4 posts tagged “art”
I ended up working out what I needed to work out in 'therapies' faster than I thought I did. Am I ready to return to this? I don't know yet. Things are still developing.
I guess I can use this as a dumping ground until I'm clearer on where my interests are headed.
Apparently I was not done, and I'm seeing that with everything I add to this...uh...series in general I seem to understand myself and where I'm going a lot better. It feels better than the straight-forward healing approach I was trying before, and all of the little shorts I write that are inspired by him tend to do that. From the start last September up to that last piece around Job. OVERWHELMING, because my heart just seems to grow for a second with pinpointed knowledge of what's happening to me, why I am wanting to write like this and like that, why my mind is changing all over the place and wanting to talk about it and spread it, but straightforward-ly...and I just can't.
Damn.
Anyway, adding more and an unrelated [or related?] picture from last night.
He sits down again and passes one to her, and the first bit of food for the both of them in days tastes like the food of the gods.
"What was it like for you there?" he asks her. They sit under the apple tree they'd created, full on the fruit the tree had produced. She studies her hands and picks nervously at her clothes before shrugging.
"Not exactly good." She laughs a little, still nervously looking at her hands. "I felt like I wasn't safe anywhere, to be honest." Why was she so anxious to get back then? The question pops up in his brain and almost leaves his lips when she continues, "I know it doesn't seem like it from how anxious I am to get back there."
"Yeah, I was about to ask you." She smiles a little, causing a smile to play on his own lips as well. He looks away from shyness, blushing a little. "You are really anxious to get back there," he continues. "Why?"
She starts shuffling uncomfortably. She always hated being questioned when she knew she couldn't give a sensible answer. She brushes against him as she shuffles, causing a flower to sprout nearby. This slight, accidental touch burns into her brain, the spot seeming to remain warm long after the touch was suppose to have faded. She closes her eyes briefly, lost in the sensation. When she opens her eyes she looks at him, and finds him opening his eyes as well. Now he's the one studying his hands. "It's going to sound stupid, but I always felt that if I could just concentrate hard enough, I'd find someway to be safe. Even if it meant never being able to relax, not even around people I'm suppose to be able to relax with. I kinda thought that maybe one day I'd feel comfortable around them but-"
"Did you ever?" he asks, cutting her off. He turns back to look at her. She shakes her head and doesn't say anything else. Her forehead crinkles a bit, as if in pain. He looks at her and has the urge to hold her, anything to take that look off her face. Her head falls into her left hand, and at first he thinks she'll cry but she doesn't. She just seems tired. His fingers drop on the ground next to hers and brushes them gently. "Yeah. It was like that for me too," he says softly.
She doesn't move much from her pose, but he feels her caressing his fingers back.
And this, which I see as the 'ending' for now.
The world we've painted around us is beautiful. Look! We're back in the old world again.
"Do we go our seperate ways now?" She asks. She feels compelled to. They shared so much together in the time spent in isolation, but she didn't know if he would want to come with her now that things were back to normal. Her heart immediately destroys her for asking, but it's already out.
He didn't think she'd want to stay together now that things are back to normal, but her asking the question confirms it for him. He swallows his disappointment and tries to look as if her question doesn't bother him. She wouldn't ask it if she didn't want this, right? He nods, his heart about to explode. He ignores it.
"Yeah, I guess we do." She gets nervous, but swallows it. This is what he wants, he said it. She nods too, starts to turn around and walk away. She waves bye and tries to smile, be brave for god's sake. She turns around completely and so does he. She walks a few steps, I can do this, but out of nowhere her heart begins to beat too fast for her to contain. Her vision swims, her knees get weak and buckle.
She turns back around and start to call out for him to call back, but she stops. There's no need to scream. He's getting up from the ground, his hand over his heart. The separation hit him too.
He looks at her. She looks at him. She holds out her arms to him, and he comes for her.
Hmm. I need order, seriously, I need a specific blog just for this type of stuff but I can't find an outlet that feels just right. It's too deep at this point. Damn damn damn.
EDIT: almost forgot this bit of lovely angst from 'therapies'
It was you I found, but you left too soon.
