Gerhana

[horus1989]

...and good smoking too

The colors of the 50s are black, white, and salesman pushing lung cancer

-/-

Image from

Good night, and good luck

[horus1989]

I drink my whiskey the way I like a woman to be. Dressed all in red with killer legs and a cold hard face. Smooth, with a hint of danger and fire.

Recipe (12 years old whiskey): Strathisla as based (fruity), small amount of Glenlivet (citrus), generous amount of Auchentoshan (creamy) with some amount of Scapa (smoky).

It’s fruity with citrus note, creamy toffee with a touch of rich smoke.

#mychivasblend #femmefatale #whiskey #noir #blackandwhite https://www.instagram.com/p/B0z9OrBhE7a/?igshid=6p765e65z7jz

[horus1989]

There is nothing noir about sunrise. There is too much a new day, a new hope for good things to come and all that each day brings new possibilities catharsis. Even if the sun were rising over the dune, shining lights on all the dead buried with their dreams, or debts, or an ice pick to the head under the sand, there would still be hope. At most it's an escape to the lonely and fucked up junky of inspirational quotes. There is nothing noir about sunrise. No matter how you look at it. There is too much hope for the broken, the nicotine, and the dead to save. #noir #sunrise #holiday #inspiration #catharsis #drug #escape #hope https://www.instagram.com/p/B0dy_9ZBP9R/?igshid=34jihj6q5xor

[horus1989]

In the rusted dimmed bar I approach a man for an interview but with a coarse “I have a sore throat bro” he declined and we exchanged a business card and I moved on. I got a job to do, a quota to fill. Once done and after a few rounds of drinking and mingling, I return to the table where the guy was seated, and he was accompanied by another.

He acknowledged and included me, telling the other guy how we met. He got me up to speed about retail business. I listened in curiously.

Throughout his talk of his experience, successes and struggles, he was ice cool easy. Animated as a boy of 16, with a poise of enthusiastic honesty at the age of early 30s. His gesture was fuelled by wine, and his words wore a finely tailored suit of business passion. He slowly pulled the guy in successfully right before my unblinking eyes and awed smile. I guess I was pulled in too. His talk interspersed with clinking and deep gulped of new world red. The cheers was for the good natured night - and perhaps new ventures. The young cool businessman had not a hint of slippery, rancid hook pulling for a buck. He hypnotizes like a headlight - or a smoke at the end of a barrel shimmying in the air.

#blackandwhite #noir #influence #negotiation #businessdeal #honesty #hypnotize https://www.instagram.com/p/B0L0ko8B1A1/?igshid=rkpjuc6ijljf

[horus1989]

You know you’re addicted

You know you’re addicted when you’re in and out of it. Through your feverish delirium, the moving image of her scruffy looks plays with your heart. And you could recall her natural sweet scent and taste kissed by the sun, slightly richer due to cigarette, wine and humid air. You could feel the singe on your lips and fingers, just like when you were learning her.  You could hear her voice and her moan. She was your musical instrument. You live with questions of reality and dream, and you want to relive the moment once more. You know you’re addicted.

-/-

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Susie Bick

[horus1989]

A Bottle for Two

Sure, I used to believe in romance, in destiny, in taking the long route. I wasn't always the way I am now. Pessimistic. Only looking for a quick fix with the fair sex. Displaying manners that should be buried in a grave somewhere. I once believed, in this infinite universe, a man and a woman were born of the same soul, energy, or chemistry... whatever you prefer. They were placed far apart so that after years, when they finally found one another, the union would be sweet, and everything would make sense. That was until reality hit me, to the point that my belief walked out of me. I watched it from the corner of my eye, to see if it would stop, if it would come back, even after it was long gone. I ordered two shots. I told him to leave the bottle. Every new year's eve I set a glass aside in memory of it. Hoping the drink would vanish when I turn to look at it, and see a new, yet familiar smile mouthing a warm 'hello'. I guess I'm still sentimental like that.

