Category: prose

he called her thursday

How I long to write you in all of your shifting
but its interminable nuance is impossible to pin down
and these glasses like tunnel vision are cramping my mind.
I could take off my glasses, I suppose,
but maybe you are just not meant to be written,
only spoken,
and probably in an ancient language’s complexity
with those musical scales we don’t even use anymore,
and that celestial spectrum our human eyes fail to see.
And then I started thinking about Jesus cooking breakfast on the shore after everything he had been through. If anyone’s profundity and humility came close…

He thought for a moment, that he was over doing it. But he wasn’t sure because of the compartments in his mind.
She didn’t have those compartments. And it moved him. Moved him.

He decided he wouldn’t work on his rhyming on Friday, afterall.

 

Part one – wednesday

 

Today a friend just sent me some information on “Smart Meters”¬† (we have just had one installed recently, not our decision as we don’t own our house). When we first started using wifi in our home, I noticed an increase in headaches, neck aches, brain fog and fatigue, memory confusion and loss (in myself, not generally ūüėĚ) so I made sure to switch it off at night. Since we have had this meter installed, those have increased. I had heard bits and pieces about how suspicious these meters are, but I guess I had no idea just how bad it is until doing more reading about it today.

I have just started watching this documentary and only ten minutes in, I was so alarmed I thought I should share it.

*Edit. I have finished watching it…all I can say is, please take the time to watch it.

 

 

He did one of those smiles, like the ones he’d smile when he thought of that colour he can’t remember anymore.¬† And now he saw the million shades of it in the child’s demeanour, making him stop thinking in short sentences and blanks. Her ethereal sweetness should surely stop all wars. It had surely stopped his heart. He unconsciously placed his hand on his chest as he quietly mourned the distance between childhood and this peak hour traffic. Everyone’s life flashing before everyone’s eyes, but then the channel is changed.

He wept. Courage and hope.
While taking the batteries out of the remote.

Lyrics:

(more…)

She was driving to this song. Her CD player was broken, and kept playing it over. Or maybe she was just controlling that with her mind. Who knew? She didn’t care. She had spent the morning reading and listening and watching and drinking and barely eating, she realised for a moment. She pulled over to get a healthy sandwich or salad, it didn’t matter really because she was only tasting the words of her day, which were stretchy like bland. So the chocolate muffin was perfect.

She laughed to herself when she saw the naked, silhouetted tree. Fact is stranger than fiction, after all.

Her head was full of clever people’s recycled words. And she, silent more often than not, confused the clever people. Why did this tree have no leaves?

Full of memories of echoing words, in canyons, on lonely family holidays, she got back into the car. On one of those trips, she had stopped yelling into the canyon, and had started throwing leaves instead. It was autumn, the tree was beautiful like everything you never had, and well, she wasn’t sure why. Or, she just couldn’t remember.

Tears were falling now, as the harvest moon was rising in front of her. She started driving faster, because darn it, she was going to drive through it this time.

 

 

dehydration

He wanted to insert the right words, but they were deftly eluding him, and he was weary of the chase. So he started tracing the outline of the knots of his depletion. They were particularly prominent this time.

He knew he was full of them and it would take time and effort to untie them, or rather, to hydrate them again to loosening.  He wondered long and hard about it, as he tried instead, to un-knot your words.

I mean, the ones in your silence.

 

 

 

No One is Around, pt 1 of 2

 

"Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what 
to do and it's so much easier to make out the words 
if you press your ear against the stone." 

He hated this place. But she promised it would 
be the last time. And it had started to snow. 
It would hopefully slow the others down. 

They needed to leave. He was too scared to look 
at his watch and now he was struck by how beautiful 
she looked in this light. That pink light, reflecting 
from the tears frozen on her face. 

He pulled her gently up from her mother's grave.

 

 

 

Lyrics:
 mother they are coming again
 they come to shoot what we already lost
 mother they are coming again
 our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
 they come to jail the things that i have seen
 father they are coming again
 burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

‚Äělittle girl there‚Äôs safer ground
 follow the sea and you will find that place
 little girl there’s safer ground
 come take your years and put them in their hands“

Safer Ground, part two

 

Safer Ground, pt 2

 

no one is around (part one)

She didn't say anything. Why wasn't she saying anything?

