My foot is still shooting up pain to the rhythm of the old woman shuffle with Zimmer frame. I don't believe one iota that the pain should be growing worse after all this time and after strapping it up and resting when I can.
Hard to believe that it's September. Summer is blowing on a distant breeze.
I had another series of strange dreams.
I was at the house, my father long dead and buried. The house and yard were dark. Rubbish and recycling bins overflowing. Mailbox clogged with letters, cards, overdue bills and decaying advertising material.
There was a party being held out the back, friends of my sister, brother and mother invited. A tall thin man with thin black glasses wearing a light checkered blue shirt kept hovering around me looking for opportunities to garner my attention and small talk. I did not know this man or many of these people in my yard, though my family moved through the crowd with ease. Nor did I care for this man, his attention and his blatant fondness for me.
I kept searching the faces of the guests for someone familiar to chat with. To be in company with. Searching for Chris.
A platter of cold meats, cheeses and fruit made rounds of the guests. I snared a cube of what I thought was cheddar cheese and popped in quickly in my mouth. Of all the horrors I have experienced in dreams, the vile taste of that cheese was the heart of the most atrocious and fearsome nightmares known to man. So I proceeded to dream spitting out that abominable excuse for a savoury bite as discreetly as possible. No luck. That man rushed to my side and started touching my arm. I excused myself and spent a good portion of that dream throwing up into a familiar toilet, one I spent a great deal of time acquainting with as a dieting teenager.
I've washed my hands and walked into the hall. No man. Sigh of relief. I'll blow this party and hole up in my bedroom like the old days. Boot up my ancient 486 and jot down some thoughts. The room is still much like how I left it all those years ago but has accrued more adult possessions and disorganisation. Crisp packets litter the quilt of the bottom bunk.
Knock on the door. Before I could answer he already invited himself in. I couldn't really tell him to get out, despite the fact it's my bedroom, my home and not my guest. It would be rather rude of me. I'll get in trouble. So I up and leave.
The wind has blown the window in, in the kitchen. My German Shepherd is outside barking off her brain. The party has moved on to some place else so I am free to go outside. I look over the fence and see my old Italian neighbour pottering around in his yard. Except it seems he has ceased to cultivate row upon row of Zucchini, Roma Tomatoes and the like. Even the odour of coffee beans roasting and being grounded in his garage no longer teases. I look at where his vegetable garden used to be, which not surprisingly, had encompassed the whole of his yard, to find pens of poultry gaily clucking away and scratching the dirt.
The feathers were bright, clean and groomed. The fowls quite jovial. Gigantic white eggs rolled about and cracked open to reveal chirpy chickens eager to grow and live. Excited I called out for the guests to come and see, even that man. No one came.
I went back inside and flopped silently on the couch.
"It's okay. It's okay," a familiar voice repeated., "I'm not going. I'm here. It's okay." Chris' arms wrapped themselves around me and we nodded off to sleep.
In reality my alarm was ringing.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Mind of Time
Time is a mysterious force. Today I walked rather briskly listening to my mp3 player. "That Ain't Bad" - Ratcat playing. Somehow I managed to get all the way to the Salmon House with the song still rattling through the headphones. Surely I couldn't have walked so fast, it felt like an arduous trek across plains and through valleys. Of light and dark; life and death. The sky above me pregnant and labour threatening.
One step, two step, six and seven all good children go to heaven, wish I may wish I might have this wish I wish tonight. Salmon House flew by in the blink of an eye, in ten paces. The song changed to "Truth Beneath The Rose" - Within Temptation and the sky gave birth to millions of hail spawn, gaily bouncing down to the already sodden Earth.
Recycled Water In Use. I look past the sign, through the mesh and see the football oval, luminous green. I look up at the sky. Anyone could erect such a sign even in the tropics. Water is evaporated, condenses into clouds and the molecules do the Jitterbug and the Hot Shoe Shuffle and break away to form a liquid mass somewhere below for the cycle to continue.
Recycle.