You came back, but you left again.
I wasn't mature enough to understand that I couldn't build my storefront here.
I didn't think I would harm myself,
I didn't see what was coming.
And in those years without you, until I was reminded again...
I was content here.
Not content in my being, still aware that I wasn't satisfied.
But I was content here, and for that moment it was correct.
I needed somewhere to be safe.
But that reminder, of why we need each other.
That was the crack in the gate.
I tried so hard to pick up the pieces on my own, and I think you did too.
Souls did not allow it.
But this time I've already seen the damage, I know I need to leave here.
I'm getting there.
"Come with me"
I'm trying
For a second, you're keyed into the secrets of the universe. You see how it all began. What trouble can rule the earth -- the universe -- when this secret isn't closely guarded. It's only to be shared when that person is ready to share it. Yes, it is a feeling of oneness, of invincibility, but why seek that oneness with just anyone?
"You don't need me to teach you anything." Perhaps not, but I do want to share this with you.
I feel like the knowledge is going to bring me down to death. I know it's irrational. I'm not like a lot of people my age, I never shared this secret with a soul. I had it forced out of me quite early and in the most twisted way. Forced out by torture, by brute force. So I guarded it closer than the average person. For awhile, it looked like it would never be shared but, oh did I want to share it.
But it looked like it wouldn't be shared, so I tried to send myself to death.
Someone did want it, however.
Working out those kinks in the year or so that has passed, figuring out what we're around each other for. He shared his secret already, but seeks redemption. I, on the other hand, just wanted to get it off my chest.
I understand. I know. I'm ready. I'm close. His name leaving my lips in a scream like that, and I know I'm close.
This is the exact opposite of my death. I am overwhelmed with the knowledge that I may not have to keep this secret for the rest of my life, as I assumed I always would. I am overwhelmed with how deep it shakes me up. I am overwhelmed by how real it makes me feel. I am overwhelmed that it was discovering I had a secret to share that gave me a reason for living when all other reasons had failed. I am overwhelmed, I am a bit scared, I am excited.
And who knew that it was he I wanted to share it with? I couldn't have known the first time I saw his name what would awaken in me from that moment. I prayed for this. I wasn't expecting him, but I've gotten a year to know him a little, and I know I couldn't have asked for anyone better. Considering other men I pursued, I was actually asking for worse.
I am thankful. Every moment I fear I will not be able to show or express how thankful I am, get to him and let him know how much I appreciate all of this. I know he didn't know he was doing anything special, but I want him to know that he is and I fear every moment that something will keep me from being able to do that.
Job 33:19-28
I originally wrote this as a 15 year old in 2003. We had to do this huge literature project where we researched a celebrity and, using different literary styles [haiku, prose, etc, etc], write about their lives or moments in their lives. I picked Kurt Cobain because I was courting a love affair with Nirvana in 2003, and this is the prose piece I wrote. It was based off of a paragraph or two I read in a biography I bought on him, and I used my imagination to put this together. I still consider it one of my best, even though it was one of my first. I remember this was also the piece I chose to read aloud to my class, and I remember when I finished everyone just sat in stunned silence and some guy broke it with, "Wow."
I wasn't very communicative through most of high school, and especially that year since it was at a new school. So this made me feel special. :)
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Frances Bean took the urn in her arms and walked slowly across the grass to the creek. Her mother, Courtney Love, sat watching her as she walked, brooding in misery like the other mourners. Frances heard the Buddhist monk chanting a prayer, but she couldn't hear what he was saying because she was heavily concentrating on her feet as they padded softly across the grass.
When she reached the creek she squatted down and thought for a moment about what she was about to do. She felt tears come to her eyes and began to blink furiously. The monk was still softly reciting his prayer. Frances looked back at him for a second and then turned around and unscrewed the urn.
Courtney watched her daughter unscrew the urn. She looked at the girl, not really seeing Frances in that moment, but Kurt Cobain, the man she had lost so long ago. Frances, with her blue eyes and blonde hair was almost the spitting image of Kurt. Tears escaped her eyes as the beginning tune of "Heart-Shaped Box", the song Kurt had written just for her, came into her head. She silently mouth a lyric to no one but herself, her mouth forming the words, "Forever in debt to your priceless advice."
