The sound of thunder ripped through the wooden frames of the fragile house and she put the glass down after having stained it with her lipstick. She gathered her stuff and walked out but looked back before pulling the door shut. The old lady on the rocking chair smiled at her as she waved goodbye, and he put down the guitar and nodded. The ceilling fan consistently clicked as it turned and the room darkened quickly as the daylight outside gave way to rain. He took out her camera and quickly snapped a shot before leaving. It made for a great still. And then she promised to make it back soon, and he, the man with the guitar began singing his song to the old lady as she drove off in the rain.
She would have made it back as she promised, she could have, there was plenty of time, but the fact was she did not. She wanted to, but she did not. And now she has this still to remember that by. Remember the fact that she was a let down. She did not think the little old lady relied upon her word, and neither did she feel anything enough to drive out all that way again. She did not think she was important to the little old lady, but who is she to say, she gave her word, and failed to commit to the carrying out of it and now she sits in the grey room with a still before her she wished would carry a different emotion. A still she is now remembered by, in the grey room.
The man walked into the room and took a long stride toward her. He smiled as she looked around the room, lined across, from wall to ceilling, apart from a small space that was the door, with shelves filled with albums. He smiled as they flipped through the album together. He took out his guitar and started singing. She shouldn't be here in this room listening to her last song, in fact she should be out there doing something worthwhile. He held his breath as she stood up, and he nodded and hugged her. She had places to go, and she was not going to let him catch up with her. Not until she is finished.
There were many-a-things about her life that would make a bad still, worthy of the grey room, but who is she to think that there were more that made it into the white room. The write room, she could not get into until after the man with the guitar sang his last song. There were many-a-stills she wanted to alter, so why not she started now. She went back to the lake and picked up a fishing rod, and fished a big fish with the old man in the boat. As they rowed ashore, she caught a glimpse of the still photographer and his camera. Snapshot and a smile. She kissed the old man goodbye and walked off into the rain. He was contented and as he listened to the man with the guitar sing his life song, he faded and drifted into eternity. Many-a-stills the guitar man photographed, many a stills until now, she sat on the bed and rocked in her chair and waited expectantly for him.
He knocked on the door and took of his hat and smiled as he walked in. The white album, it was time, and tears streamed down her face because she knew. They flipped through it together and there was a knock on the door, and a young girl waved and smiled. She slipped in right beside her on the creaky floor of the fragile wooden house and held her hand as they chatted. She closed her eyes, and the guitar man, he showed her a few more pictures, and he began singing his song. She drifted and faded and smiled as she saw good memories frozen on still, and her favourite one was when she caressed the sweet baby girl, the one she decided to keep. She opened her eyes as he sang the last chorus and she caught a glimpse of that once sweet baby girl. The beautiful young woman, tears in her eyes, kissed her and whispered, I love you. As he strummed the last line, she closed her tired eyes and she whispered, I love you too sweet baby girl, of all the still that were my life I am most happy when I see the ones with you. She drifted to eternity and the young woman stood up, and walked out into the rain. And the guitar man put his guitar down, and took out his camera, and snapped. Shot a still that was the last in the little old woman's scrapbook.
The young woman will have her turn and she will find herself relieved for the many choices she makes for it is funny how many stills in her life have been caught just in the nick of time, he smiled as he placed the still in her scrapbook. Stills, fond memories, parts of life that have been frozen and kept.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The cloud called arrogance and the momentary lapse of the iris...
At the beginning of your life it is easy to say how you would live it, but Maysa never thought she would be standing right here, stuck right in the mud she so adamantly insisted she would never step on. But like I always say, it is often too early to say I will never, until we have gone through it and really turned away. Because at the beginning of your life it is easy to be stuck in the cloud of arrogance where you think you are better than everyone else. Maysa basked in that cloud a minute too long, and then she stumbled and found herself right in the mud.
Truth be told I couldn't say I didn't want to stick out my self-righteous finger and wave it about in that I told you so fashion, after all I wanted to say serves you right but when I took a look at her face I cannot help but remember me. And so I relaxed my judgment muscle. That was a dark place I hate to see again, but each time I walk close to that tunnel my muscles tighten and I swear I could feel the creepy crawlies under my skin. And there were days I felt them crawling out of my pores. I never know if I am over that stretch yet, maybe I am in the field of daffodils, just some rainy days, or maybe I am still stuck in the mud, dreaming about the field of daffodils, God knows. I certainly hope it is the former. But was I strong enough to extend my hand to her, I am unsure. So I watched her, hoping she could pull herself up.