The hedges that edge the lawn bowls club have some sort of strange perfume that randomly triggers memories lain hidden and dormant in my mind. This one scent in particular reminded me of carefully maintained lavatories in certain elderly people's bathrooms or social halls. Where have I been? Who are these strangers I can hardly see? They are the ghosts of the past, the present and of the future. They are ghosts from the lives I've never lived.
I decided to have some lunch at my workplace and read a tattered copy of the days paper. I felt like I had been sitting there for a hundred years but I think it was closer to twenty minutes when I left, passing the clock. I had sat at a table which was behind the one where a young boy has been seen on occasions holding a chain. My only 'paranormal' experience for the day was the complete lack of the presence of Time. Time cannot occur wherever my mind was all day.
I'm over at Grumpy's, it's now around six pm. He's been wandering about finding tools to sort out his CPU case problem. I'm lying on the couch all dressed in black save the white bandage strapped to my right foot. I have done something to it, just have no idea what or how. It's funny, odd, I can feel this sharp stabbing pain yet cannot pinpoint where the pain is resonating from. Whatever the injury turns out to be, the best remedy is strapping it up until it hurts no more.
And all I can do is think of Chris. He's virtually disappeared of the face of the planet. And it hurts more than the hurt I feel knowing that he doesn't love me or want to be mine. I can't talk to him, I can't see his face. I'm just haunted by the memories of time spent with him. Where are you tonight? Where are you? Is he even real?
One step, two step, six and seven all good children go to heaven, wish I may wish I might have this wish I wish tonight. Salmon House flew by in the blink of an eye, in ten paces. The song changed to "Truth Beneath The Rose" - Within Temptation and the sky gave birth to millions of hail spawn, gaily bouncing down to the already sodden Earth.
Recycled Water In Use. I look past the sign, through the mesh and see the football oval, luminous green. I look up at the sky. Anyone could erect such a sign even in the tropics. Water is evaporated, condenses into clouds and the molecules do the Jitterbug and the Hot Shoe Shuffle and break away to form a liquid mass somewhere below for the cycle to continue.
Recycle.
The hedges that edge the lawn bowls club have some sort of strange perfume that randomly triggers memories lain hidden and dormant in my mind. This one scent in particular reminded me of carefully maintained lavatories in certain elderly people's bathrooms or social halls. Where have I been? Who are these strangers I can hardly see? They are the ghosts of the past, the present and of the future. They are ghosts from the lives I've never lived.
I decided to have some lunch at my workplace and read a tattered copy of the days paper. I felt like I had been sitting there for a hundred years but I think it was closer to twenty minutes when I left, passing the clock. I had sat at a table which was behind the one where a young boy has been seen on occasions holding a chain. My only 'paranormal' experience for the day was the complete lack of the presence of Time. Time cannot occur wherever my mind was all day.
I'm over at Grumpy's, it's now around six pm. He's been wandering about finding tools to sort out his CPU case problem. I'm lying on the couch all dressed in black save the white bandage strapped to my right foot. I have done something to it, just have no idea what or how. It's funny, odd, I can feel this sharp stabbing pain yet cannot pinpoint where the pain is resonating from. Whatever the injury turns out to be, the best remedy is strapping it up until it hurts no more.
And all I can do is think of Chris. He's virtually disappeared of the face of the planet. And it hurts more than the hurt I feel knowing that he doesn't love me or want to be mine. I can't talk to him, I can't see his face. I'm just haunted by the memories of time spent with him. Where are you tonight? Where are you? Is he even real?
Satanic Square Dance
My father died and my mother was happy, my sister upset about legalities and debts.
Crucifix drawn on the wall with crudely made symbols. Brother explained that Satan told him that he was doing a square dance around the Cross.
Dad didn't get to say his farewells, rudely snuffed out. Mum was so sickenly happy. Me? Confused. Hand to stomach. What was happening? I was on a bus pointing out landmarks in a thick Scottish accent. That's Dundyvan Road, thats the home my Grandfather and I visited in a black Hackney cab. That used to be Magnet Mart. You have a Magnet Mart where you come from, don't you?
I spotted my boss sitting on some steps, I approached him and carefully told him I was pregnant. His response? We'll start you on the Cafe as soon as we can.
People came up bombarding me with questions, Who is the Father? How are you pregnant?
