TransfigurationIn class, the students stareTransfiguration by TheGlassIris
as the Professor turns a quick circle
in the air, waving the wand like one flicks on
the light in a dark room. Her desk
grunts in frustration, waddling unhappily
on cloven feet, its massive frame, now
ungainly and filled with tiny holes,
the hair like a million minuscule trees
leaking out. From multi-planed
There is a general
look of amazement
until she mentions
this is an art available
well-past their first year.
in disbelief. The professor
goes on, explaining
how they would not be turning furniture
into anything with snouts or whiskers,
amphibious gills, or even the most remote
resemblance of a spine. No.
Strict educational guidelines: For first-year students,
there are restrictions, rules, simplistic tests.
Controls and supervision abound. Only
small organisms, invertebrates.
Exoskeletons and six to eight legs for them.
She begins handing out buttons. Moans
of complaint issue around her. The air is heavy.
She throws back
Rooms of Blue SkinThe horror movie goes like this:Rooms of Blue Skin by TheGlassIris
that the girl, in white gown and whiter innocence,
finds the rooms stained ketchup-mustard wild, that she
loses her balance or a shadowed hand grabs
her unsuspecting foot, that she falls down
into a room anointed like a diamond
in unnatural, oily light. Such as can only be
produced from a hi-def distortion of desire.
Green, eerie overtones
predominate. Caustic state.
Eleven o' clock, she runs out,
her mind an explosion of interrogative
of the old self
collide with the new.
Any proper ending has her suspended
like a dream
between the desire for blood
and the instinct to preserve
even but the mere illusion of purity.
She dives, her development
to the imagination of the watching eyes.
You can already hear those hands
clicking away, impatiently away,
wanting so much more than melodrama reds and
an empty house of blue. I mean. For God's sake.
She is flat as cardboard.
But strangely compelling.
Whoever thought that s
Starlight for OrionThis was the story, that she betrayed you,Starlight for Orion by TheGlassIris
that you betrayed her, broken vows, both sides,
both trapped in the same falling coin. I wanted
to pull you out of there, as she, that callous hunter,
left you, this callous hunter, dead from
what was it? The sting, the poison?
Blood loss? I cannot even fathom
how that body of yours, once
so resolute it strode shoulder to shoulder
with mountains, arms big as tree trunks,
a chest broader, more powerful than the sea,
could become the lifeless earthwork before me.
I did not wish to see you. Not like this.
This was the story, that they betrayed you,
that it was the earth mother, that it was
the jealous twin brother, that the scorpion
whose master changes hands depending
on the teller of the tale, was only obeying
a higher instinct. Well, that doesn't mean
I didn't smile as my hands aged, withered,
rotted its slanderous body, those sleek scales,
the chitinous armor turning to eggshell
in my hands. I admit, it was wonderful
to feel vengeance's cruel
I Believe Hell Must Be BeautifulWhen we ran out of water,I Believe Hell Must Be Beautiful by Aumnren
we were four miles from the end of the trail.
It felt longer. The path kept winding upwards,
just out of view, and we believed
the end was at the top of each climb.
The beauty that must have been around us:
the mountains, thick with their carpet of trees;
the trees, lush with their vibrant, summer greens;
and the blue-winged butterflies that I saw briefly
as they fluttered into view.
This must be Hell
to be submerged in beauty, but to wander
with your head hung low from thirst,
your eyes set to the trail, thinking
"a little farther, then I'm out."
Astronauti.238,900 miles away
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue
flecked with terra verdant,
fifty-two cream colors
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry.
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
with glass-thin skin
transparent as the first lie
he ever told as a child.
I didn't steal that candy bar.
He can see the mechanics,
They divide like dreams,
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart. If
he could stretch far enough,
he could pop his home planet
like soap bubble.
he's too small
to make much
of a difference.
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
She's learning how to drive,
and how to feel a new kind of terror.
of collision. Of bone
or brick breaking,
Lightyears at SeaHis whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.
Standing still for years, she with
a waiting heart and waiting fingers
gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like
sharp jewelry and pendulums
carving cryptic messages upon his floor-
'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes to mix with gunpowder.'
Hi, I'm Andrew Liu. I'm 19, a student at East Los Angeles College and Pasadena City College, and I love to write. That's me in the picture, staring at the Lansdowne Herakles held in the Getty Villa. If I look bemused, it's because he doesn't have a dick. I've been writing since middle school and I started taking it seriously around senior year, so, sixteen or seventeen. My favorite genres are urban fantasy (Harry Potter, Percy and the Olympians, Fablehaven, that sort of stuff) and fantasy (Cry of the Icemark, American Gods, Good Omens). I mostly write poetry. I switched over from prose because I could never manage to finish writing short stories. And I mostly write as a hobby. |
I'm also an English major. My favorite period is American Modernism. I've read T.S. Eliot, E.E. Cummings, Robert Frost, Wallace Stevens. I'm a big poetry buff. My all-time favorite pieces of poetry are pretty varied though: Cathy Song "Cloud Moving Hands", Sharon Olds "The Elder Sister" & "I Go Back to May, 1937", Sylvia Plath "Mirror" & "Fever 103", Mark Doty "Tiara", Elizabeth Bishop "The Fish", and Muriel Rukeyser "Song for Dead Children."
If I were to summarize my writing style in three words it would be: lush, dream-like, and intense. People have always told me that I'm very good at imagery and description, but not so much at editing or making sure my work flows effortlessly.
Other hobbies I have include video games, anime, and more reading I guess. All time favorite video games: Folklore (PS3), Bastion (PC), Dust: An Elysian Tale (PC), Persona 4 (PS2). All time favorite animes: Natsume Yuujinchou (Natsume's Book of Friends), Puella Magi Madoka Magica (Magical Girl Madoka), Nodame Cantabile, Ao no Exorcist (Blue Exorcist-manga only), and Magi (again, manga only). All time favorite books: Caramelo (Sandra Cisneros), American Gods (Neil Gaiman), The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald), Asterios Polyp (David Mazzuchelli), Like Water For Chocolate (Laura Esquivel), and Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury).
I swear I read and watch more than this, it's just I'm really picky and have strangely specific tastes. Ask me for writing critique and feedback. I'm more than happy to give advice.