Saturday, November 28, 2015

Poetry Corner: For Lillian Hope Hanson By Elizabeth Clark

By: Elizabeth Clark
You came into this world you were already asleep ..
we knew then you were not ours to keep.
 May you grow to be beautiful and happy in God's grace. 
Our memories hold your precious face. 
Your smile and laugh we will never know. 
We will love you miss you but let you go.
we are thankful you were ours if only for a moment.
but here on earth you were not meant.
 We will see you. 
Sweet Angel in the Summer land until we meet again.
 Your aunty loves you . 
Lillian hope hanson.

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Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Single's Corner: The Biggest Enemy to Falling In-Love

By: Lucky Smith

It's been awhile since I wrote in single's corner. I have read the emails for personal reasons chose not to respond till now. The reason is because I failed so much at relationships a few years ago I felt unworthy to give advice. I had to remind myself failure is a good aspect in life, because that means I am closer to my goal. Nonetheless, my battery's recharged and I'm ready to go again. Talking about writing in the single's corner. Today's topic falling in-love's worst enemy is the fictitious connotations about love producing a fairy tale happy ending. The biggest myth about falling in-love, is the happy ending. Let me explain that the act of falling in-love produces chemicals in our brain that induces positive maybe even addictive emotions. Studies have show that love can actually be manufactured by two strangers, set of 36 questions and 4 minutes of staring into each others eyes. Yes, it does work to some degree but I don't recommend doing that with a stranger.  There are different types of love base relationships to keep in mind as well. Meaningful substantial romantic relationships, the type that turns two people into life long partnerships. To flings that are highly charged with passionate and sexual energy. To other types of love that are friendship based. These variations of love are very contrast to each other but one is not better than the other. Relationship goals changes as we hit different marks in our journey.  Life is filled with change and emotions that it is natural to feel all the ranges of emotions not just the ones  that makes us feel happy. However, falling in-love is not only emotional, but physical, intellectual, mental and I promise being in-love does not produce happiness. Having a partner who you are in-love with and feelings are mutual, that treats you in a  matter that meets your needs is a great component to happiness, but not the root or cause of happiness. When James was alive and we were in-love there were times when we were happy, sad, mad, and sometimes just fucking bored. The happy ending most likely will come from how we feel about ourselves. Being comfortable who we are as a person as is with  flaws, such as wrinkles, gray hair, 10 extra pounds that keeps reappearing and lack of money. Reaching a goal is not a magical spell for happiness. The happy ending is now achievable with or without a life partner.
Up next is how to deal with betrayal and recovery from lies.
Check out this article as more single's corner articles are being created. 
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Poetry Corner: In That Moment

By: Lucky Smith
I love you in moments,
Because in that moment,
Promises are fulfilled,
Forgiveness refilled,
In that moment
You can't fuck it up,
In that moment
I have enough
In that moment
Lies are undiscovered
In that moment
Intimacy is replaced by company
In that moment
Sex is substituted for love,
In that moment,
Love is define,
In that moment,
We are fine.
Outside that moment
Knocks reality
Outside that moment
Follows envy and agony,
Outside of that moment,
Your broken,
Outside of that moment,
I know I can't fix you,
Outside of that moment,
Your hurt,
Outside of that moment,
I can't heal you,
Outside of that moment
Your desperate,
Outside of that moment,
Your reflection you hate,
Outside of that moment,
Your gone.

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Friday, October 23, 2015

Flash Fiction: Pick Up The Pieces

By: Lucky Smith
"What are you scared of?" He asked
"You" I responded.
"Why?" He asked
"Because you're changing my story. My base line, to hopeless to I don't know.  my image of the drunk writer heartbroken from a dead lover. The coffee shop ravishing artist with the untold story, the unsold story. I went from numb to feeling everything. For the first time my orgasms are emotionally connected. You sadistic piece of shit.I am the unsung song of regret.  I FUCKING CAN'T WRITE HAPPY... YOU ARE NORMAL HEALTHY HUMAN! FUCK YOU FOR HAVING PARENTS. I HATE NORMAL. THE BULLSHIT OF PARTIAL AGENCY " I screamed.
"You terrify me, I can't read you." He replied
"What cripples me about us the most is that what happens when our story ends because every story ends. After the  smell of you burned into my lungs, my skin scarred from your touch, my mind plagued with you in every agreed reality, and there is no recovery. You were the only one picking up the pieces of me. There is no replacement of you AND NO ONE TO PICK UP THE PIECES!" I said.