I didn't know how I was or who could possibly have fertilized me. I was confused. My dad is gone and my life felt like it had ended.
I wasn't me. But I was me. So confused.
The place I was in whirled around me faster and faster and in an instant I was back facing the wall with the Cross.
Crucifix drawn on the wall with crudely made symbols. Brother explained that Satan told him that he was doing a square dance around the Cross.
Dad didn't get to say his farewells, rudely snuffed out. Mum was so sickenly happy. Me? Confused. Hand to stomach. What was happening? I was on a bus pointing out landmarks in a thick Scottish accent. That's Dundyvan Road, thats the home my Grandfather and I visited in a black Hackney cab. That used to be Magnet Mart. You have a Magnet Mart where you come from, don't you?
I spotted my boss sitting on some steps, I approached him and carefully told him I was pregnant. His response? We'll start you on the Cafe as soon as we can.
People came up bombarding me with questions, Who is the Father? How are you pregnant?
I didn't know how I was or who could possibly have fertilized me. I was confused. My dad is gone and my life felt like it had ended.
I wasn't me. But I was me. So confused.
The place I was in whirled around me faster and faster and in an instant I was back facing the wall with the Cross.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Camellia
Glossy waxed leaves turn to face the sunlight which filters through the concrete clouds. Upon the gentle touch, photosynthesis resumes. Hungry for more precious photons for the chloroplasts. Hungry and wild. Ravenous and rabid.
A sparkling droplet of early morning rain disruptively crashes onto one particular leaf. A leaf usually lost in the crowded populace of the Mother Tree. Nothing too definitive about it save for a touch of mottling and this disturbing droplet. Still, the leaf carries on it's destined duties, continuing the conversion of sunlight and gas for another form of energy and matter, safe under the cuticle which covers it. The droplet decides to slide off to fall to the intended target, the Earth, who will embrace and swallow it down into the depths of it's soul.
The roots of the Mother Tree crawling blindly through the darkness in the hope of feeding from the Earth's hidden fruits, through the gift of osmosis this droplet and Earth present after their most Holy union.
In time the particular leaf aforementioned will have made room for more coworkers, clamouring hungrily for the light. A hard ball seemed to appear so quickly and quietly but day after day nothing else changed. Nothing else out of the ordinary. The same cycle of biosynthesis repeated over and over all for the Mother Tree.
And then one day a sliver of pale pink peeked out from the womb of the hard ball. Ever so slowly as the days repeated the dainty pink emerged, unfolding into petal upon petal, a rounded delicate beauty.
The leaves worked still in the presence of this wonder, energy converted to feed the Glorious one. In mornings she shed her robe of sparkling dew and danced gracefully with the breeze. And each day she grew more beautiful and heavy with joy.
The breeze grew tired of dancing the same dance with her. She was too beautiful and too great to partner with. Breeze violently morphed into a wicked wind and pressed suddenly into her body. Enough was enough. And with the sleight of his hand she dropped to Earth, with all the weight of her beauty which betrayed her.
The members of the Mother Tree had no time to mourn their fallen counterpart. Work had to continue as she rotted slowly to pieces of Earth.
A sparkling droplet of early morning rain disruptively crashes onto one particular leaf. A leaf usually lost in the crowded populace of the Mother Tree. Nothing too definitive about it save for a touch of mottling and this disturbing droplet. Still, the leaf carries on it's destined duties, continuing the conversion of sunlight and gas for another form of energy and matter, safe under the cuticle which covers it. The droplet decides to slide off to fall to the intended target, the Earth, who will embrace and swallow it down into the depths of it's soul.
The roots of the Mother Tree crawling blindly through the darkness in the hope of feeding from the Earth's hidden fruits, through the gift of osmosis this droplet and Earth present after their most Holy union.
In time the particular leaf aforementioned will have made room for more coworkers, clamouring hungrily for the light. A hard ball seemed to appear so quickly and quietly but day after day nothing else changed. Nothing else out of the ordinary. The same cycle of biosynthesis repeated over and over all for the Mother Tree.
And then one day a sliver of pale pink peeked out from the womb of the hard ball. Ever so slowly as the days repeated the dainty pink emerged, unfolding into petal upon petal, a rounded delicate beauty.