-/-

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Humphrey Bogart

[horus1989]

Mario

I knew she was trouble the moment she stumbled into my office. Long legs, blonde, sad eyes. She pleaded for a cop. I was just a plumber. It said so on the door, so I turned her away. I grew sick of this corrupt city. I was nursing the last shot of whiskey. I had a bad night, and my night was about to get worse. I saw her getting kidnapped from the window. I don't need the guilt. Bowser's furniture. That's what's written on the van. I knew Bowser. At least, I've heard of him. He owned everything. She was as good as dead. I was the only chance she had got. I took my piece and went on a suicidal rampage. Stepping on people's head, searching for her, searching for myself.... When I thought she was within reach, I thought wrong. Just like everything else in my life. This is the third time I've heard the same sentence. "She's in another mansion". -/-

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Nintenbooks

[horus1989]

Untitled (WIP)

Chapter 1 - Welcome Home

The boat is swaying in the darkest night as it approaches the dock, guided by the lighthouse and the full moon. The man is at the boat’s bow, watching the dock lighted by thousand lights draws closer.  Georgetown, Penang. A bustling town with traders from all over the world. A town that rarely sleep. A town to buy and trade various common and rare goods.  The town is especially known for spices, tin, opium and rice. One could take up trading, work in civil service, join the military or become a private servant to the elite. A fresh pair of eyes would see a place that promises opportunity. 

A native from that town, he knows it has a story that is different than how it is seen. Slavery is also a common practice. Migrants in debt and deceived by a promise of an opportunity can be bought in bulk. Their lives were so worthless that kidnapping was common, and nothing was done to stop it. The mistreatments of the Chinese and the Indians migrant were rampant. Reports of death and abuses were also common.

The boat passes the British fort and is docked. The native man wearing the commercial fishing workwear, with his skin weathered by the sea, disembarks with his belonging. The cold salty wind is biting his cheek. The creaking noises of the dock under his boots as he walks welcome him home. The splashing thick waves against the posts sound like the pleas of the lost bodies sunk into the ocean. The dock was once painted with blood by the riot between the Blue and the Grey flag led by secret societies. Then world war one and the great depression occurred. The rich and the poor were divided. It is a town that takes everything from you and gives back only to the select few. Still, many came to try and change their lives. They were deceived by appearance.  

On the way into the town, the tropical weather and walking are warming him. The boats and the sampans quietly sway in their place. He notices the place is littered with British officers. Some are gathering, some are being merry, and some are dealing with pimps and chatting up painted and coquettish prostitutes.

Reaching the town, it is characterised with block shophouses lining up next to one another. Single storey buildings with a mixture of the oriental and the European architecture. Their designs were of lime plastered thick brick walls with terracotta floors. Originally they were used by the Chinese and the Indians migrant. When the European came, the shophouses underwent an evolution. From the outside, it can be seen that the orient influenced was the carved timber door. The European influenced were the shuttered windows and projected roof.  They were commonly used as stores, shops, or living quarters. It is common for the shophouses to be used for commercial purposes on the ground floor, and a living quarter on the first floor. He can see shadows of activities upstairs in some of the shophouses. Walking further, he sees hawker stalls on the street. Their scents are luring hungry customers of all ethnicity. The town is lively with men's banters, women's giggles and clanking sounds of pans and pots. Red lanterns hung on doors, and sarees and batiks of various colours and patterns from night shops give colours to the town.

