Eyes closed

Last night
I discovered pools
on my pillow of constellations
that sprang from my eyes
Even though I swore you off
like a sassy anthem
my head still drops the needle on the record
and i can’t stop it
Do not take this as a sign that he means something more than nothing
especially when
his last words–
I never want to see you again–
will be remembered
with eyes closed.

Why?

Did you find my words and my skin and decide they were both tainted?

Or was my negativity in believing myself not to be a poet too much to handle?

Could it be that you decided I was a directionless deadbeat who pathetically still lived at home because I work on-call and don’t have a regular work schedule?

Yes, it has been more than two months.

And yes, it still bothers me.

You shouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t mean it because now I end up seeming insane
still
askingWhy?

Braided Skin

I’m not much of a poetry kind of guy, but I wanted to support my fellow coworker and writer Chelene Knight. Braided Skin is a nice, mellow collection of poems. If you read this, Chelene, good luck with everything! It was pleasure to read your work. 🙂

Cushion fort

Sometimes, like today, I just want to hide in a fort made of cushions and be away from the world.

How Art Talks to Art, Part II

You might be wondering, “Part two? I thought you just explained everything in your previous post. How much more do you have to say? Also, why am I on this silly site instead of porn?” And yes, I wanted to nail down everything I meant in one post, but I’ve had a difficult time trying to articulate why it is I’m writing a mixed-genre memoir, even when it comes to writing it down (because me telling you in person would be a lot more rambling).

Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot more, and I don’t think my previous post quite got it. But I think I’ve narrowed it down to something simple.

There’s the pleasure and experience of reading a piece of fiction or poetry or listening to music watching a play or film or looking at a piece of art on its own without any explanation or information about the artist or writer. That’s the simplest way of enjoying it.

Watch this video and just listen to the music. Take a note of how you feel about the piece and what you think about it. Note: if you know anything about Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude, this might not work.

But what about the story behind the story? In terms of literature, one of the most common questions writers get asked is “What inspired you to write that?” To me, what is interesting is when it’s something personal that happened to them. I wish I had more examples to give, other than my own work, but one good one is Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude. When I learned to play this years ago, I didn’t know the history behind it. I just played it because I needed to for my upcoming exam. All I knew was that it was fast, loud, super hard, and the sixteenth notes rumbling in the left hand throughout the entire piece killed my arm after. My piano teacher eventually explained that at the time, Poland, Chopin’s country of birth, was being attacked by Russian forces. As he still had family and friends in Poland, he was upset and emotional. So he wrote this as a response.

When I heard this story, the piece made a lot more sense. I saw the etude in a different light. I understood why it was so loud, the specific accents on chords, how the left hand almost feels like it cries out when it goes up into the treble clef. The history — the story behind the story — enhanced my perspective. I saw the piece as it was intentionally meant by its creator.

I realized that my non-creative non-fiction work — fiction, poetry, plays, scripts — are almost always based on some sort of personal experience. I write things for a reason, sometimes as a response to something I’ve gone through. Of course, you could enjoy them on their own, but being aware of the context, I think, elevates the piece.

That’s what my creative non-fiction work is mostly about. My memoir, by extension, is not so much about why I wrote my fictional works as it is a way to get you in the right mindset when I wrote it. That way, you can then try and glean what autobiographical details may be embedded in the fiction. Fiction can, of course, be autobiographical in nature, and together with memoir, can provide a more complete and deeper understanding of a person’s life. At least I think so. And at least for me.

I hope that makes sense. I do tend to complicate things, so maybe my explanation was a bit convoluted. If so, now that you understand what Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude was about watch it again.

Do you see a difference?

-A

How Art Talks to Art

Originally blogged from my official site:

The choice to make my memoir a mixed-genre book was a surprisingly easy one to make. Back when I was sure it was going to be a straightforward memoir, a writer friend and colleague of mine suggested, half-kidding (I think? She jokes a lot so it’s hard to tell sometimes), “Is it gonna be mixed genre? Throw in some poems? Yeah? Yeah! You know it!” Sure, I had thrown around the idea of making my memoir a mixed-genre book but never seriously thought about it. When I went home that day, I looked at my poems — and also some of the few fiction pieces I had written  — and saw that some of them naturally fit with the pieces in my memoir, like how continents fit together.

