Fiction, prose

No One is Around, pt 1 of 2

(Revisited with audio)

“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

„little girl there’s 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)

 

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Fiction, prose

Safer Ground, pt 2

(Revisited with audio)

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:
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

„little girl there’s 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“

 

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Fiction, prose, Uncategorizable

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

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Fiction, prose

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.

 

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prose

conative dysfunction

My chest knocked again on its wall with a growling of deep hunger for sleep. But the words were reading themselves to me in a quiet urgency of a recognizable introvert. And as I jotted down some thoughts in response, I noticed that my handwriting changed with the pen I was using. Do handwriting experts take that into consideration? Do they even exist anymore? I had only written a paragraph and my muscles were already tired.

What about graffiti? Is it still a thing? I don’t mean art. I mean, senseless/tragic/manipulated violation of blank spaces. I mean, we have the internet now.

 

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personal, prose

confession

A while ago, I had some pretty serious depression. And I knew it was depression for a lot of reasons, but most disturbingly, I had lost complete interest in music.
(This blog has been some wonderful therapy.)

Over the last week, I have felt moved to spontaneously sing love songs. I haven’t done this for a very long time, when I think about it, and, admittedly, it was over chocolate. But still, it was a very good sign.

I confess, though, there was some slight collateral damage…

Me: (opening fridge and seeing the chocolate chip hot cross buns I had forgotten about. My heart bursting into the chorus of “Silly Love Songs” by Paul McCartney and Wings.)

I…….LOVE…….YOU…….
(notes dripping smiles)

Husband: (in another room) Awwww, I love you too, Honey.
(Pause. A very distinct pause).
Did I hear you open the fridge?

I kid you not. He actually asked me that. And then he said:
Are you actually singing to the hot cross buns?

Now kids, we will be married for twenty two years this June. That is a whole other post that I probably won’t write. But, I will say, we are at a point where we can laugh heartily at our foibles, rather than be so offended by them. Well, in this scenario, I can only speak for myself when I say that I wasn’t offended.

I am pretty sure he was laughing, too. And not in that sympathy way…pretty sure…

(I did find it alarming, however, that he knew exactly what was happening without witnessing any of it. Come to think of it, being a sort of introvert, that kind of offends me.)

But I really did think it would be a one off deal. The whole thing surprised me. Until a couple of days later, after we had a glorious evening meal outside in the spectacular autumnal caress of divine weather known as autumn – he had cooked up a lovely, well balanced summer meal for himself, and I had a punnet of strawberries and a snickers bar, you know, the things I would imagine you would pick from the trees in the garden of Eden.

I took our dirty dishes (or in my case, packaging) inside.

Sunshine,
my only sunshine,
you make me happy…
is, of course, not what was
BURSTING OUT OF MY HEART AS I HELD THE CHOCOLATE WRAPPER…

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Fiction, prose

fugitive (draft two)

photo challenge 12

The water stung her eyes.
Darn it, it must be the black and white. Probably too acidic.

This memory did look good on her wall, but she couldn’t remember why it was there.
She had dived in, of course, to find the details, but the pain in her eyes caught her off guard.
Being two dimensional, also caught her off guard. It shouldn’t have. But it did. She was new at this, after all.

New plan –
to back away from this old plan. To get back, at least, to three dimensions.
It would, surely, all come to her then,
when she caught the now…

+++

My chocolate levels have oscillated today, and with them, the way I feel about this piece. I took it down for a while, then rewrote it a little. So sorry to those of you who read it earlier. But this is definitely a work in progress…more like some doodling…and the character found herself laughing in the mirror a little as time went on…

 

Featured image: my own

 

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a little fun or something, personal, prose, Uncategorizable

Surprised by a blogging award, namely, Liebster!