But she had. She just couldn't hear her. She had always 
heard her through her heart, and now it was frozen 
to her cheeks.
He lifted her up as her chest was caving in. He sang 
instead. The words she had taught him when they met, 
years before.
The ones she had heard from her mother's friend. Before 
they never saw him again.
 "Little girl, there's safer ground..." 

That ground. Rising up out of the sea of him.

 

 

 

Lyrics:

(more…)

those middle paragraphs

Rushing to the coat check, she was trying hard not to obsess over him not believing something she had said in the car. He had said it was absurd.
It was making the skin on her arm itch.
Irony did that. Well, in particular contexts. She wasn’t sure what this was.

She had felt so warm while they were driving and had wondered if she were overdressed. But then, he was the one who was filling the car with decorated axioms, making sure to remind her how insightful he was.¬† She had cringed wearily, then chuckled at the awful jokes forming in her mind – she started thinking she didn’t need her wisdom teeth when she digested his words, only her incisors. She could try to be environmentally friendly, she supposed, and recycle all of this packaging, but it wasn’t even pretty.

And now he appeared with two effervescent glasses, as her arm started to bleed.
She was allergic to champagne, she had told him in the car

map

Her breath pliable, she crouched down in that corner, the one that didn’t fit like a glove.
Her movements were whispers, soft and borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember, but they had told her to use them in times such as these. The movements abandoned her though, as she started crying the music her mother used to sing to her.

 

it begs a poem, doesn’t it?

pin cushion (2)

I was recently at my parents’.¬†
And I saw this-

a small pin cushion I had made for my mother when I was in high school, when I first learnt some cross stitching.

I can’t believe my mother is now eighty years old, and she is still using it!

Her sense of humour well and truly intact, as that spear of a needle in its right ear, was, initially, right in the middle of her forehead (that innocent bunny’s, not my mother’s).

It is funny about memory, because I had completely forgotten about it, of course, but as soon as I saw it, I remembered how upset I was that I had made a stitching mistake on its left ear. And I had somehow missed a couple of stitches on the other ear.¬† My sweet mother didn’t want me to fix it, but I remember how utterly crushed I was.

Yesterday I watched a video on a science site about intelligence.
Behold a short conversation I had with my husband this morning:

Me: I watched a video yesterday…blah blah…and it turns out I could be a perfectionist.
Husband: slowly closing refrigerator door…
come to think of it, I can’t describe, accurately, the look on his face…

remember…

when I was walking around trying to avoid the mosquitoes and you strummed your guitar to the rhythm of my steps and the syncopated clouds confused you and we said it was the best thing you had ever written?

Got no regrets,
except I wish we had recorded it.

Oh,
and that I wish you were here with me…

friendship (revisited)

Friendship is simple.
It’s also complex, but let’s ignore that.

It can be what we want it to be.
Well, sometimes. There is such a thing as unrealistic expectations but that’s not what this post is about. This post is simple. This post will simply concentrate on the lovely simplicity of simple friendship.

Take the friendship cats offer just as one example:
IMG_20161231_080925

Can’t get more simple than that. (And when I say simple, I may mean complex)

Then there is the simple friendship of my five six year old niece, who I have posted about before with her awesome stories. She is also an amazing artist. Here is some of her work, capturing, once again, the simple friendship cats have to offer:

IMG_20170309_232423

This cat is obviously simple, as it is talking to itself. (But wouldn’t you agree, this art is simply incredible?!)

I love our nieces. And our nephews. All of our family. But especially the ones who are cute. Pure and simple. They make me feel noble things like this:

IMG_20170210_144628

And that’s pretty much all I think can be said for friendship. Please do not correct me if I am wrong.

[And please do not steal the artwork from this page.]

“I don’t want to

give you any of it. None of it. Don’t even bother asking”, was the un-pep talk she gave her reflection every morning.

And the good Lord knew that her mirror needed some un-pepping.

It was greedy for power. And it had to stop.

She wallpapered over it. With the lyrics of songs, scriptures, books, poems. Her favourite people. Her favourite letters.

She stood back to gaze at her soul mirror. While eating her favourite ice cream.