I thought it was a pretty neat idea, writing a mixed-genre memoir. I certainly wasn’t the first to do it either. Amber Dawn’s memoir, How Poetry Saved My Life, includes both memoir and poetry. More recently, Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please, features essays, haikus, and other odd little pieces of writing. Bossypants by Tina Fey includes the Sarah Palin/Hilary Clinton SNL script that became famous.

My memoir contains, poetry, a short script, a short play, song lyrics, and, of course, memoir. I know it might seem strange to include fiction, and I’ve tried to explain it concisely as I’ve could in the queries and book proposals I’ve been sending out, in an effort to make publishers and editors see that I’m not just a weirdo novice writer who is scrapbooking my greatest hits. But it’s difficult because I feel like it requires a bit more explanation. So if you’re a publisher trying to figure out why you have a multi-genre memoir thing on your desk, here’s your answer.

I made a short film called Stay, which is about two Chinese-Canadian gay men and what happens when one of them refuses to stay the night. You don’t need to know anything about me to watch this film (in fact, it’s on YouTube). After watching it (or before, really), if I told you that my first boyfriend was Chinese-Canadian and in the closet, and that we never had a night together, how does that change your reading/interpretation of the Stay? (Does the film come across as a fantasy/hope if the real same had stayed the night?) How does Stay reveal autobiography as a work of fiction? What can you suggest about why I decided to write and make the film?

Maybe it’s just the English major in me, the one that constantly analyzes things for meanings, but these are the kind of questions I like to ask — and I’d like people to ask — when reading my work. Not everyone will want to think this deeply, for sure, but I think they’re good questions to ask.

Here’s another way to put it. I recently watched a documentary called National Gallery, made by Frederick Wiseman. At one point in the film, a worker at the National Gallery in London explains how paintings and works “talk to each other.” When looking at a painting on its own, he says, you may have one interpretation. When put next to another painting, it causes you to reinterpret both paintings; you notice things you didn’t notice before. They both mean different things.

That’s exactly what I’m trying to do with my mixed-genre book. I’m trying to show readers a different way — my perspective — of looking at not just my straightforward memoir pieces, but all the other kinds of writing and art that I do and make. I believe that this reveals a lot more about a person that a simple memoir, and as someone who feels constantly misunderstood (or not understood at all), I relish the opportunity to give people this special insight. And it’s not just me trying to boast to everyone that I can write a script and a play (although that is an added bonus).

Hope that makes sense. I feel like it will make more sense once my book is available and people can read it for themselves (hint hint, publishers). What are your thoughts? Do you think a mixed-genre memoir is a good idea?

-A

New poetry out!

Do I fancy myself to be a poet? No, and especially not after having received rejection after rejection from literary magazines and publications. But the good folks at The Outrider Review thought otherwise! In the second issue of their second volume, you’ll find two poems from yours truly: “Prodigal Boy” and “Cave”, two poems I’ve had kicking around for quite a few years. I’m thrilled that they’ve both finally found a home. (I’m also thrilled that someone actually likes my somewhat straightforward poetry)

You can order either a print or digital copy (or both!) here. And as always, if anyone reads my poetry and has thoughts, I am very receptive to them. Please leave a comment! I’m dying to know!

You return

Floating bits of letters
return to my hands.
God knows it’s always been me
at the telegram,
caressing a shiny button of hope
that words will get someone on my side again.
Too foolish owning a drawer
that they all have the keys to.

Maybe–
you could need someone
from time to time,
the way I do too.
And to receive the words,
to hear a call back to you from across
the invisible barriers and shields
a call that is a cup of warm tea,
one that nestles around you like a sleeping cat,
one that holds out an outstretched hand and not an upturned palm–

I wonder if you truly know what that means.

Drifting

Wanted to start off the year ambitiously

but now it seems I just come home and I drift away on waves of wires

caged within my chair.

Two hellos, two goodbyes

Be proud of who you are, they all say.

My friend John seems to meet guys often from online.

Sometimes, I wish I weren’t Asian.

Or I guess if I could wish anything, I would wish that people not have hangups about race.

But I guess that’s what I get for living in North America.

Two hellos, two silent goodbyes,

and one older man asking to have sex with me at work today.

And you wonder why I have no self-esteem.