Thoughts------>Words

Pitchiness is all pervading.I call out, but no one answers.The night fell long ago,And with it fell...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:14:30 -0400

Pitchiness is all pervading.
I call out, but no one answers.
The night fell long ago,
And with it fell my chances.

I’ve been here for way too long.All my friends moved far away,Chasing dreams I never had.A...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:09:01 -0400

I’ve been here for way too long.
All my friends moved far away,
Chasing dreams I never had.

A lack of ambition has left me planted
Where I was born.
The seed of an unimpressive world.

Why should I go anywhere
If I don’t have some place to store my care?

Stupid dog, when will this end?You’ve done this before, now again!Soon, on you, all my cents I...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:06:29 -0400

Stupid dog, when will this end?
You’ve done this before, now again!
Soon, on you, all my cents I will spend.
If you run away again, my will shan’t bend.

Stupid dog, you’re my last friend.

I asked ‘where are you from?’You told me you couldn’t say.I knew that...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:05:29 -0400

I asked ‘where are you from?’
You told me you couldn’t say.
I knew that instant
I’d live to regret this day.

You and I began to discuss
Why not every question
Has an answer.
A smile, dripping in irony spread
On your face.
You said: ‘Checkmate’.

It’s dark tonightBut I can still make you outBeautiful as anything, but unnamed.You’re...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:03:29 -0400

It’s dark tonight
But I can still make you out
Beautiful as anything, but unnamed.
You’re my greatest desire
And my greatest shame.

Clutch in, engine onPull out, go to work.Clutch in, engine onPull out, drive home.WashRinseRepeat.

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:02:45 -0400

Clutch in, engine on
Pull out, go to work.

Clutch in, engine on
Pull out, drive home.

Wash
Rinse
Repeat.

He spun the wheelsHe made that dirt flySo he couldn’t seeThe look in his doubters’ eyes.

Wed, 08 May 2013 02:44:49 -0400

He spun the wheels
He made that dirt fly
So he couldn’t see
The look in his doubters’ eyes.

L'artiste - Short Story, HSC Extension English - "After The Bomb"

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 08:01:32 -0400

atwistinhistale:

Read More

Where Is My Mind?: L'artiste: Short Story

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 16:02:18 -0400

Where Is My Mind?: L'artiste: Short Story:

atwistinhistale:

***

I rub the corners of my eyes to remove the rheum, and sit up in my bed. The familiar measuring cup and chloroform bottle beckon from the bedside table. Just a little more each day until the fatal dose, approximately ten millilitres, raises its head and buries itself with me, within me. After downing a minute two millilitres, I feel nothing more than drowsy, which I felt beforehand anyway. I make a mental note to take more than planned next time.

Turning over, with the aim to get out of bed, the blank canvases surrounding me catch my eye yet again. I have all my colours spread out on the palette, yet no brushes. My heart yearns to fulfill the desires within, and transfer those beautiful hues to the untouched white, but I just can’t bring myself to search for the means.

***

As I trudge down the stairs, a voice calls out, accompanying a loud series of knocks on the door.

“Jaques? Are you home my friend?” it asks.

“I am home, but who is asking?” I query, completely stumped as to who it may be.

“Surely you recognise this voice, old friend. It’s Rémi!” he calls out.

Realisation dawns, and I rush to open the door and embrace the man whom I have not seen in so very long. He looks a very different man now. He has let his hair grow long, grown a bushy beard, and acquired a tan. We talk of the old times, where he has been, what he has done, who he has seen. He tells me of the pure freedom he found, away from this place.

He asks me what of myself, but there is nothing to tell, I have simply been painting while he has been away. He asks to see the surely thousands of works I must have completed in the aeons since his departure, but I tell him no. He asks why he cannot see them, but I can give no answer.

“Well Jaques, if we cannot do that, what can we do? You don’t have anything to show me, tell me from this entire time?”

“There is nothing I can tell you, Rémi. Nothing that would interest you.”

“Then there is nothing left to it. Where is your absinthe?” Rémi demands.

I tell him without interest that it is the dusty green bottle, over there.

“Where? You didn’t point…”

I leave to fetch the bottle and hand it to him, he nods his thanks and moves to retrieve the little glasses and fountain.

“Now, Jaques, the only question I have for you is: a big one or a little one?” he chortles at me.

“Neither.” Is my retort.

“Whatever do you mean, didn’t you used to adore our sweet times with la fée verte?” He says softly, and with a smile.

“I no longer drink alcohol.”

“Why would you decide that?”

“I lose my inhibitions.”

