Hollywoodland

kkaushal

Canada

Human mystery machine and recovering tea addict.

Message from Writer

Flower power to the people!

Published Work

To Everyone Everywhere

    Our work block had commenced giving everyone in Foundations of Math 11 the nod to group with our friends and talk until the bell rang. I had no friends in this class except for one, Jamie. We both sat at the back corner of the class and worked on our geometry project which was due in less than a week. For me, this class was unbearable, and not just because I hated math with every fibre of my being, but because I couldn’t stand anyone else in that class. I didn’t know them, and I didn’t want to know them. All I knew was that they were all the same and nothing like me.
    Outside the clouds took over the sky and casted a gloomy luminescence, a common occurrence as the hands on the clock ticked closer and closer to the end of period four. The dull walls of the classroom began to morph into iron bars and the teenagers...

My Writing Warrior- Part 2

    For the first time in her life she felt free. My writing warrior, once brooding and grim, you could tell something changed inside her. She revived herself and came back with the hellfire inside being nothing more than light unlike how it once was. The only warmth she could give herself  feeding off of anger and sin. For the first time she could lay back and feel herself come undone. As if every fibre holding her together unwinded until she became a spool of thread. She was bound to nothing and nothing could sink its teeth into her rough, rigid self. She was charcoal in this pastel world. What was the source of this change? It was herself and nothing else. Endless hours spent inside her own head, her attention divided up into millions of different atoms floating amongst each of her thoughts. One thought came and coined itself as the main attraction. It grew and spread like a weed,...

The Inescapable Visit

    The mortuary was as dead as the people inside it, yet for some reason I decide to come. Perhaps it was peer pressure that led me here, wanting to be seen as exciting and not as some wet rag by my brother and his friends. Regardless, I knew I shouldn’t have been here.
    I let out a sob as I took another turn and ended up in the cimmerian living room of the funeral home for the fifth time, where I last saw my brother and his friends. Where did they go? Enough time had passed for me to know that this was not a joke. “This is it,” I whispered to myself, “I have to get out of here.”
The front door was still open, just how I left it, but as I got closer to it, it slammed shut on it’s own with such force, the walls began to shake and the several portraits that hung on...

An Ode to Ms. Hanna

Kathleen is a silhouette under the sun
But a fiery aura on top of a dais
She screeches and screams about our conundrum
The sounds of her rage are just part of the fun
Neo-colonialist, anti-humane
If that’s who you are, please know you’re insane
Kathleen will be there to make sure you are tamed
She’ll skip across her stage and ruin your name
Believe me, that’s not all, she’s only just begun
She’ll swing and kick and yell and tie you up with your tongue
For someone so bigoted you’ve accomplished a ton
But no one can fix all the damage you’ve done
And just when you think she’s done with her raid
Kathleen will be the rain
Over your misogynist parade

My Writing Warrior

    I remember following her home once… if you could even call it a home. It was an abandoned hotel in the middle of the city. The air inside was thick and full of dust and the floor was damp from the rain that would leak in and you could hear the echoes of the water dripping. It was a dark, grim building with the walls torn apart and almost every door knocked off its hinges. It was the scene to a massacre that took place decades earlier, taking the lives of several innocent people. But it was also a safe haven for the people who had nowhere to go, and my writing warrior was one of them. She doesn’t have a name. Maybe she does, but no one knows it. She has pale, alabaster skin dotted with acne. Her hair is the darkest shade of black you’ve ever seen, parted to the side and it goes over her head like...

Poppy Water

Needles and blades shine like gold,
But hold more value to madmen like me
I’m aware of how I disturb the sane,
As faces twisted vexed is all there seems to be
Times I’m told that I lack in sagacity
Make me live as if I’ve no mortal fee

Come the days I wake up screaming in vain
And indulge in the blue mood of night
With every blinding cut I feel a ray
Damned and distressed spirit’s light
Soaking it in like cotton sitting in blood
I breathed with my nerves stiff as knights

Tattoo every vein filled with bleach
Poking dreadful holes in each dainty root
Feeling my pulsation quicken
My brain cells falling ill through a chute
And my body may as well be dismembered
There is no suavity in dancing with this liquid brute

I, as my own parasite shriek with longing
Vehemently begging for what I can’t have
Churning my brain until I get it ...

