Three Tourists Having a Good Time

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Strutting through the Old Quarter,
wearing a Nón Lá,
Ho Chi Minh t-shirt,
socks, and undies,
cigarette smoke.

Enchanting incense and chimes.
Vital heat and vigilance
on the streets of difference.

Laughing, pushing.
Fight.

Three cups of Vietnamese Càphê
in a Café,
both hot and iced.
So black and thick, it tastes like oil;
[Contemplative]
[Addictive]

[Elusive]
[Intense]

A hundred days since we left Hanoi,
shoe shiners,
street vendors, and their Bok Choys.

No matter how –
crossing the streets was a jeopardy,
where we heeled, there abides felicity

of the three careless tourists,
of the three pampered tourists
with mild gaucherie,
and assorted memories

to reminisce.


 

Kim Thipwalee’s Three Tourists Having a Good Time has been published by Life in 10 Minutes

Ten minutes is long enough to uproot your life, get caught in a storm, drink a cup of coffee, memorize a child’s face, wash a sink full of dishes, recite wedding vows, fall in love with someone you shouldn’t, eat a sandwich, remember a dream, call an old friend, sketch a figure model, read a chapter, listen to your favorite song, get on or off the train that will change the course of your life forever. Ten minutes is enough time to write something strange and beautiful and true without editing the strangeness and beauty and truth out of it. We all have ten minutes, many times a day, so it’s hard to come up with convincing excuseseven to our secret innermost selveswhy we don’t. Ten minutes is everything we can’t fit into a Facebook status, it’s slice of life, short-shorts, a Polaroid picture, a poem, a prayer.

What stories from your life can you write in ten minutes?

http://www.lifein10minutes.com/

Age of Exploration II (The Song of Your Pious Libido and Apostasy)

This sound was here again, much louder this time. You perceived it between your legs. Your wrists twisted as you salivated. You tap-danced and crooned along with its euphonious tune; stirred it; shook it. You could not resist dry-humping it. Its rousing beats spiced up your womb. The sound permitted you to transgress it.

This sound was playful and elusive. It sounded a bit like Aerosmith. The lyrics were too complicated to interpret, though it made your desires bloom. It made you jump right into the bottomless pit of nasty cocoons. It cured the Dyspepsia you’d had for the last two weeks.

 

He didn’t seem to be bothered by it, as this clutch of virtue regretfully vanished. Still unfurled his lips into a generous smile of a kind Bastard and Saint, as appeared in the portrait you had kept in your wallet; he’d never notice.

 

He never punished you for your heresies, your gluttony, and your hubris. You managed to get away and find a solid revival after the night you copulated with demigods from Hell and Lucifer, himself amidst the dim brightness spraying from a pallid crescent at Mrs.O’Reilly’s flowery courtyard, forced her to call the police. Your mother wasn’t punished for her polygamy. Your sister was always free to steal your jeans, shampoo, goldfish, and be a bitch. Your sinful fornications had, in fact, never been exceedingly secretive, as you went to the churches every now and then, both to confess and to give head to the priests…

Some said the love He bestowed comprises no sense of limit; you ought to believe that this was true. He loved you, and therefore could never see you burn within the eternity of inferno. What a poor oaf!  

Seduced by the intensity of its dulcet pulses, you allowed those ghostly fingers to pull your lace panty down, enjoyed the blast of this sexy Sha-Sha between your widespread thighs. Slided it in real deep, soaked it in the puddle of salty fluid you have conjured, pulled it out, and then served it during supper for your family members to eat.


Thanks for the writing prompt provided by Firewords Quarterly

Kim Thipwalee Srimaphan

26/06/2016

Age of Exploration I

Sister,

do you remember when we  were invading her uterus?

The longish journey we made as a fetus

when we glided through this

gestational ruckus.

Sister,

don’t you think this wet cavern smells like her cervical mucus?

We came ashore; the sea billowed, when someone praised –

Baby Jesus

while they sliced her up with a razor

from the vulva to the anus

 

 

Sister, don’t you think of this vaginal rupture as the zenith of our

Siamese circus?

 

Here comes the

time to get off from this wicked, wet caravel

held by the goddesses of Olympus.

 

You are welcome to Mundus Novus.

 


 

Kim Thipwalee Srimaphan

21/06/2016

When I am Sick: A poem

I am sick;
I’ve been making thousands of eggs and sandwiches.
Slicing onions, greens, paprikas,
bananas, gymnasts,
jugglers,
and tricyclists,
as if I could digest a thing apart –-
— from frustration,
desperation,
and regression;
that’s right, I’m sick

Last night I washed my thick curls of hair
in your bath tub.
Sitting topless in a chained closet
where I reached the deepest point of the seven seas.
I couldn’t breathe, but
I slept with him in it
because I was (and still) sick.

You there, you see —
I have a pair of oddly dizzy eyes
with salted sandwiches and
a chronic dermatitis.

How I wish I could see this planet as I –-
used to when I
was a small, soulless kid;
a young nitwit;
a teenage conformist.

Looking forward to a vacation
which will take place in the next two weeks.

Watching the complete series of British comedies
set in the 80’s.
Eat to pass lonely minutes.
Still laughing like I’d never done this
when I am sick.

