ONI MAGAZINE
ONI MAGAZINE
NEO-WEIRD
 

Essays

 
 
IMG_3583.PNG

From Voyeur To psychic: reconsidering the screenplay the lens of the avant garde

If you were to question a moviegoer in the year 1902 about the most exciting part of cinema, their answer would most likely sound like a variation of this: the novelty of the relatively new apparatus of the film camera, and with it, the possibility of a new form of entertainment-the moving image. When the first film cameras and projectors were produced in the late nineteenth century, they were marketed primarily as a technological marvel, projecting short, documentary style-clips of daily European/North American life alongside newsreels and documentation of “exotic” locations, which...

 
IMG_4202.JPG

Maternal horror: monstrous women and their trauma

Women are ingrained to be nurturers in our society and our lives: selfless mothers who cater to the whims of their children and husbands, unburdened by ambition, methodical in comfort, passionate and caring. Even within feminist circles, to be a woman is to be soft and understanding. Your sharp tongue came with parameters, limitations on how to retort only when in defense of care, and is admonished when too abrasive. 

 
IMG_4206.PNG

An ode to helen

There is a feeling of terror that creeps upon my heart whenever I think of my future as a writer. A writer of a genre so incredibly exclusive of people that look like me. That talk like me. People who speak in colors and the sky bow downs to their hair. I try to envision myself in the world in which anything is possible, but for some reason my existence isn’t, or maybe it is but only for the benefit of the white bourgeois, so that their guilt won’t consume them.

IMG_4208.JPG

The power

Chinese people don’t talk about things like that, said my mother to me years ago. Her voice was gentle, apologetic even, but it was the tight set of her mouth and the way she refused to even utter the word that made unease unfurl in my stomach. I was first introduced to myself as light gyrating across a cracked iPod Touch screen, as childish high pitched squeaks and moans, and as always being overpowered by another looming figure.