The Pitiful Pit

    Just when I thought the putrid smell couldn’t get any worse, it hit me again with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. The theater in the inn’s courtyard reeked of stale urine, rotten vegetables and body odor that may as well have been a decaying corpse. The pandemonium bounced around the walls and spewed out from the open roof onto the streets outside. Amazingly, I could still hear the dueling between the dog and the bear even over the chattering and cheering of the people around me.
    The day’s story was a comedy, judging by the used-to-be white flag outside (a tragic brawl left the flag splattered red with sinful blood, how morbidly ordinary). The second my eyes met the magnificent heavens mounted above the stage, I knew my one penny was worth the entrance. I pushed and shoved through the crowd of grimy people until I got to the front of the towering wooden stage. I felt a...

My Mother is a Kettle of Tea

My mother is a kettle of tea. There is no routine for tea in my eerily serene home. It is simply spontaneous, but lovely. The boiling city juice isn’t as alarming as it is often mistaken to be. Instead, it creates a steam that delivers warmth throughout the cold home. The flavours range from a lulling chamomile to an eccentric spice dragon. Today’s flavour is earl grey. The ambiance is filled with the delicate fragrance as the teabag is submerged into the water. The deep orange seeps out from the bag in a psychedelic dance, overpowering the bland purity. The taste is tranquil and strong, and it reminds me of summer.

The Pitiful Pit

Just when I thought the putrid smell couldn’t get any worse, it hit me again with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. The theatre in the inn’s courtyard reeked of stale urine, rotten vegetables and body odor that may as well have been a decaying corpse. The pandemonium bounced around the walls and spewed out from the open roof onto the streets outside. Amazingly, I could still hear the barking of the dog and the growling of the bear dueling even over the chattering and cheering of the people around me.
    The day’s story was a comedy, judging by the used-to-be white flag outside (a tragic brawl left the flag splattered red with sinful blood, how morbidly ordinary). The second my eyes met the magnificent heavens mounted above the stage, I knew my one penny was worth the entrance. I pushed and shoved through the crowd of grimy people until I got to the front of the towering wooden...

It Didn't Have to End (part three)

        My frown droops down more, like wax melting under the glare of the sun. Is this kid serious? I don’t know if it’s the drugs inside or the persistence in front of me that’s causing me pain, but I’m beginning to care less about dying alone. It might be nice to have someone there, so I tell him, “ Badger.”
     His face contorts into a playful grimace and he questions,” Badger? What kind of name is that?”
    “I-it’s a nickname.”
    “Well, what’s your real name?”
    “I’ll never tell.”
    “It’s still a weird nickname,” he insists arrogantly, but instead of cussing him out for it like I’d do any other day, I smirk and fire back at him.
    “W-what’s y-your name then, s-sm-smart-ass?” I bite my tongue realizing what I just called him, but calm down upon the grin that begins to grow on his freckled face. Perhaps that boyish joy of finally being trusted around swears. I once knew...

It Didn't Have to End (part two)

    I feel my stomach churn so hard I double over. I throw my head back against the tree trunk and wince at the pain. I feel the warmth leaving my body as my skin turns white.
    Suddenly, the pandemonium inside stops at once. The sound of nature comes back to me and is louder than ever. My head spins and the world moves like a seesaw. I push my legs out and lay my head against the damp moss, trying to smooth out my breathing. I look up at the sky through the spaces that the leaves and branches have spared and I keep staring to calm myself. If I’m leaving this world, I’m not leaving fighting. I already fought through life.
    I hear a noise in the distance, like a child imitating a plane. I lift my head up to see a boy, about six years old, coming my way. He hasn’t seen me yet. I can’t imagine how...