The leaves worked still in the presence of this wonder, energy converted to feed the Glorious one. In mornings she shed her robe of sparkling dew and danced gracefully with the breeze. And each day she grew more beautiful and heavy with joy.
The breeze grew tired of dancing the same dance with her. She was too beautiful and too great to partner with. Breeze violently morphed into a wicked wind and pressed suddenly into her body. Enough was enough. And with the sleight of his hand she dropped to Earth, with all the weight of her beauty which betrayed her.
The members of the Mother Tree had no time to mourn their fallen counterpart. Work had to continue as she rotted slowly to pieces of Earth.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Reflector
It's been a couple of weeks and already I have noticed a difference in my mood and the general outlook on life. There is this numb nagging feeling in the corner of my mind that I have to be sad or worried about something. But in the present I really don't care. I just want to be.
Chris must have sensed my increased confidence and contentment. I think he did. He invited me over last week for some good old...well, intimacy. I'm not sure if it was awkward or not. I don't really care. It seemed like when we first started hanging out. I felt shy, I felt my cheeks betraying me. He said I looked good and he leaned over for a quick peck.
He doesn't love me, no. Likes me? Maybe. But I know what I feel. Yet again, I don't know anymore. I still can't see the lines of reality and unconciousness, that I know for sure. I'm still dreaming as I walk to therapy, as I serve the masses, as I wait for the bus, as I sit here and type and long for Chris. I still stand by my previous statement that he is indeed like the many lovers I have had, all rolled into one persona, one love, one light, the beacon in my so-called shiteous existance. Maybe that's a significant thing, maybe he represents the past and the need to move on with my life. Maybe he is the One. I don't know what this universe has planned for me.
And in the mess that was his bedroom there were pieces of looking glass woven into every object and every fibre therein. I could see his soul, his mind, his heart, him. A mystery. A wonderous mystery that will be forever unsolved, shelved in a dusty box in a dusty warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Frozen in time. Frozen in space.
I've been having fun with my talking shoe at work, although I think I'm starting to wear on my coworkers nerves.
I walked to therapy this afternoon reading a short science-fiction story, luckily not walking into any posts or cars but nearly knocked a lady over when I got to a gripping part. After therapy I walked down to the bus stop and attempted to finish the story but kept getting interrupted by the inane ghetto calls of 15 year old girls to passing cars. Unfortunately two of those girls and their male counterpart (clad in the most ridiculous golden metallic cap I have ever seen) caught the same bus as I. For the duration of the bus trip the other passengers and I had to endure the unpleasantries such as loud mouthing, crude language and their phone set up like a mini stereo and thumping out loudly obscene gangsta rap filled with such eloquent lyrics "Mother fucker beating on my nigger" etc. Oh never mind the feet on the seats and the disregard for the elderly passengers. And they didn't even get kicked off which really got to me.
My eyes flashed up every so often from the pages of my book to see one of the girls staring at me. She didn't say anything, which I had feared she would, I suppose my absolute disgust and possible higher intellect backed her off a bit. I was tempted to be a juvenile myself when I got off at my stop to stick my finger up at them. But I thought it was more appropriate to keep walking and know that my taxes are going to help them in rehab or help them in the form of Legal Aid.
Yay for the youth of today.
Chris must have sensed my increased confidence and contentment. I think he did. He invited me over last week for some good old...well, intimacy. I'm not sure if it was awkward or not. I don't really care. It seemed like when we first started hanging out. I felt shy, I felt my cheeks betraying me. He said I looked good and he leaned over for a quick peck.
He doesn't love me, no. Likes me? Maybe. But I know what I feel. Yet again, I don't know anymore. I still can't see the lines of reality and unconciousness, that I know for sure. I'm still dreaming as I walk to therapy, as I serve the masses, as I wait for the bus, as I sit here and type and long for Chris. I still stand by my previous statement that he is indeed like the many lovers I have had, all rolled into one persona, one love, one light, the beacon in my so-called shiteous existance. Maybe that's a significant thing, maybe he represents the past and the need to move on with my life. Maybe he is the One. I don't know what this universe has planned for me.
