All my life I have been told what not to do, and I believe that when we all look back we can say the same for ourselves. A room is just as cluttered as we would want it to be but only as tidy as the person who points it out to be. If we were to live ourselves would we have lived any different?! Does that really express us? I mean the earliest I can remember of who I am would be 5 years old... so does that mean I continue to live being that 5 year old?
Walls come contracting onto a lowly figure lying in the middle of a room. Not too big, just a little room. Something that she built for herself (now some would say she did that in her mind) and she's happy about it, its her's and she loves it. In this room she feels safest.
Grown to believe in angels she knows she's protected, drawn from the very innards of her convictions of the stories of old. Why the hell would they tell stories if they knew they were not true??? Why do children grow hoping of a happy ending?
The wind blows loudly causing the trees to crane their necks to hear what the little pods were saying. The moon had a hid a long time back maybe to shut itself from the winds that were churning the waves... but to little Lucy the moon hid today... no one was there to talk to her, protect her... she is alone.
A few days back or more she walked a road that would have been the usual road... to pick up berries, fetch milk and pick a few roses to dorn her sashed face. pretty as can be Little Lucy and her pretty blue eyes with her red sash hopped, skipped and faced the world... the road moist, warm, laden with mushrooms, flowers and birds... promises of opportunity beyond imagination... dreams were built in the world that she would go to. Lets go back...
Little Lucy sat on a garden chair licking a lolly her father had bought her... "dear, this is my gift for you, once i get to the other side the gifts are unbound... they'd flow beyond the horizons... but for now a lolly pop from the dentist is all I have for you"... Little Lucy desired nuthing from her actor father... who had punched his way through the hearts of all the townfolk... but he always spoke of dreams beyond the horizon where the people loved to see the talent and appreciated the arts... Lucy and her blue eyes will make it BIG there... for now its the lolly flavoured pink.
Little Lucy 5 years and running, would have to make her walk everyday to fetch milk and pick some berries. Not today
She sat in the garden and along came a stranger... with a smile to kill for and the heart that throbbed outside of his body, BIG, Beautiful... his hair long, wavy and shiny. He moved with long strides, turned suddenly and poked his long nose to Lucy and smiled a million dollars. - "And who do we have heere... beauty thine eyes, soft as an angel thy face... i promise you love, life, success and everything to go with it... blow." Lucy lets of a little whiff where he had stretched out his hand just below his chin... "Take mine all little one, thy voice is meant to sing. Go east towards the sun, and earn thyself some bling." he takes out a diamond and puts it to her palm. Twas the most beautiful thing she had set her eyes on.
"What do i do for more like this?"
"Love my pretty lady, love thyself... for pure is thy heart and love is thy world... walk on till you reach the sea. stop by at the tavern of the swinging goat and ask for the future of a toadstool... the tavern master will give you a room to stay where u will till a passerby borne to the otherside will call on you. take this bling and show em to the passerby and he will take u with him."
"Where do i go?"
"Pretty one, with eyes of the bluest skies, you go to where the glass shines a thousand splendours, teeth are covered with more like this that you hold at thy right. the applause for thy talent will ring for a thousand yeeres... that your sisters' children and their children will sing them children a lullaby in thy name."
And he smiled and she knew at once it was true. How do I thank you stranger she asked with her eyes bluest for she knew at once he spoke of the lands beyond that her father was building for her.
"Give me thy licky-lick stick and take from me my act and bling"
And thus with her father's gift for her, the stranger without a name walks, dancing to an unheard tune... fleet footed fiddler feet... fiesty figure folding into the far... and gone.
Her father will be happy if she made it on her own... no one in the town dared it before. Her father did though now works with a travelling show... she could make it big and rub shoulders with Kurt Cobain and Maynard. She packs quick and light and makes her way through the forest. Turns around once... and gone... down the path where she'd go to pick them berries.
A few years on and she can feel the walls them closing... but thats a world that she'd been a building. Where is the love? where is the bling... she seems to be losing em. She lifts her eyes and picks her liner... smudge the eyes, hide the depths of the blue... with black... BLACK.
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
WeIrd ImpERfection
its funny how some conversations start somewhere and ultimately a day or two after the whole incident when you look back, you hardly believe where you started from and where you've reached.
i was walking down the cobbled street in the wee hours of the moonlit night. Funny the way the moon shone on the rain moistened stones. the place never looked so beautiful before, almost gothic, almost like a scene from a heavy metal music video...dark. It is in this very same place i met old friends, made new ones and erased a few from my life, never to think of them ever again.
today i see someone i made friends in this very same place, overlooking the sea, with street lights lining the boulevard. there she was sitting on a bench, looking at the sea, the waves pushing a buoy about, toying with it. i notice something eerily beautiful, almost evil about the way the sea pushed the buoy around...