I must have a conscience apart from my cold heart for I often see her face when I go to sleep at night. And I find myself walking back to the spot where she is stuck just to see if she is still there. So everyday I watched her, and everyday I walk down this road from the fields of daffodil to this swamp, just to see. And not that I am helpful, I just stare at her. I am still unwilling to extend my hand. I guess I have always been non-committal and I must say I have seen many drown in that black hole, sometimes I shout out loud enough for someone else to hear and help, but never have I wanted to get myself wet, nor stick my feet into that mud. I didn't want to start sinking in. Conscience without the courage. I can laugh out loud, not that it is funny, but it is my life story. And that is why I keep coming back to this swamp. There was something I needed to conquer.
So to hell with it, many nightmares and loud voices in my head later I managed enough courage to step onto the mud. But I should've known that in her desperation, she pulled me down into the mud with her. And so now I am stuck in the mud with her. I cannot say I am not angry with her, angel-faced or not. I do not dare tell you the amount of swear words that raced through my head at more than a hundred kilometres an hour, faster than I could control anyway. And I cannot say I did not think of her in the worst possible light. But I let her hold onto my hand and I closed my eyes and mouth so tight, just so I would not let out the best of the anger that is seething inside. There were names I could think of to call her that I think only the devil can carry but hey, I was angry. So I stayed still and silent for a while. Until I began to feel the creepy crawlies, not around me, but crawling out from inside me, and what a disgusting being I can be. And then the weather turned to grey and the thunderstorm came, whether it was just inside me, or all around me, I did not care to think about, but where I was concerned there was a thunderstorm. Yes, the dark place I never wanted to be, she managed to drag me back there. I tell you I could wrestle god a million times over for letting me come here.
And then I guess I have a ltitle bit of strength in me after all to fight back the creepy crawlies. I turned to look at her angel face and smiled. And she, relieved there was someone with her cried many a tears. So we joked and laughed to relax the muscles and when night came we hoped and prayed that someone would get us out. But as I closed my eyes to sleep in the moonlight, in the swamp, my head went ahead of me. And I began to trace my steps back to the time, where I was alone in the swamp, and how I managed to find my way to the fields of daffodils. And as I traced I spoke aloud, so she could hear me speak.
At that time not so long ago, I was stuck in the mud alone. I was on my way to fields of gold, when a momentary lapse of the iris pulled me away, I know. The dark little elves said that this was a short cut to heaven, and so I walked across the swamp, and then I walked right into the mud, and got stuck under, five feet seven. The elfin men laughed and sang as I sat choking in black sand and then they left me there, at my own imagination's mercy. I struggled and wriggled to my dismay, I went deeper under, and I realised that I needed help to get me back up and over. I closed my eyes and the white knight appeared to me in a dream, and said dear one you remember me, the one who told you where you should go, no shortcuts you can take, onto the fields of gold. And he fed me with visions and dreams of the fresh green field of daffodils and I ligthened up, and hoped all night, that I could get out. I won't take no shortcuts no more, I said to mr knight. And alright he said, and to my delight, he came to my rescue. He struggled alright, in those white tights, and his horse had mud up to his knees. And yet he fought so gallantly and swiftly made it, with me. And I rode off on the back of the knight and I was oh so glad, when he sat me down on the side of the road, on dry, and hard land. Are you not taking me with you I asked him earnestly. He said, dear one, you have to walk, it is just the way it is, there are no shortcuts to fields of gold, and there for you i will wait. So I walked hard and long, and it seemed almost an endless plight. But guess what, dear one, I said aloud, I got there, nice and dry. The fields of daffodils is not just a dream, it is real indeed. and guess what I whispered to her, there is a house, with your name on it. She smiled and hope brigthened the day and she asked me how she could go. I breathed in and whispered, my darling girl, there is no shortcut to the fields of gold. Relieved, I got up so effortlessly and made my way home again, and she I know will make it home, and I will meet her at the gate. Conquered I have my darkest fears that the daffodils were a dream, for I know now what is real, and what more now so does she.
Then the man in white, rode past me, and smiled and I clapped with glee, he said, you must have told someone about me, for she called out loud and clear, white knight come save me. I understand now the reason why I lurk around mangrove swamps. Because I have stories to tell, of fields of gold, daffodils, white knights, and my own journey home.