Frances looked inside of the urn. Her father's ashes met her sight. She sighed and stuck her hand inside, grabbing a handful of the ashes inside. Then standing up to her full height she held her arm out over the creek and opened her hand. The wind picked the ashes up out of her hand and they floated out over the creek, looking like dust in the afternoon light. The ashes settled into the creek, and there, part of her father rested.
Frances repeated this action until the urn was empty. To the last handful of ashes she looked down and whispered, "Goodbye daddy." The Frances let the handful go, the tears that had formed in her eyes earlier flowing out of them like a waterfall flows over a cliff. Kurt's ashes flew for a moment and then fell, dissolving in the creek's water.
Frances was lying in her bed later that night, thinking about the day's ceremonies and about her father. She had been a baby when he had died, so she remembered nothing about him. She always wondered if he had ever sang to her, or held her in his arms. She knew that he must have, but she wished that she could remember.
Courtney had told her all about him of course. She always showed her loads of pictures of him and played the songs he had made with Nirvana to her. All of this made Frances happy, but she still wished she could remember all of these things instead. She felt that if she could remember, then he wouldn't seem so distant from her. She closed her eyes and soon fell asleep, her thoughts still on her father.
Her unconscious mind went to a time when Frances was not yet a year old. In her dream, she was being bathed by a blond, blue-eyed man who could be none other than her father. He lifted her up over the bathtub and made noises as if she was a plane. Frances giggled and looked at him, and saw that he was smiling back at her.
Then Frances heard a voice in her dream, a voice that sounded like Donald Duck. The voice said to her, "Daddy loves Frances." She giggled at how funny it sounded. The voice laughed back, and then said in the same Donald Duck voice, "Daddy loves Frances very much and Daddy always will."
Frances awoke, looking out sleepily over her room. It was early morning, so there was no light. She was about to close her eyes again when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. It looked human and was looking at her, smiling the same smile she had just seen in her dream. She knew what it was. She contently closed her eyes and sleepily muttered, "Hi Daddy." It didn't respond, but did continue to look at her until she had drifted back off to sleep. Then, without a sound, the thing disappeared from the room.
I don't know where this idea came from. I'm not sure if I'm done with it yet. I don't feel that I am but I don't feel that I can add anything more to it. It's very frustrating, because it's going to sit on my mind until I feel like I can let it go.
Subconsciously, it reads incredibly deep. I never realize until after I stop writing how deep my stories go.
Am I finished?
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She woke up and realized it had all been a dream. She'd been dreaming when she thought she existed in a family of people like her or a world full of people that she could relate to. She chased them and would get close only to have them move further away from her when she went to grab them. The dream never gives the person what they desire. It tempts them with what they want, it teases them; but when the desire gets close to their fingertips it evaporates, it turns nasty, it shifts into something else. Or the dreamer wakes up.
She woke up in a world and a reality that she never knew existed. The ground and land around her was all dried up, the trees all dead and old. The sky was red and black, threatening and menacing. She was scared, assuming that she would have to navigate this new, waking world alone. She got up and walked, feeling too afraid to sit still in her current position. When one is somewhere they aren't sure about, the instinct is always to move.
She could feel that she was not alone. She looked around, trying to find the other person...if that's what it was. She walked cautiously and carefully and then she sees him. He's sleeping. As she approaches, he awakes.
He looks around at his surroundings and she sees the same look cross his face that was upon hers when she awoke. Confusion, disorientation, fear. His eyes turned on hers, wide in fear. "Where am I?" he asks. She shakes her head.
"I don't know where you are. I don't know where I am either." He sits still in thought for a second and then wipes the sleep from his eyes, yawns and stretches. She is amazed at how quickly he relaxes, going through the motions as if he'd just waken up in his own bed. He gets up, scratches his stomach. She looks at him curiously. "You aren't scared?" He pauses in thought before replying,
"Yeah I'm scared. But being scared isn't going to get me back." He looks at her more deeply and adds: "Being scared isn't going to get you back either." He reaches out his hand.