And in the mess that was his bedroom there were pieces of looking glass woven into every object and every fibre therein. I could see his soul, his mind, his heart, him. A mystery. A wonderous mystery that will be forever unsolved, shelved in a dusty box in a dusty warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Frozen in time. Frozen in space.
I've been having fun with my talking shoe at work, although I think I'm starting to wear on my coworkers nerves.
I walked to therapy this afternoon reading a short science-fiction story, luckily not walking into any posts or cars but nearly knocked a lady over when I got to a gripping part. After therapy I walked down to the bus stop and attempted to finish the story but kept getting interrupted by the inane ghetto calls of 15 year old girls to passing cars. Unfortunately two of those girls and their male counterpart (clad in the most ridiculous golden metallic cap I have ever seen) caught the same bus as I. For the duration of the bus trip the other passengers and I had to endure the unpleasantries such as loud mouthing, crude language and their phone set up like a mini stereo and thumping out loudly obscene gangsta rap filled with such eloquent lyrics "Mother fucker beating on my nigger" etc. Oh never mind the feet on the seats and the disregard for the elderly passengers. And they didn't even get kicked off which really got to me.
My eyes flashed up every so often from the pages of my book to see one of the girls staring at me. She didn't say anything, which I had feared she would, I suppose my absolute disgust and possible higher intellect backed her off a bit. I was tempted to be a juvenile myself when I got off at my stop to stick my finger up at them. But I thought it was more appropriate to keep walking and know that my taxes are going to help them in rehab or help them in the form of Legal Aid.
Yay for the youth of today.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Coincidence
On Friday our white dove Magic became a father for the first time (after years of trying) to two twin white doves.
And on the same day one of the black sheep gave birth to twin black lambs.
I hope all are doing well.
And on the same day one of the black sheep gave birth to twin black lambs.
I hope all are doing well.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Acid Rain
The Olympics opening ceremony is due to start in just over 4 hours. Shall I watch? Of course, the occasional swimming race for me. Nothing compares to the swimming at Sydney...and feeling so patriotic from my living room. I had an old schoolmate that was participating in the Paralympics, and I watched her from Scotland...sadly she didn't do too well, but I know she's still at it. Good luck to her, wherever she is.
8 is supposed to be a lucky, prosperous number. 08/08/08. In Numerology, the date also adds up to 8. There have been quite a few earthquakes in China in the past 6 months. Lucky? Sharon Stone famously said it was their Karma. Was it? Was it the civilians? The peasants? The children? The horses? The goats?
God gives life, he taketh away.
The world is indeed changing rapidly. Hotter Summers, Colder Winters, More Earthquakes, Floods and Storms. Is it our fault? Sure. Damn right. Some blame is to lie with Mother Nature. But in science and indeed religion, everything happens for a reason. Disasters are a test of faith. Day to day living is a test of faith. The bear is about to emerge from the acid rain riddled woods and stones... Babylon is about to fall.
Not at least until the stock market completely crashes.
In other writings, Holly had another panic attack at work yesterday and then burned her hand on a grill wearing plastic gloves. And the shrink wants to see me twice a month now and my medication has been raised. Ho hum.
8 is supposed to be a lucky, prosperous number. 08/08/08. In Numerology, the date also adds up to 8. There have been quite a few earthquakes in China in the past 6 months. Lucky? Sharon Stone famously said it was their Karma. Was it? Was it the civilians? The peasants? The children? The horses? The goats?
God gives life, he taketh away.
The world is indeed changing rapidly. Hotter Summers, Colder Winters, More Earthquakes, Floods and Storms. Is it our fault? Sure. Damn right. Some blame is to lie with Mother Nature. But in science and indeed religion, everything happens for a reason. Disasters are a test of faith. Day to day living is a test of faith. The bear is about to emerge from the acid rain riddled woods and stones... Babylon is about to fall.
Not at least until the stock market completely crashes.
In other writings, Holly had another panic attack at work yesterday and then burned her hand on a grill wearing plastic gloves. And the shrink wants to see me twice a month now and my medication has been raised. Ho hum.
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