The Fire That Happened

The house I grew up in was grey.
The dead grass laid around it like a barren moat of needles
And every time the sun showed up, it didn't shine
It glared upon us instead
Like a cyclops in the sky,
It would stare.

The house I grew up in was clad in age
Dilapidated and broken.
Inside was a ballroom for dust:
Cobwebs like streamers and confetti.
Each dust particle swirled and twirled under the sunlight that'd break in,
Dancing to the beat of my father's fist pounding.

                                                  Every other house on the street was a loaf of bread:
                                                  Fresh from the oven,
                                                  Big...

The Fire That Happened

The house I grew up in was grey.
The dead grass laid around it like a barren mote of needles
And every time the sun showed up, it didn't shine
It glared upon us
Like a cyclopes in the sky
It would stare.

The house I grew up in was clad in age
Dilapitated, broken.
Inside was a ballroom for dust,
Cobwebs like streamers and confetti.
Each dust particle swirled and twirled under the sunlight that'd break in,
Dancing to the beat of my father's fist pounding.

                                                  Every other house on the street was a loaf of bread,
                                                  Fresh from the oven,
                                                  Big and warm,...

Hang My Ego

    I've always been aware of the power that was wrapped up in my words. I knew that despite the little space I took up in the world, my thoughts and opinions mattered, especially when I said them out loud. I understood that insults weren't taken lightly even if what I said was kind of true. But I didn't care.
    The only thing that mattered to me at the time was how I felt about myself, completely neglecting what I was doing to others. My friends were amused, so I didn't think much of it. It never really occurred to me that they could've been eclipsing a bigger picture with their slim bodies. I was completely oblivious until something happened. I went too fast... too far. I was sliding off the side of a mountain, and I couldn't save myself because the girl that I'd hurt had clasped her firm hand around my tiny ankle. She insisted that I'd...

Venture into the Wood

    I never realised how dry and barren the forest looked in Autumn. Yet, with every step I took, I felt the rustic orange leaves sloshing into the damp dirt beneath me. It was not as quiet as I thought it'd be. You could hear the waterfall in the distance, squirrels, and woodpeckers- the usual, I guess. But it was my lover's humming that was the most significant. I spun around to face her. Her face was quiet abstract. Her eyes were like dark chocolate, brown and bitter. Her cheek bones and jawline were dangerously sharp, but the rest of her face was soft and warm. I was always intrigued by her physical appearance. I saw her face as an oxymoron. Many of her features didn't agree with each other, but together they created a unique work of art. 
    I figured I was staring at her for while 'cause I could tell she was getting uncomfortable. She wanted to...

Something to Think About

The world is so much more than what you see out of a window.

And For the First Time

    My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as my eyes gaze ahead onto the open road. My thin lips stretch out into a wild grin, feeling the Los Angeles wind blow the Glendale out of my long hair. I rest my shoulders back into the seat of my Corvette.It's an old ride, but the wheels run over the hard concrete smoother than ever. The mountainous, green landscape reveals itself and the clouds spread over the sky like the stretchmarks on my skin. The glamour of this place is acknowledged quicker than thoughts that drift into my mind. I can hear the clicking of heels from here, as if it's the sound of all those stars calling me over as a friend. I let out a sigh and feel as though I was truly in the embrace of freedom. And for the first time, I was content.

Names, Names, Names

No Thing Is A Thing Without A Name

A breakfast joint: Dreamers' Refuge, where the dreamers seek refuge in a cup of coffee.
A new smartphone: The iknow, since it's a pretty smart phone.
An eyeglasses store: Visions for the future, because we create visions for the future.
A dog pound: The Golden Retrievers, because we often find lost dogs and return them.
A highway: Sober n' Smooth, because if you're sober, your ride will be smooth.
An island resort: Mundane Mornings, where people wake up feeling like humans and not zombies for the first time in forever.
A new constellation: Paulo, the flying lizard.
A pet polar bear: Howard, because why not?
A nail polish colour: Enchanting Evergreen, because of the vivid shade of green and it's ever lasting, like an evergreen.
A new butterfly species: The Feathered Flutter, the wings are made of feathers.