 

I will never sleep again

So the thing is, I am in a dilemma. I know, just one dilemma seems like I am bragging about how blessed I am, (and that is a whole other conversation) but it is a pretty serious dilemma.

My husband just got home from overseas, and on the plane he watched the Lego Batman movie. For all kinds of reasons, I have not seen it yet. Most likely related to the fact we don’t live near a cinema, and I wanted to see it in one. And then, I just got lazy. I mean, come on, trying to conjure up the excitement that one only gets when visiting a movie theatre, is just hard work. HARD WORK. Or not. I might be rambling.

But there is a scene that is SO ME, he had to write it down. So here it is. Maybe you have seen it. But I am guessing you will want to see it again. Because, you know, this is important. (And what is really important to know, is that I am not Alfred in this scenario).

I’m pretty sure you can figure out what my dilemma is now, because what else would you be doing but trying to figure this out?
So, do I rename my blog to: Saynoto_____clowns?
(The blank matters. I don’t want to spoil it for those who haven’t seen this. I might be in a serious dilemma, but I don’t want to be unkind.
Btw, an inadvertent part one to this story Рthe remote’s hiding under my insomnia
).

 

Assiduous Respiratory Therapy

She drew back the curtains¬†with all the care that wasn’t in the world. It was the only way she knew how. To stop the time. To restart his breathing.
(I could have that wrong – it might be, that she was the only one who knew how to do it. No one remembered. No one cared.)

The air was so thick with the calligraphy they had forced out of him. She uncurled it and  admired it in the twilight/non-time.  All things considered, it was still exquisite.

She had a new idea. And when he read her thought, he sat bolt up right, smiling.

 

 

She loved this dream.

Well, not at first.

First there was terror, terror as the engine stalled. Right above the middle of the ocean. And there were loved ones on board, asleep and unaware of the rolling waves. Waves voluminous with the sinister of the blackest galaxies…

Waking with the resolutionary tearing of fabric, she froze herself in the dive, the dive into the two dimensional whirlpool. The whirlpool of her own pencilled colours, symphoning themselves into place.

The green and the blue.

 

(I’m posting this song again, because I love it, and my brain seems to like how it messes with it)

fraud

He nodded. With his eyes. Cloudy with the beers they hadn’t shared yet. And she heard it all through the phone.
She hated letting him down again.

The walking out of the ocean. She, wearing the heaviness like a medal. Then she hit the no resistance of the air.
And she flew.

Until that last wave hit.
Filled with shells and rocks, or maybe the debris of shells and rocks. And the clawing of it inside-outed her.

Lying in the sand of her authenticity, she’s exfoliated down to she’s not sure what happened. But the ocean took that medal back.

Or maybe, she gave it back.

 

He wished she knew.
Those clouds burst, and ran down his cheeks.

 

 

WordPress Anniversary… holy…

So check it out (edit) it has actually been a year today since I started my blog!

And I am a little drunk right now for all kinds of reasons, so I don’t plan to wax long and lyrical about what a freaking honour it has been. Okay, maybe just a little…it has been so great, the people I have met, and the inspiration you have all given me…and some of you, what not to write about!!! Gawd!!! (Maybe I’m talking about myself, I mean, Good Lord, do you go back and read some of what you have written and wonder what the?!?!?! No, probably not, because you are all pretty amazing.)

Okay, I need a moment to top up my glass ( 19 Crimes if you must know…their red blend is extraordinarily good but I am slumming it on the cab sauv, which is pretty darn delish, even for a non cab sauv drinker…)

This non occasion needs an appropriate musical highlight and I couldn’t help thinking of this clip. I so love it because¬†the words are¬†so not me and Emma nails it, (she also reminds me of a young friend who is a lot of fun!) plus, we were at the local Lutheran primary school concert tonight, and the year 7s did¬†a dance¬†routine to a small part of this. Hahaha (wish I had had this wine first…)

So cheers Lovely Readers. I don’t know what¬†I really think about having¬†‘followers’ … social media is a mysterious beast, but I really do appreciate those of you who have been supportive. Thank you so much.¬†ūüíč

Um, this post may disappear in the morning light… we will see.¬†‚̧