Greetings Visitor!
April 6, 2009
“Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.” - Kevin Arnorld
____________|__Purpose__|____________
With this blog/website of mine, I hope to compile all my creations into one location so that I may access it in the future. Computer hardware is unreliable (looks back at lost pictures and game maker data from previous hard drive malfunction) and thus I resort to the world wide web! Although this is mainly for me, those who wish to peruse through the works that is Kevin Sim may do so (as if you needed my permission!). Comments and the like are of course appreciated :)
____________|__Contact__|____________
AIM: Mr Ketski
MSN: ketski@hotmail.com
E-Mail: ketski@hotmail.com
____________|__Copyright__|____________
All works on this website (excluding those which I have cited) have been created by me and thus are Copyrighted ©Kevin Sim (for that is who I am). Although imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, thievery is most certainly not. If you wish to take anything here and post it elsewhere, please ask first! (through any of the contact methods listed above) Thank you very much!
Inside My Heart
November 3, 2009
There is a creature to be born in a simple bubble within all the mess that is who I am.
Complexity
November 3, 2009
When all is hectic, focus on the center. It is really quite simple.
Doodle Batch (1)
November 3, 2009
Philosophy on Life
April 27, 2009
Philosophy on Life
by Kevin Sim
From limbs to bones
From flesh to skin
Our bodies are then composed
From memories within
From experiences told
Our minds are then revealed
Life is a conflicting adventure of the transitory and the eternal
It is a long story told when we first begin to walk
It it a short story told when we begin to cripple
The never ending tale in the images we cherish
The fleeting picture in our reflections of the past
A sunset across the horizon to be seen and remembered
A footprint on the beach to be washed away and forgotten
Life is an image flashed before our eyes
And it is the documentary of our Happiness,
Our Sadness
And our Everything
Self-Poem
April 6, 2009
Self-Poem
There is a little boy sitting in the back of the room.
He is sixteen years old.
In his right hand lies a bright red led pencil with a black rubber grip.
The boy has been using that pencil for three years.
His skin is dry, and his hands callous.
The room is dark; the light source is the window.
He glances to his side
He awes at the bright green leaves of an old oak tree.
A smile is formed across his face.
Green is his favorite color after all.
He begins to draw a heart on his paper.
It is his own.
He colors it in with his bright red led pencil.
It is now black like the feathers of a crow.
The boy’s hand twitches slightly.
He begins to scratch the wound on his hand,
Made by none-other than the claws of his dearest cat.
The wound begins to open up again.
Speckles of bright red blood emerges.
A drop falls unto his paper.
It falls unto his black heart.
It is now red.
Night Creatures I
April 6, 2009
The night has come.
The day has gone.
The creatures of the night
Have come out to play.
They join their deformed hands
In a circle they dance
They laugh. They sing
Their hideous song.
I can see their eyes.
It is void of emotion.
I can see their soul.
It is pitch black with fear.
They begin to surround me.
There is no escape.
I cry out for help.
It is silent.
Night Creatures II
April 6, 2009
Lee Krasner (1965)
Darkness looms over the town
A whisper of the wind is heard
Laughter.
There is an ambient sound
I can see them. Smiles.
They are deformed.
I see their eyes.
Looking at me.
Smiling. Laughing.
They know what I’ve done
My hands are caught red
No one else can see them.
A hand reaches out to me.
It grabs me tight.
I scream for help
But it is silent.
I try to break free,
But I am captured.
There is no escape.
I close my eyes.
And I give up.
Smiling. Laughing.
I had to write a poem for an artwork for class. This was the final rushed draft.