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Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Thought Corner: The First Time I Wanted To Die

By: Lucky Smith
I watched Kristina Wong's "Wong Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" for my class Asian American Women Writing in The Self in Literature and Film. The main topic of the film is the growing rate of female Asian American suicides. My mind drifted back to the first times I wanted to really die. The moment when I just can't take anymore pain. It's drowning in hopelessness. 
 I waited for everyone to leave for the temple. My father went to the store. Tears were running down my face. What would my next life be like? How does it feel to die? Is there a hell? Is this it? I started with the aspirin, one pill at a time. Each time I swallow I looked at the bruises on my legs, my arms, butt, back and face. My father's rage, being his punching bag. His sociopathic  nature to turn off his violence around neighbors, teachers and social workers. Reconfirming that I deserve his creative torture. Being pinned against the wall with a butcher knife to my throat. I begged to every god that exist to save me. That's when I stop believing in any god  because god became another Santa Claus.
I had no more hope, no escape plan and no way out. The truth is no one was coming to stop him. He told me that police takes bad kids to foster care. Foster care is worst than here.  I finished off 60 pills. Still not dead, I moved onto my grandma's pills. Old people have lots of pills. I took them all. Finally, I'm starting to get cold and sleepy. I was 12 years old. I was released from the hospital 3 days later. The white doctor said I was too sensitive to being discipline like  an Asian. I got beaten again for failing at committing suicide.

Once again, the quite rage grew inside of me. Except this time I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to suffer. I was naked, he ripped off all of my clothes and wiped me with the phone cords and his leather belt. I hate him, my father the man that raised me. The man that was suppose to love me, protect me and teach me. All I was learned from this man is violence, pain, shame and regret. This time I crawled to the medicine cabinet. I can't fight back. I'm not suppose to, after all he is my father. But I can't take anymore pain. I don't want to go to jail. So again I took one pill at a time. Again no more hope. It's never going to get better.  I put the empty bottles back in the cabinet, so they won't suspect anything if they should wake up to use the bathroom. A box of sleeping pills should work. This time will be the last time he abuses me. I was 13 years old. I was released from the hospital a month later. This time the white doctor suspect some sort of sexual abuse because of my fear of being touch. I drove my roommate nuts because I wanted to sleep with the lights on. The white doctor reminded me that I'm lucky to have a father who was willing to raise me after my mother's abandonment. His  advice me not to act so American and try to be more Asian to get along with father. I was sent home.

Our mental help professionals have came along way. Ideologies, prejudices and racism can destroy the people that needs the most help from these experts. Abuse is not the normative for the American Asian culture.Not all white doctors are racist. It just happen to have happen to me. If you or someone you know is feeling suicidal please reach out and call the number below.
1 (800) 273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Hours: 24 hours, 7 days a week
Languages: English, Spanish

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Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Poetry Corner: Conformity

By: Lucky Smith
Inside the studio apartment,
After I clock out of my department,
I watch him out of the window,
He's waiting at the bus stop,
Agency robbed from us,
Stolen opportunities of me,
How can I miss something,
I never had, never was or could be,
Maybe this is happy,
Normal, conformed and obedient,
We are all well trained animals,
Sociopaths monsters,
Just comply,
And everything we deny,
We are already dead, waiting to die,
He pulls out his cell phone,
It must be someone texting come home,
Or is it another reminder he's alone?
The rain is pouring down,
He's getting soak,
I stop watching TV,
Another way for them to watch me,
My eyes are free,
They can't control what I see,
Every day at 6pm he's waiting at the bus stop,
We are all slaves for the top,
He's sitting on the painted metal bench,
Lighting strikes about 50ft away,
He turns around and jumps,
The sign of relief he's not harm,
Dropping his head into his hands,
He's crying,
Why is he crying?
The strangest thing happens,
He throws his briefcase into the street,
Now he's screaming,
Wow the bravery to be crazy,
The normalcy squad will be here soon,
I should stop watching,
His crazy is addicting,
What will happen next?
Now he's dancing in the rain,
The rage of his passion and pain,
Almost erotic so wild and free,
The normalcy squad is going to come soon,
He knows his own doom,
In the mist of his maddest,
Our eyes locked,
No this is becoming dangerous,
I have to be cautious,
I shut the curtain,
A few minutes pass,
The doorbell is ringing
It's insanity at my door,
Will the normalcy squad smell defiance on me?
Without any credit, my stability I finance,
 Slowly I open my door,
Dripping wet, he ask me out of breath,
Are you tired of waiting for your grave?

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Monday, October 19, 2015

Media Corner: Sunjay Smith interviews Erica Khamvongsa

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