Once he reaches the boardinghouse, he hears faint music. He opens the door. The thick familiar smell of smoke and alcohol wafts to his face. He sees British officers around watching and jeering. Their eyes at the stage. The swinging chandelier due to the breeze shifts the light slowly back and forth. Then he sees her. A native woman of average height. Her long, black hair to her waist is free and wild. She wears a burgundy flapper dress. It hugs her slim body and highlights her curves  and her blossomed breasts. The upper part of her dress is almost see through. The officers cheer.  Her brown, long, neck bare to the crowd, caressed by her hand as if she is being made love to. She bends a little and tilts her head slightly back. Her firm teasing thigh slip through the side slit of her dress,  and is caressed by her other hand. Her face is blank. Her full, soft,  lips are moist and slightly parted. Her eyes are jaded but once they see him, they never leave him as she dances her routine. The music is leading her. It starts slow and appropriate, building up to a wild and lustful rhythm. It seems to him the world is suddenly quiet and there is only her. Her dances intoxicate him with intimate suggestions. He notices her slim, elegant hands and the underside of her wrists. Her movements are light, as if she is without burden and worry from the world. The weather and her movements are heating her up. She is slightly wet with sweat. Her body seems to say that she is ready and is for the taking. Close, but just out of reach. Poor, silly, men. He cannot tell how long he has been staring at her. The whole room is hypnotised by the smokes, the alcohols and mostly her erotic and sensuous presence.

When the dance is finish, everyone cheers and resume their activities. The woman walks towards him, passing by a few patron eyeing her lustfully and catcalling her. She ignores them. Once her face is close to him, he can feel her breath on his chest, see her eyes staring up at him and smell her sweet womanly scent, as she whispers "welcome home honey".

-/-

A work of fiction. Not historically accurate.

-By Dinie.

Image Sarina Hayes Hoyt (2005) Old Penang. 

[horus1989]

A Kiss from a Bullet

A picture says a thousand words. A bullet says a passion that can be felt straight from the sender's heart. The bullet grazed through his cheek like a searing kiss that electrifies his skin. It reminded him of the first time they kissed after professing their love at a cliff during sunset. It's the kiss that says it will last forever. But this kiss is her last. The kiss that says goodbye. He listened to her footsteps as she walks away with conviction. She hesitates for a moment thinking she could fix it. It's too late. She walks away. After a long while, he opened his eyes. Her footsteps echo in his heart long after she was gone. -/- Image Walter

[horus1989]

A Little Lust, a Little Love

He is waiting alone in the room, taking in his surrounding. Noticing all the valuables, finding out what type of a woman she is. A moment later she walks in. She takes a glass, fills it with amber liquid and offers it to him. He thanks her. She leans against the door. Her right hand hugging her body, just under her bosom, graceful and relaxed.

“Please, sit. Did you find the place easy?”

“It was easy enough ma'am.”

“I am sorry for bothering you at this hour. It’s the only time I am free.” She apologizes, but not quite apologetic.

“It’s not a problem.”

“I supposed so. We’re not that much different. We work at night and sleep at dawn.”

She gives him a slow, curious, sidelong look before another word leaves her lips. “How did you end up with this career?” Her smile is as sweet as her curve.

“How does anyone end up with this kind of career?”

“Well, I’m curious. I was told you’re the best in the business. It must take years”

He drinks the whiskey. She takes the bottle with her and sits on the opposite chair. She crosses her legs.

“Some men were born honest. Most men were born a talented thief. All natural like. As if a gift from a God. I was honest, and then I was a fool. All natural like.”

“Tell me.” She tilts her head, quizzical.

“A woman with expensive taste. And my heart.”

“Of course.” She laughs a little, amused with a tint of pity. Her bosom heaves a little, flirting with his eyes. She uncrosses her smooth, inviting legs nonchalantly. Just enough for any man to lose his countenances. Then she crosses them again.

“I’m here because you need me to steal something.”

She refills his glass. Her fingers accidentally touch his, sending electric all over his body. Her eyes didn’t say it’s an accident. Her quick, stealthy smile even less so. “Are you always this direct?”

His eyes bore into her. “Only to the woman I like but can’t have.”

Meeting his gaze, her eyes are gunslinger steady. “Do you like me?”

“The moment I saw you at the opening of the casino. You in the black dress, next to Big Cash, walking down the red carpet. I was among the bottom billion crowd. I didn’t care for you. Then our eyes met. At that moment, I felt my soul for the first time as if it was placed by the hand of Heaven, telling me you were the one. You were a painted picture done by Angel’s feather that occupies my dream still. Everything else was quiet and light. I wanted you. I can’t have you. The world wouldn’t be right.”