“Would that not be a good thing for you?”

“No. I might do something, say something, think something… That I’ll regret.” My speech fades away into nothingness again.

“All right then Jaques, I’m going to come around tomorrow with something that might enlighten your spirits okay?” Rémi speaks softly and stands up. He pats my shoulder and leaves the house without a sound.

***

I pass the whole day away staring at the canvases that hang, lay, stand around my bed. Now though, it is time to make some dinner. Lamb casserole. I pull a small piece of glass from the draw, and place in the mortar. Pushing it around the mortar with the pestle, I become aware of the fact that simply this will not crush the glass. I fall back into the chair, carefully placed behind me, so that I can summon the strength needed for the task.

“I don’t think you can do it.” I say out loud, though no one will hear.

Suddenly, with all I can muster, I jump out of the chair and slam the pestle into the mortar, into the glass. Over and over again, I smash the glass. I must look rabid, insane. Sweat drips down my brow. It doesn’t matter.

Finally, it is crushed into a powder thin enough to lace through my casserole, thick enough to damage me.

***

Content from my meal, I return to bed. My skin still feels clammy from the efforts of breaking the glass. When it is dark, the blank canvases are less ominous. They almost look complete, rather than uninitiated. I shut my eyes tight, and all the brilliant shades, tones, pigments return, brighter and better than ever before. They dance around on the back of my eyelids, betraying the ugliness of the room beyond.

***

As I wake, I feel the rheum has returned, and rub it clear. The bright white reflects all outside light towards the middle of the room, my bed, awakening me every day. I sip from the increased dose, yet I still feel nothing. I’ll crush glass into my breakfast too today then.

I manage to pass the whole day away, again. I don’t even recall exactly what I was doing, but judging by the canvases, it clearly wasn’t productive. That definitely does not make me feel any better, I still feel utterly uninspired, unintelligent, and I remain unknown.

***

The next few days pass with no sign of Rémi returning. This makes me less faithful in the man I used to trust. I’ve never felt quite so nugatory before. I can’t bring myself to do anything except stare at the walls, the furniture, and those damned canvases! How they make me hate them so…

***

Finally, when I thought he would never arrive, Rémi comes bursting through the door.

“Jaques, how are you today, old friend?” He says, with a beaming smile.

“Fine, I guess. What is making you so happy?” I reply with a frown.

“Never mind, never mind. Are you hungry?” Clearly he has noted my thinness.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Rémi begins to gather the ingredients to make some crêpes, and resumes talking to me.

“Jaques, I really would love to see your work. I know how beautiful the things you used to paint were… Absolutely stunning.”

I start to refute him, and then I reconsider. Would it harm him to see what I have done? I begin to think that maybe he should understand how I feel.

“Jaques? Jaques are you with me?” I didn’t realise how long I had been thinking, but apparently Rémi did realise.

“Yes, yes I am, you can look at what I’ve done, come, come, into my bedroom - that’s where the canvases are.”

***

I lead him up to my room, push open the door, and let him inside. I stay out. He asks me where they are, so I walk in, and spread my arms wide, pointing at each blank canvas, letting the nothingness of it all enter me again.

“Jaques… They’re all blank, you know this, I assume?” He asks me, with a look that closely resembles fear, but with something else mixed in.

“Oh, of course I know. I know it more than anyone could ever know it. They torture me, yet I cannot change their state, they will remain forever, blank!” I begin to sound hysterical, Rémi embraces me in an attempt to calm my nerves, and it begins working…

“You don’t understand… I just can’t do it, I don’t have the means or the capacity.” I sob into his shoulder.

***

Rémi spends most of the night with me, just talking. We eat the food that he cooked and talk about everything we’d ever known. He leaves just after midnight, with the promise that he had brought me a gift from his travels. He would not tell me what it was, just that I would find it in the morning. I think he left just after I fell asleep on the couch.

***

I wake with a start, surrounded by the sweet smells of Rémi’s savoury cooking, and for the first time in a long time, not surrounded by the blank canvases. The rheum is no longer clogging the corners of my eyes, probably washed away by the relieving weeping of last night.

I slowly walk upstairs toward my bedroom, thoughts of the chloroform and the glass disappeared.

Opening the door, I see that my bed has been perfectly made by Rémi, as it had not been done so in a long time. Lying on the middle of the pillow is a beautifully engraved wooden box. Burned into it is my name, in lovely script. I slide open the lid, and see the most beautiful brush I have ever laid eyes upon.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, pick up the palette and brush, and draw the nearest canvas close. In the most brilliant blue, I paint Rémi’s name as a thank you. Today will be a good day.