Truth be told I couldn't say I didn't want to stick out my self-righteous finger and wave it about in that I told you so fashion, after all I wanted to say serves you right but when I took a look at her face I cannot help but remember me. And so I relaxed my judgment muscle. That was a dark place I hate to see again, but each time I walk close to that tunnel my muscles tighten and I swear I could feel the creepy crawlies under my skin. And there were days I felt them crawling out of my pores. I never know if I am over that stretch yet, maybe I am in the field of daffodils, just some rainy days, or maybe I am still stuck in the mud, dreaming about the field of daffodils, God knows. I certainly hope it is the former. But was I strong enough to extend my hand to her, I am unsure. So I watched her, hoping she could pull herself up.
I must have a conscience apart from my cold heart for I often see her face when I go to sleep at night. And I find myself walking back to the spot where she is stuck just to see if she is still there. So everyday I watched her, and everyday I walk down this road from the fields of daffodil to this swamp, just to see. And not that I am helpful, I just stare at her. I am still unwilling to extend my hand. I guess I have always been non-committal and I must say I have seen many drown in that black hole, sometimes I shout out loud enough for someone else to hear and help, but never have I wanted to get myself wet, nor stick my feet into that mud. I didn't want to start sinking in. Conscience without the courage. I can laugh out loud, not that it is funny, but it is my life story. And that is why I keep coming back to this swamp. There was something I needed to conquer.
So to hell with it, many nightmares and loud voices in my head later I managed enough courage to step onto the mud. But I should've known that in her desperation, she pulled me down into the mud with her. And so now I am stuck in the mud with her. I cannot say I am not angry with her, angel-faced or not. I do not dare tell you the amount of swear words that raced through my head at more than a hundred kilometres an hour, faster than I could control anyway. And I cannot say I did not think of her in the worst possible light. But I let her hold onto my hand and I closed my eyes and mouth so tight, just so I would not let out the best of the anger that is seething inside. There were names I could think of to call her that I think only the devil can carry but hey, I was angry. So I stayed still and silent for a while. Until I began to feel the creepy crawlies, not around me, but crawling out from inside me, and what a disgusting being I can be. And then the weather turned to grey and the thunderstorm came, whether it was just inside me, or all around me, I did not care to think about, but where I was concerned there was a thunderstorm. Yes, the dark place I never wanted to be, she managed to drag me back there. I tell you I could wrestle god a million times over for letting me come here.
And then I guess I have a ltitle bit of strength in me after all to fight back the creepy crawlies. I turned to look at her angel face and smiled. And she, relieved there was someone with her cried many a tears. So we joked and laughed to relax the muscles and when night came we hoped and prayed that someone would get us out. But as I closed my eyes to sleep in the moonlight, in the swamp, my head went ahead of me. And I began to trace my steps back to the time, where I was alone in the swamp, and how I managed to find my way to the fields of daffodils. And as I traced I spoke aloud, so she could hear me speak.
At that time not so long ago, I was stuck in the mud alone. I was on my way to fields of gold, when a momentary lapse of the iris pulled me away, I know. The dark little elves said that this was a short cut to heaven, and so I walked across the swamp, and then I walked right into the mud, and got stuck under, five feet seven. The elfin men laughed and sang as I sat choking in black sand and then they left me there, at my own imagination's mercy. I struggled and wriggled to my dismay, I went deeper under, and I realised that I needed help to get me back up and over. I closed my eyes and the white knight appeared to me in a dream, and said dear one you remember me, the one who told you where you should go, no shortcuts you can take, onto the fields of gold. And he fed me with visions and dreams of the fresh green field of daffodils and I ligthened up, and hoped all night, that I could get out. I won't take no shortcuts no more, I said to mr knight. And alright he said, and to my delight, he came to my rescue. He struggled alright, in those white tights, and his horse had mud up to his knees. And yet he fought so gallantly and swiftly made it, with me. And I rode off on the back of the knight and I was oh so glad, when he sat me down on the side of the road, on dry, and hard land. Are you not taking me with you I asked him earnestly. He said, dear one, you have to walk, it is just the way it is, there are no shortcuts to fields of gold, and there for you i will wait. So I walked hard and long, and it seemed almost an endless plight. But guess what, dear one, I said aloud, I got there, nice and dry. The fields of daffodils is not just a dream, it is real indeed. and guess what I whispered to her, there is a house, with your name on it. She smiled and hope brigthened the day and she asked me how she could go. I breathed in and whispered, my darling girl, there is no shortcut to the fields of gold. Relieved, I got up so effortlessly and made my way home again, and she I know will make it home, and I will meet her at the gate. Conquered I have my darkest fears that the daffodils were a dream, for I know now what is real, and what more now so does she.