As i pass behind her i comment on the sea and the buoy, ' now thats uniquely beautiful.' and i walk on, knowing that she's heard it and maybe someday we'll talk about it when she's alone. i walk a couple of strides forward, the food and drink got to be digested even though i'd tell everyone it here i get my inspiration.
'great there is somebody who likes weird angles' she says from behind.
i wonder why would she say something like that. She quickly follows by saying 'you really find the angle weird?'
what is weird? just the way you'd want to look at it. no matter how imperfect our lives churn out to be... i walk back to where she is sitting and stand aside facing the sea... if yuo look carefully you'd see the horizon even in the moonlight.
People think you're weird... but i am doing something weird right now staring at a horizon not visible. here we go 2 people out to escape the world they live in, no one really knows the other apart from the occasional meetings at the boulevard. Weird... or is it???!!!
she tells me how she is inclined to becoming the personification of imperfection...
this starts up a conversation.
funny how conversations start at someplace and end at a cobble stoned boulevard, glistening in the moonlight, breezy with the night wind from posiedon's own lungs, tranquil with mist hovering above the streets with no names.
i came here to get some exercise, i had my own thoughts running through my head... introverted imbecile was actually out there to vent out some frustration and kick an empty beer can... but today it is different... its not about me today, its about her. i sit wait to listen and be part of this imperfect weirdness.
stories, questions and weirdness was shared tonight, misty and quiet... interests and views were exchanged and solutions were offered... later to realise that the very same issues i was trying to help her with apply to me. she seems happy with what i had to offer. a compliment makes me feel weird - ' do u knw that ur a stress-buster...'
no i didn't and have lived most of my life with a hell load of stress. so what am i doing here? i wish i could think of all this for myself and ease myself out, and wouldn't have to go this boulevard to find solace and to court with the stillness of the rough seas. this is the place where i come to search for myself, i don't want to walk down the wilderness finally not having realised who i truly am. but today i find myself exploring another side, a lost side... a weird imperfection?
NOT!!!!
i was walking down the cobbled street in the wee hours of the moonlit night. Funny the way the moon shone on the rain moistened stones. the place never looked so beautiful before, almost gothic, almost like a scene from a heavy metal music video...dark. It is in this very same place i met old friends, made new ones and erased a few from my life, never to think of them ever again.
today i see someone i made friends in this very same place, overlooking the sea, with street lights lining the boulevard. there she was sitting on a bench, looking at the sea, the waves pushing a buoy about, toying with it. i notice something eerily beautiful, almost evil about the way the sea pushed the buoy around...
As i pass behind her i comment on the sea and the buoy, ' now thats uniquely beautiful.' and i walk on, knowing that she's heard it and maybe someday we'll talk about it when she's alone. i walk a couple of strides forward, the food and drink got to be digested even though i'd tell everyone it here i get my inspiration.
'great there is somebody who likes weird angles' she says from behind.
i wonder why would she say something like that. She quickly follows by saying 'you really find the angle weird?'
what is weird? just the way you'd want to look at it. no matter how imperfect our lives churn out to be... i walk back to where she is sitting and stand aside facing the sea... if yuo look carefully you'd see the horizon even in the moonlight.
People think you're weird... but i am doing something weird right now staring at a horizon not visible. here we go 2 people out to escape the world they live in, no one really knows the other apart from the occasional meetings at the boulevard. Weird... or is it???!!!
she tells me how she is inclined to becoming the personification of imperfection...
this starts up a conversation.
funny how conversations start at someplace and end at a cobble stoned boulevard, glistening in the moonlight, breezy with the night wind from posiedon's own lungs, tranquil with mist hovering above the streets with no names.
i came here to get some exercise, i had my own thoughts running through my head... introverted imbecile was actually out there to vent out some frustration and kick an empty beer can... but today it is different... its not about me today, its about her. i sit wait to listen and be part of this imperfect weirdness.
stories, questions and weirdness was shared tonight, misty and quiet... interests and views were exchanged and solutions were offered... later to realise that the very same issues i was trying to help her with apply to me. she seems happy with what i had to offer. a compliment makes me feel weird - ' do u knw that ur a stress-buster...'
no i didn't and have lived most of my life with a hell load of stress. so what am i doing here? i wish i could think of all this for myself and ease myself out, and wouldn't have to go this boulevard to find solace and to court with the stillness of the rough seas. this is the place where i come to search for myself, i don't want to walk down the wilderness finally not having realised who i truly am. but today i find myself exploring another side, a lost side... a weird imperfection?
NOT!!!!
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