now A Scream Goes Through The House, by Arnold Weinstein, in which Professor Weinstein explores how great works of art, especially literature, illuminates what human life actually feels like, the human cry that echoes in the dark of existence.

This Was Once A Love Poem

"This was once a love poem, before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short, before it found itself sitting, perplexed and a little embarrassed, on the fender of a parked car, while many people passed by without turning their heads. It remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement. It remembers choosing these shoes, this scarf or tie. Once, it drank beer for breakfast, drifted its feet in a river side by side with the feet of another. Once it pretended shyness, then grew truly shy, dropping its head so the hair would fall forward, so the eyes would not be seen. It spoke with passion of history, of art. It was lovely then, this poem. Under its chin, no fold of skin softened. Behind the knees, no pad of yellow fat. What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall. An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows, its cheeks. The longing has not diminished. Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat, the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus. Yes, it decides: Many miniature cacti, in blue and red painted pots. When it finds itself disquieted by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life, it will touch them—one, then another— with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame." - Jane Hirshfield

Frankly Speaking

Mrs Lady told me over a ramble and late, late lunch:
1. You know, of course, G swung both ways.
2. G is married, has been for years, but will put out for pin money. They always do, honey. I have a mouth witness.
3. Can you imagine, LLF fell in love with O (at first sight, I might add). O was half his age, half naked and painted gold.
4. Always, the parties with half-naked male 'models'.
5. At the fashion show, I was wondering where are the naked men? Then out they came!
6. The the infamous feathers, I was watching how Mrs Leo would deal with this.
7. My dear, do you know? The feathers didn't dare to land on her elegant self.
8. Yes, he fell in love the same night he stole the towel from the powder room.
9. She takes lots of pictures have you seen them? Click click flash flash, quite relentless.
10. What do they do all night? They keep Paris time hon!
11. You should have seen him only five years ago, my dear, he had a jaw.
12. Al only needs the job you know, because he needs the employment pass.
13. He has no vices, only does baby seafood. Little baby lobsters and tiny little bivalves.
14. Before that, the tart was selling charm bracelets my dear, that's how they met.
15. I'm only her friend before dinner of course. No one knows what she does after dinner.
16. I always say think of your children for goodness sake. But would she listen?
17. Oh yes, they said it was suicide, but it wasn't you know. He had the first wife killed. Oh yes, anything can happen there.
18. The doctor had a washboard stomache, so I was very impressed hon. I took notes!
19. She wore her wedding dress three times! She said why not? It's haute couture you know? There's no talking to people like that of course.
20. The tart was with an Arab businessman before this, so no, he is not some innocent babe in the woods, he's definitely a counter jumper of the first order.