Startled, she turns away from him. Her voice a gray suspicion “I bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

He drinks the whiskey. “Maybe.”

She gives him a sidelong look. In consideration. Silence takes hold of her. Then her gaze averts away.

“ When your butler called, it was all I look forward to. I waited for the time to come.” His gaze, from her eyes, they caress her cheeks, slowly to her lips, and to her neck, as he speaks. “Dreams of you are no longer a sustenance for my heart. I longed to see you once more.” He walks to her and takes hold of her hand. “Perhaps I should go. The world is telling me to go. But to hell with the world.” He pulls her up to her feet, close to him.

She draws her hand away. After a moment, she meets his gaze again. “To hell with the world.” Her hand on his chest, she guides him back to the chair and sit on his lap. He wraps his hands around her. She whispers to him a secret message, her voice honeyed and thick. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m trouble.”

“I am what I am.” He leans in and kisses her slightly parted lips. She is moist and warm. She feels like home.

She pulls back suddenly, biting her lips. “Are you afraid of Big Cash?”

“I had a fair share of danger.”

In careful thoughts. Then she gives him a smile that stopped time.

“I need you to steal something for me.”

-/-

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To Have and Have Not (1944)

[horus1989]

Sorry Black Angel

The sudden ring of the black telephone did not bring him back. He is submerged in the past. His memory is a black hooded figure calling him to the barren jaw that swallowed his sanity when the border he used to carve the state of right and wrong float away from his gripping fingers and evaporate into the fantasy land. It was simple. To pull or not to pull the trigger. He pulled.  He was too angry not to pull. Sometimes It's the simple things that change a life. Now the dead points their rotten fingers at him whenever he goes for a shave in the bathroom. The black telephone keeps ringing pushing all the silence out of the room. Not today. Nothing the phone say will do it today. Today is the day to swallow a fistful of pills and embrace the black veil.

-/-

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The Maltese Falcon (1941)

[horus1989]

Selling a Love Song

She sells love convincingly as her voice exude her soul. But her soul is good at lying and her voice swims in it as gullible as a man who believed he's the one. The only truths in this whole song is a woman with a rundown heart no money could fix. Her adventurous fingers that smile a tricky smile of a thief. Plus a pair of legs that could burn hips, sculpted from all the running and disappearing.

-/- Image Dark City (1998)

[horus1989]

A Girl in Wonderland

The rain taps the motel windows like the chilly fingers of a bored psychiatrist at an asylum. The wind applause for the opening of the play as customary for a theater. Inside the room, an innocent face sees a protective guardian in the mirror. Her lips read "it's okey", her eyes cast safety net and motherly love. The face giggles a giggle of an eight years old. Suddenly a drop of worry and uncertainty tainted her serene milky face as she turn around looking at the half-rabbit half-woman lying down on the floor invitingly. "What a wonderful Halloween". The guardian agrees and echoes the rabbit. "We're going on an adventure". The rabbit agrees and echoes the guardian. The girl's face changes to excitement as she jumps up and down. "All of this is for you" as the guardian lead her to the rabbit. "Hooray!" both of them exclaim to the girl. She mounted the rabbit and looked at the guardian. Her lips read "It's okey" and her eyes unconditionally approved, as the girl's hands reach and hold the rabbit's neck. "Hooray!" exclaim the rabbit again and again as the girl's grip tightened. The girl giggles a giggle of an eight years old. "That's a good girl" the guardian firmly patted her head. "I'm a good girl" she affirm to herself. "I'm a good girl"

-/-

Image Kim Cogan

[horus1989]

A Case of Broken Heart

He didn't have much, but he had her. A wife to come back to.... Love... The kind of love sold by the mass media. A sweet face to wake up to the next morning. Except his life wasn't a romantic comedy. You know, the kind screened every valentine's day. 313 AM. It was right around this time he had found her body. Suicide. As a cop, he had been good at solving things. But how to solve a broken heart? He figures it's the kind of mystery that requires a healthy lifestyle of hard drinking, self-pity, and permanent lapse in good judgement... if not a bullet to his own head.

