Plastic Fantastic


Can you fall in love with an inanimate object? Can you be intimate when the relationship is a one-way street? Can a hyper-realistic doll fill the loneliness that aches inside? This is something South Korean photographer June Korea explores in his photographic essay Still Lives: Eva.

still-lives-eva-june-korea-14June Korea: “Many people are interested in the project and my life because it has to do with such an uncanny subject matter they have rarely seen. However, Eva and I are metaphors – metaphors of our emotions and relationships with humans, cats, dogs, A.I.s, and people living in this lonely world. I hope viewers to find deeper meanings hidden underneath such metaphors, rather than just focusing on the subjects themselves. In the artificial eternity I constructed, I hope for myself and viewers who are struggling with different types of emotions everyday, that we can find more meaning by sharing stories of the solitude in our lives.”

View original post 19 more words



Spidery fingers blot their sticky ink over the vermilion horizon,

A dragonfly alights daintily on a jewelled blade of grass.

The sun retreats demurely to its divine cavern of clouds,

Playing tag with our shadows, skipping through the weary trees.

A faded pink bicycle bowing its embarrassed head on a grassy hillside,

I can hear the harsh call of the collared kingfisher.

And steal a glimpse of her palms, blushed in fuchsia,

As she lights the poignant incense.

Solemn dinner served in blighted tin plates,

As the ancient grandfather clock strikes seven.

A stirring etude on the creaky piano,

My grandmother smiles.

The sunset sheds its dress of rays and pools at her youthful feet.

 © Zelda Reville






Hello, hello!

Okay…I’ve been posting quite a bit recently, and I’m still trying to get used to the odd bit of inspiration popping up at inconvenient times, and making that creativity flow naturally. It feels like someone triggering some gigantic neon EUREKA! sign in my brain without my permission. 

And I would like to say hello to my new readers and followers! *enthusiasticaly waves hand* It’s a first for me on the WordPress platform, getting amazingly warm responses to my writing, which has been very, very encouraging. 

I should add here that I’ve never actually exhibited my work to anyone, apart from myself, the odd teacher, a few close friends (and a cousin who managed to find my admittedly convoluted stories in my closet, read through them and exclaiming,”You could try being a writer!”) while I was still in school. My Maths teacher echoed the same sentiments to my mum after receiving my GCE O’ Level results.”You know, you should get her to use her language skills, it would be a waste.”

I started writing as a kid for kicks, when I realized that it was infinitely easier to create something uniquely mine that no one could blatantly copy. This gradually evolved into an activity largely for self-entertainment, which might also have included some self-amusement. There wasn’t much money lying around for those new-fangled handheld game consoles, and any board games were largely a left-hand-vs-right hand-or-random-stuffed-toy affair (one-and-only kids should know what I’m getting at!), so the best option was to meander around in my imagination like a luxuriously lazy cat, and hastily jot them down on paper. Fantasy stories, short stories, diaries, letters…I tried my hand at writing a fantasy novel but stopped after realizing how hopelessly inept I was at writing love scenes. (To my readers: How do you go about writing one without blushing and embarrassing yourself?) 

I stopped writing when I was studying in a polytechnic school, and it’s been an on-off affair ever since. I would start to write something, get frustrated while trying to work a plot out, and then subsequently get plagued by the nasty gnome of self-doubt (an infamous patron saint of Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky). I just shrugged, and stopped, thinking I probably had lost my touch. 

And then one fine day last month, my mum happens to pick a book up from one of those book-sharing shelves in the vicinity. “Look, it’s about astrology,” she titters, and I take it home to read. I get my natal chart online, and after countless Googling about planets, houses, aspects and chart patterns I am struck by its accuracy: an apparent super-secretive introvert who hides her work away from people’s prying eyes, because she doubts her capabilities.  

Three natal planets (Sun, Moon, Mercury in Libra) in the 12th house, with Mercury conjunct Venus, Sun conjunct Venus…And Sun Rising. And a stellium of Saturn, Uranus and Neptune in Capricorn in the 3rd house. Pluto in Scorpio in the 1st house. Yikes. 

Then a small voice chirps in my head,”Look, it’s always been there, why not have a little more faith in yourself and try again, goddamnit?”

And so here I am, trying my damnedest to spin up ornate literary pictures, hoping that they are not beautiful just for the sake of aesthetics or empty poetry, and hoping that people will read them, savour their meanings and interpret them in vastly different ways, and hopefully learn something new in the process, or gain a new perspective…or…just appreciate beauty In its own merit. 

So…to my readers again: How did you get into writing? What makes your creative juices flow like the Amazon River? Do you write in a notebook, or do you jot them down in an app, like me…or do you have other methods? And are you into astrology? Looking forward to hearing from you in the comments!


Photo by Kantemir Kertiev

Deep pools of saturnine,
And orbs of sapphire spheres filled with smoke refracting the waltzing light,
for the ones blessed with blue eyes;

Warm, hazy-hued sunrises,
Amber lakes with the fiery hue of burnt gold,
as esteemed
by the brown eyed beholden;

The dawn light dappling under trellised leaves,
Lush forests contained in microcosmic worlds of their own,
with nourished soil
of the hazel eyed brethren;

Or the entirety of the Milky Way galaxy on a cool April night,

Contained in snowglobes filled not with snow,
but stars –
for the black-eyed nymphs know nothing and everything.

(I wrote this last year, and I still have no idea on how to write a proper poem…reviews and feedback on poem structure are highly welcomed!)

© Zelda Reville

The Waltz of Venus and Neptune 

“And through the beguiling mist of Neptune’s eyes, the smoke in the most opulent mirrors of his orbs, I witnessed the most wondrous of beauty in the mundane, the divine, the grotesque and evil, the hopeless and in the unconscious staging of my downfall…”

A little literary gift to fellow 12th house Venusians, Venus in Pisces placements and/or/with Venus-Neptune aspects.

I feel you.

© Zelda Reville

Summer’s Day


Pierre August Renoir – Chestnut Tree In Bloom (1881)

Today was one of those days where the incessant rays of the sun bounced off everything, and dazzled the eyes beneath a clear azure sky. You could call it the zenith of all morning summer skies. The sun rays were hot to warm the skin just so, but not burn the surface. It was as if the sun’s vengeance to scorch the entire world had diminished, and decided instead to tuck Gaia in with her warm water bottle. Even the horrible humidity was in control of itself. I didn’t turn into a sweaty mess. The usual amount of ceaseless complaints was noticeably absent from the people around me.

The clouds were not of the fluffy variety, but of the sky-sweeping kind. Think of the milky froth sitting on top of your mocha or latte drink, or the carefully-daubed paint on Renoir’s paintings. A soft shimmer enveloped the edges around the leaves of silent, silvery trees, making one feel as if they were lightly treading the grounds of a dream, instead of the real world. Perhaps because of the seemingly illusory beauty of the sky, there was a haunting melancholy that I secretly savoured throughout the day. It felt too good to be true. Who wants to wake up from a beautiful daydream like this?

But the inevitable always happens. Another lovely summer sky gone, just like that. I didn’t take any pictures of the gorgeous, lilting sky. There wasn’t any need to. We can’t bring anything with us when we step off this earth for the next stop. Memories are good enough for me, even if they end up fuzzy around the edges for the years to come.

© Zelda Reville