Thanks to my friend erroneous choices, we are having some fun with the Liebster Award, ie, she nominated me. Thank you dear friend ❤

She feels as I do, and that is, I have never really understood blogging awards, and haven’t really got involved with them, (apart from one over a year ago) no offense to anyone, but I so enjoyed reading the questions posed to her and her answers. Actually, she combined the questions from two different awards so I am going to keep on with the fun and just pick and choose…

1. What drew you towards the art of writing?
This is a good question…I have felt so shy and awkward for most of my life, I guess, as for a lot of people, it was a way to express myself, and hopefully make some sense of my thoughts in the process. I sometimes wonder that when I was little I subconsciously did it as a memory tool, because my memory is not that great. I remember I always liked to write everything out, even in the air, words, numbers, math problems…I liked to visualise it, and I loved the way certain words looked. Yikes, am I rambling? Sorry…

2. What is the one thing you like about yourself and why?
Um, I have never really liked this question.
But, if you insisted, I would say I do laugh easily. Especially at myself. I can have a good time, even when things are not going so well.
But it has helped to diffuse a number of tricky situations…humour, laughter is powerful – Captain Obvious 🙂

3. What is that one change you want to see in the world?
That people would stop yelling. Literally, figuratively, all kinds of ly-s. (Unless it is for humourous purposes).

Continue reading

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a little fun or something, General bewilderment, personal, prose, Uncategorizable

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…

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General bewilderment, personal, prose

resemblance? reassemblance?

Sigh.

I am on Facebook. And a number of things have happened recently where I have really re-pondered social media.

Then a pastor friend posted this video about Facebook, including interviews with a couple of the original players. It was timely. If you find yourself with a spare 15 minutes sometime, I really recommend you watch it. You may have already seen it, and I know a lot of you have the same concerns etc. (Something I have loved about WP, it seems that generally there is a shared spirit amongst users that it doesn’t become toxic like these other platforms. Of course, it does sometimes, but overall, my experience has been wonderful. I hope yours has too.)

(It does have a clickbait title, unfortunately. But it is a very worthwhile video.)

I have thought about ways to be a little more real on here, too..I did record myself reading one of my poems, but I have had trouble uploading it. Not a hard process in theory, and I followed all of the steps, and it is still not working. I will persevere…

In the mean time, I thought I would add a selfie I took today. I really don’t like taking them, so there won’t be more for a while and it is in black and white because, geez, I don’t want to be that real… Plus, I didn’t want to make you jealous, northern hemispherers, by showing off my tan 🤡 Actually, it isn’t a big deal. I hardly wear makeup, after all.

selfie 25Jan18

And now it is really warm outside, and in the spirit of taking my ponderings seriously about screen time, I am signing off for now to go have a drink with my husband. Hopefully catch you soon as I really do love reading and looking at all of your amazing work! Take care WPers. Let’s make a better world…or at least, try.

Vanessa

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a little fun or something, prose

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.]

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Fiction, prose

“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.

 

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Christian, prose

the silence after the implosion was not deafening (revisited)

Canberra trip 108.jpg

They always loved the way they both loved waterfalls.
As if it weren’t enough to drive through that scenery on the way, with its exhilarating verdancy,  the serpentine paths unmarked, illuminated by their shared love of, well, their shared love.

But now, his muscles twitched.
Her emotions repelled down, down from the cliff of his hardened inner life. Over the cascade of his own unformulations. Starting that landslide, you know, the inward one. The one that implodes stars…

leaving burn marks on the pavement. The ones that stranger, whistling at the end of the week, steps over.
He’s wishing those darn kids would quit playing with fireworks again!
But, you have to admit, it IS a great night for a campfire…

 

Originally posted Jan 13th, 2017

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a little fun or something, personal, prose

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 – the remote’s hiding under my insomnia
).

 

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Fiction, prose

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.

 

 

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prose

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)

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General bewilderment, prose

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.

 

 

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a little fun or something, personal, prose

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. 💋

Um, this post may disappear in the morning light… we will see. ❤

 

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Fiction, prose

pilgrim

Now the dune crescendoed right in front of her. Had she climbed it? What side was she on? Did it matter? This weary could not answer.

Sifting it through her fingers, she couldn’t find the piece she was looking for. So she let that gentle wind catch them all instead.

She wrapped herself in the cool of the breeze. And when she woke, she smiled, for there was nothing left. Of this dune of memories.

Nothing, that is, but him.

 

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