She looks at it warily, fearing that the moment she grabs it it will disappear, or push her into an even more barren dimension. She battles with her choice for a few seconds more before openly swearing "Fuck it" and grabbing his hand. He doesn't disappear into thin air, he doesn't turn into a monster. He's just looking at her with a curious stare in his eyes and a slight grin on his lips. For a second, she feels hope that wherever she's landed, she won't have to stay here alone.
"What's your name?" he asks. She tells him. He replies with his own. She mulls over it in her brain, and he continues: "If you don't mind, I think we need to put our heads together and find a way to get ourselves back home."
They talk for days. She leads most of the discussion, a little more anxious to return the old world than he. Often she suggests the same thing over and over again, her fear causing her to forget that she'd already made the suggestion before. He listens patiently and then reminds her that they've tried that. They've tried that. They've tried that one too. She doesn't sit still or rest at all. He stops after the first few failing tries. Sometimes she looks at him and aggressively tells him, "You can help a bit too you know! Don't you want to get back home?"
He never responds, just stares back at her. She makes a sound of frustration and continues to pace. Reaching down to finger the dry dirt, the dead plants. Watching them crumble in her hands, but still thinking that maybe they'll do some good. Maybe they'll help. She doesn't stop to sleep, working out equations in her head. "Maybe if I mix in that much dead grass with this much dead dirt and throw it at this goddamn dead looking sky and then close my eyes and spin around three times to the right and then sit down and stand up really quick and then cross my chest one time with my left hand we'll get out. Huh? How about that, huh? Do you think that'll get us back?" It's the third time she's come up with this particular equation.
He looks at her for a second to see if she'll realize this. When she doesn't, he says, tentatively, "You ever think that maybe if you sit still the answer will come to you better?" She shakes her head furiously.
"No, no, no. Obviously this is complicated, obviously it is. And nothing complicated is ever figured out by sitting still and resting." He looks at how thin she's become. The hunger had been taking a toll on both of them, but he'd been sleeping. As far as he knew, she hadn't. He found it amazing she hadn't died yet, but maybe the ferocity of her determination is what kept her heart beating.
"You haven't slept at all. Sleep for a little bit, maybe you'll be able to think a bit better."
"How can I sleep here?" She stops pacing for a second and looks at him woefully. "How can I sleep here, do you see this place?" She seems to realize that she has stopped pacing and quickly starts it back up again, still fearing standing still. "No, I've got to figure this out and then when I get to somewhere sensible I'll sleep."
"Okay, but don't you think your brain might be tired if you've gotten to the point where you believe dead grass and dead dirt is going to get you out of here?" She hears the smile in his voice and is annoyed for a second, mostly with herself for knowing he's right. She wants to stop, she is tired and exhausted, but if she doesn't figure this out who will? "Rest will do you good," he says a little more softly.
She plops down next to him, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her thighs. She realizes then how hungry she really is, how tired she is. She feels her body giving way, unable to hold even this protective pose but before she gives way completely, he's grabbed her and pulled her close to him. Her sleep is blank and empty, the old world no longer visible in her dreams. But in her sleep there is a sense of calm and security that is unusual to her.
When she wakes, he is still holding her and is fast asleep. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings but when they do, she gives a brief start. The ground underneath their legs has turned green with grass, painting an interesting picture next to the land that's still dusty where their touch is not extended. The dead tree he'd been leaning on for days alone is dead no more, revived and blossoming with apples. One falls to the ground and lands next to her knee, on ground that is not covered by grass. Upon impacting the apple turns mealy and rots.
The impact of the apple causes him to wake up. He looks at her first and then at the scene, to see what she is staring at so hard. He makes a sound of wonder and laughs. "How about that?" She's smiling at him, shyly. His stomach gives a jolt but she looks away before he can say anything. He looks up at the blossoming apples instead. "You want an apple?" She nods at him and he stands. They sit a bit above his head, and he reaches out and picks two. They enlarge in his hands and he laughs a bit. "Strange."
He sits down again and passes one to her, and the first bit of food for the both of them in days tastes like the food of the gods.