-/-

Image Richardson

[horus1989]

A Feline on a Hunt

He heard a woman's purr, calling him. Then a pair of hands pulls him closer into the shadow. He could smell her scent, a cocktail of perfume and wild pheromone. There is a defiant, immoral glint in her eyes, and just enough flesh exposed to engage his imagination. He could feel her enveloping gaze and warm, sweet breath. It's that kind of night. A night of sin and the thrill of being discovered. He protests, for his lover in the next room, and her husband entertaining the guests. She liked his resistance. It brings a burning passion to her flesh. He reminded her of a little mouse running around her feet, looking for a door that did not exist.

-/- Image Jack Vettriano

[horus1989]

Poison

Thick honey cloaking the venomous lips. An inviting sweetness to muddle the toxin. A thick skin-suit made out of eggshells. An armor for a vacuum, a black hole of a heart. Ravenous as everyone. Though, never had enough. Don’t let go, and clutch it tight. It is needed to keep on looking… to stuff the repulsive naked flesh, in a warm smile or a tough demeanor, every time it is slashed by a knife.

Because no one likes a poison…

-/- Image  Jack Vettriano

[horus1989]

A Difficult Job

He takes a deep breath and the heavy smoke fill his lungs as he inhale the freshly lit cigarette. The thin heat spread across his body before it abandon him, taking along with it the warm feeling of being alive, into the city’s air. He breathes out to the night sky, and once more with the cold, pricking his flesh to the bone. He taps his feet on the street, just outside the alleyway. His ears pick up a static noise with sporadic, faint music. He couldn’t hear the whole piece, so he waits. A few faces walk past by him. They never see him. Not a glance or a word he has received for as long as he could remember. Out of place, so different, yet not noticeable. It gave him a thirst for recognition. A voice that gift a greeting. A gaze of familiarity. Just a drop of water on his tongue. A lonely existent in an eternal stretch of spaces and times littered with impersonal foreign things that define other people. But the reality in his world is much simpler. Things exist, and then they didn’t. He calls any place a home and could just as easily abandon it. In his lonely world, only madness and sorrow remain the constant voices of reason. He is the embodiment of anonymity. He belonged and at the same time alienated from this world. Sorrow built a home in his heart.

The music is becoming clearer now, this is where it’s supposed to happen. Just a drop, he hoped. A medicine for his insanity. Farther on the street a woman is walking. Her music is clear now. The rhythm of her heart looks like a withering lily in autumn’s day, but still alive and sweet with hope. Her love is free, and easily broken. If one were so inclined to pluck the wings of a nightingale. But she would have kept moving forward, with traces of love and broken heart painted on her face. She would still learn to love and learn to trust. He found her rhythm to be beautiful. She is beautiful to him.

All the set pieces were ready. The drug addict behind him, next to the dumpster just out of money, found a knife he planted earlier. He kicked a little desperation into his heart. He wait and watch while smoking the cigarette. Being alive and dead, with each movement of his lungs.

The addict is waking up from his slumber and the woman is getting closer now. The addict sees her and calls her. The woman ignores him and keeps on walking. He jogs over and pull her purse. The woman resisted and before she could scream, he took out a knife and swing at the string. Instead, it slashes her hand. She scream. Panic, he stabs her multiple time, before running away with her purse. Leaving her body on the street, bleeding. The music is draining out of her, the volume is getting lower, the rhythm more calm and slow. Until silence. He felt sorry, it was nothing personal. She has reached her expiration date.

He steps on his cigarette, straighten his suit and walks towards her. She slowly stands up. He greeted her and ask for forgiveness. He only gets to make first impression. Just a drop, he hoped desperately behind his grieving smile. She looks confused and utterly lost, before being swallowed by a bright light. Just like that she is gone. Nothing now. Just silence circled by the noises and commotions of the onlooker surrounding her body. His hope was a fragile glass against a hailing rain. Lonely and invisible once more. Sometimes in this job, you learn to love and kill the things you love. It’s difficult being Death, but someone has to do it.

-/-

image from techi24