***

Like the forbidden fruitOnly restriction is self imposed.Not lacking courageTo approach beautiful...

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 08:01:41 -0400

Like the forbidden fruit
Only restriction is self imposed.

Not lacking courage
To approach beautiful people,

Just lacking motivation
For fear their personality
Matches not their features,
Shapes and colours.

Rather it matches something
Common or ugly.

A crack rings out and I cock my headChecking for any cold fallThat might be my death bed.But all is...

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 16:02:19 -0400

A crack rings out and I cock my head
Checking for any cold fall
That might be my death bed.

But all is still and I wonder:
Will it be the wolves instead?

You’re afraid to walk the streets,You’re afraid to use your feet.Cause you’re told...

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 08:01:26 -0400

You’re afraid to walk the streets,
You’re afraid to use your feet.
Cause you’re told from day one:
‘Be hostile to everyone.’

And they’re all told the same,
And we have generations
Playing this stupid afraid game.

Comes the morning When I can feel That there’s nothing left to be concealed Moving on a scene...

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 02:28:07 -0400

Comes the morning
When I can feel
That there’s nothing left to be concealed
Moving on a scene surreal
No, my heart will never
Will never be far from here

Sure as I am breathing
Sure as I’m sad
I’ll keep this wisdom in my flesh
I leave here believing more than I had
And there’s a reason I’ll be
A reason I’ll be back

As I walk
The Hemisphere
Got my wish
To up and disappear

I been wounded
I been healed
Now for landing I been
Landing I been cleared

Sure as I’m leaving
Sure as I’m sad
I’ll keep this wisdom
In my flesh

I leave here believing
More than I had
This Love has got
No Ceiling

When the sea looks like fluid mountains,Melted and poured, Dark and restless into our globe’s...

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 02:26:02 -0400

When the sea looks like fluid mountains,
Melted and poured,
Dark and restless into our globe’s crevasses.

The Pacific Ocean
When the sun shines dark.
That’s my favourite thing -
Come now, let’s embark.

Navy, like the colour
Not the fleets.
That’s right, the same
As her bedsheets.

Some lyrics

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 23:36:00 -0500

My legs burn hot as lactic acid builds
Hoping, waiting to reach the crest of this hill.
The view’s magnificent, worth the walk for sure.
I just wish the other side still had you in store.

It’s good enough alone, time for my thoughts.
But thoughts slide to you and my breath becomes caught.
The sublime is useless, with no one to share it.
Such a perfect night, you’re not here to wear it.

The right amount of clouds, no more, no less.
Breeze ruffles my hair, this one might be the best.
I’ll tell you about this, the next time I see you.
You still listen after all that we’ve been through.

My ramblings and rants, are never unattended.
Thoughts and words that are jumbled up, blended.
But you’re still here, at the end of the day.
I know inside you will never go away.

Even though I walk my hills now, alone.
I always get to tell the stories to your bones.

Not too close, my love, the distance is far.
There’s jagged rocks my love, you know this, there are.
My warnings echo, now ringing in my head.
The view is beautiful, but so’s death, she said.

I realise more and moreI don’t care for peopleI merely care for what they care forAnd if that...

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 08:01:54 -0500

I realise more and more
I don’t care for people
I merely care for what they care for
And if that matches what I do.

Why can I find no greater thrillThan speed or love?One unattainable and dangerousOne attainable and...

Sat, 09 Feb 2013 16:02:29 -0500

Why can I find no greater thrill
Than speed or love?
One unattainable and dangerous
One attainable and more dangerous.

Today I experienced my first episodeOf that addictive kind of sadnessAnd I don’t know how I...

Sat, 09 Feb 2013 08:01:45 -0500

Today I experienced my first episode
Of that addictive kind of sadness
And I don’t know how I feel about that.

Is it too wrongTo descend into our own?Creations and mind, The real far from staisfyingRather be sad...

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 16:02:08 -0500

Is it too wrong
To descend into our own?
Creations and mind,
The real far from staisfying
Rather be sad alone than
Viewing what’s outside.

Every day I see himSitting on his arseHe does not what he wants, But what is necessaryI want to ask...

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 09:09:55 -0500

Every day I see him
Sitting on his arse
He does not what he wants,
But what is necessary

I want to ask if he’s happy
But it’s not my place.
I feel sorry for him.

Her - she is clearly unhappy
But does naught about it.
I ask why and she squaks
Responsibilities, Jesse.

I laugh outside and weep inside
For they’ve got her too.