Dying inside.
Blind and partially
Americanized.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I truly wish
that I could have picked
a different place and time

To live
To regret
And to sleep

when I am sick.
.
.
.
[Does anyone want a sandwich?]

‘When I am Sick’ , apoem by Kim Thipwalee has been published by Life In 10 Minutes.


 

“Ten minutes is long enough to uproot your life, get caught in a storm, drink a cup of coffee, memorize a child’s face, wash a sink full of dishes, recite wedding vows, fall in love with someone you shouldn’t, eat a sandwich, remember a dream, call an old friend, sketch a figure model, read a chapter, listen to your favorite song, get on or off the train that will change the course of your life forever. Ten minutes is enough time to write something strange and beautiful and true without editing the strangeness and beauty and truth out of it. We all have ten minutes, many times a day, so it’s hard to come up with convincing excuseseven to our secret innermost selveswhy we don’t. Ten minutes is everything we can’t fit into a Facebook status, it’s slice of life, short-shorts, a Polaroid picture, a poem, a prayer.”

http://www.lifein10minutes.com

‘Reconciliation’ : A Short Story

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‘Reconciliation and Other Stories and Poems’ is a collection of the winning submissions from the 2015 competition and includes 13 stories and poems submitted from English learners all around the world. Each submission has been edited and illustrated to create a truly unique and inspirational book. This book will motivate and challenge the boundaries of your fluency, and hopefully inspire you to share with us as well.

The term above is what CreatEng Cafe has given as a book description on the release of ‘Reconciliation etc.’ (Let’s just call it like this, shall we?).

CreatEng Cafe is a community for English learners based in Canada. It is known to encourage learners to express their ideas via creative progressions. Its annual creative writing competition has been operating since 2012, and at this year’s competition, my short story — Reconciliation — has achieved 1st place!

I am proudly presenting to you: ‘Reconciliation and Other stories and Poems’. May it pique your interest to read the entire story.

Your purchase will be considered as the great support for all writers whose work have been published as a content of this anthology, and if you are interested in submitting your own stories to next year’s competition, visit CreatEng Cafe 2016 Creative Writing Competition for more details.

Love,
Kim.

Gobs of Poppycock

….. Momma says she is frigid. We push the moon towards the stairs while Venus flirts with sodomized raccoons. Rickety, fidgety. The moon is tea. Firing the machine gun to the church key, as all knives are falconry and she has been primarily adopted. A rocket launches your TV. Wrong postal code; a tragedy. Still promise not to drop it. Horse carriage. Getting hit in the face with a sandal. Not so funny, but still enjoy fruity flashlights. The end is near. Misogyny is rice. Seriously, why does your knee cry and contempt? Too much curry, too many spines. I am not high — I swear to Dogs! — Curse the writer’s block. Sincerely. Good night!

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His Weekly Jubilation : A Short Story

 Get rip/torn magazine Issue 5 on Etsy 1237046125

There was a time when I was drowned in the shallow waves of hesitation when I began to search for the gates of  opportunities to kickstart myself in the global market. There appeared to be many more valuable results than I had anticipated: a variety of globally well-known literature agents, unknown online magazines, locally based prose collectors, and writing competitions. The number of chances are uncountable, even for a single month, but not every magazine would appreciate the amount of wickedness in the stories I regularly craft.

Amongst other magazines, Rip/Torn Collective was one of a few that had fixed a unique theme, and seemed to have a particular interest in such intense anomaly; something dark and maverick; unique and sensational. I felt it would be delighted to see my work being displayed along with the rest of its deep and daring contents. Therefore, I decided to submit a flash fiction which, I believe, would be perfectly relevant to the theme: “Obsession/Repulsion“, and this had officially made me one of the contributors of Rip/Torn magazine issue 5.

“…He knew where it came from; the seduction of surreal beauty. Instantaneously, the whole vision began to break, as if his sanity was twisting away. A lot of efforts were needed to coerce himself not to be lured by it; calm down! — not now, not like this — The entire ceremony must be completed step-by-step. One could never reach the top of heaven by skipping its stairways…”

Kim Thipwalee Srimaphan, His Weekly Jubilation

___________________________________

His Weekly Jubilation is an alternative flash fiction about a man whose sexual fantasy has a peculiar connection to what others would treat with highest respect; a deity. The full story has been published in print, and is available to purchase, as Rip/Torn magazine will be launching the 5th issue TOMORROW in Canada.

Have a sneak peek and see what Rip/Torn issue 5 looks like…

As a contributor of this issue, I’d like to send a sincere Thank You to those who have provided their support.

Love, Kim.

 

50 Shades of Chocolate Croissants

Spread them all for me, ladies!
For I am, like, a trophy cup
Come on, come on, split your pulps!
Hold that stud with your wet lips

Soft and big, and so puffy;
Gents and ladies, come tear me up!

Feast on my yeasty organs,
Allow me to stimulate your glands!

Blooming in your bloated belly
Slobbery is a kind of Art
How does it tickle your hip?
Cacao powder for you to sniff!

Another round for you, baby?
Do not wipe your greasy lips.

Devour me and my fellows;
A true heaven to swallow!


 

Kim Thipwalee Srimaphan
30/07/2015