Then the man in white, rode past me, and smiled and I clapped with glee, he said, you must have told someone about me, for she called out loud and clear, white knight come save me. I understand now the reason why I lurk around mangrove swamps. Because I have stories to tell, of fields of gold, daffodils, white knights, and my own journey home.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
ticker tape marathon
Sleigh bells ring, bono's voice on the radio and everything ticker taped chronologically before me. Yea christmas blues, that was last year, and now it is the new year and I am sitting trying to write about it. That is the thing, getting all gooey eyed and grateful that I survived the year, nostalgia, and the cliched what did I do with my year questions, the ticker tape still runs before me, and I do not want it to run with any repetitive pictures, nor do I want blank films. I rather let the film run with bad pictures than none at all. After all bad pictures play a part in that ticker tape of life. But then there were a few other pictures I'd like to have seen again and again.
New year greetings cannot help but flow, if I were that much of a pessimist I would've shrugged it off as just another day. I am guessing that deep down inside my inexcitability about life was just a temporary glitch and I am an optimist after all. That is nice, to be an optimist after all and my positive outlook wasn't just a denial of reality, but it really was a real outlook and perspective I held. I heave a sigh of relief and as I cut off the last ticker tape and replace it with a new reel knowing I will only pick it up again in a year's time because I do not want to be too aware of it, I want it to just run and me to be running with it so that each picture it snaps will be different, or at least to ensure there will be pictures when I review it next. It's all lived out and over, I open the window and let it go and it flies over land and sea as some of the pictures burn themselves onto my memory. Faces flash before me, the ones that have left here. A heap of photographed faces that will remain only photographs, stills, not running no more. I close my eyes and think of them I guess their ticker tape ran out, I hope they were happy with their ticker tapes while they were here though. I look at the ticker tape clean and fresh and I lay it down. And then I closed the door and got ready to jump, because I got to land running. I land and I begin this marathon yet again.
In my mind are blackpepper corns and pink petals, black coffee with honey and movie screens, faces of people I love, and their ticker tapes that I will be part of, scrapbooks of their hearts and laughter. Tears, rain, sad songs, happy ones, muse, and bono's voice on the radio, that always makes me smile. Scrubs and Dr House and Mr and Mrs Brown. Thigns that I never knew I could do, and the thigns that I thought I could do, but turned out to suck at. Many a things that will be laid out on that ticker tape that has already began to run.
So I have got the right shoes on this time, I hope, if I don't I will just change them, and keep running. That's all I can do to keep up with that ticker tape. and then, I just love with all my heart, and you'll see, it pours out onto that ticker tape in brilliant luminous colours so beautiful. I hope with all my heart for colourful ticker tape pictures next year.
New year greetings cannot help but flow, if I were that much of a pessimist I would've shrugged it off as just another day. I am guessing that deep down inside my inexcitability about life was just a temporary glitch and I am an optimist after all. That is nice, to be an optimist after all and my positive outlook wasn't just a denial of reality, but it really was a real outlook and perspective I held. I heave a sigh of relief and as I cut off the last ticker tape and replace it with a new reel knowing I will only pick it up again in a year's time because I do not want to be too aware of it, I want it to just run and me to be running with it so that each picture it snaps will be different, or at least to ensure there will be pictures when I review it next. It's all lived out and over, I open the window and let it go and it flies over land and sea as some of the pictures burn themselves onto my memory. Faces flash before me, the ones that have left here. A heap of photographed faces that will remain only photographs, stills, not running no more. I close my eyes and think of them I guess their ticker tape ran out, I hope they were happy with their ticker tapes while they were here though. I look at the ticker tape clean and fresh and I lay it down. And then I closed the door and got ready to jump, because I got to land running. I land and I begin this marathon yet again.
In my mind are blackpepper corns and pink petals, black coffee with honey and movie screens, faces of people I love, and their ticker tapes that I will be part of, scrapbooks of their hearts and laughter. Tears, rain, sad songs, happy ones, muse, and bono's voice on the radio, that always makes me smile. Scrubs and Dr House and Mr and Mrs Brown. Thigns that I never knew I could do, and the thigns that I thought I could do, but turned out to suck at. Many a things that will be laid out on that ticker tape that has already began to run.
So I have got the right shoes on this time, I hope, if I don't I will just change them, and keep running. That's all I can do to keep up with that ticker tape. and then, I just love with all my heart, and you'll see, it pours out onto that ticker tape in brilliant luminous colours so beautiful. I hope with all my heart for colourful ticker tape pictures next year.
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