In the ethereal gloom of the mornings without him
She sees this tragedy weekly,
Her body accepts the torture of being without his;
But only because it has hope for the future.
She dances delightfully in the sun like Friday’s child
Awaiting his eyes like rain; like light and champagne.
To become intoxicated on one glass of him,
One glass has the power to make sure she grows so beautifully
His eyes are where she finds her home.
She seems sure they are the 8th wonder of this world
The 1st in her world.
Like the Kremlin and Red Square in Moscow, they bring colour and value and so much warmth to a place so cold.
Like the Christ Redeemer in Brasil, the goodness in them is visible for all to see, they watch over her like a saviour. Her warrior, her king.
Like the Pyramids in faraway lands, they are perfectly symmetrical, perfectly perfect and made to last forever.
Like The Great Wall of China, they go on and on, a never ending display of pure love, love that she knows is hers.
A love as ancient as the Colosseum in Rome, though new to her every day,
She embraces it, she treasures, she cherishes it. This magnificent masterpiece is hers. And she feels sure they are the first to have ever sailed this silent sea of true love.
November 25, 2008
November 20, 2008
Nervous Inertia and Misdirected Rage
He waits in the car. The song on the radio barely audible. The time: 10:11pm.
He tries to fight the urge, his daily war.
The urge to get out and get her. To tell her that he loves her too much to let this carry on. To tell her that they’ll find a way. A better way. Better than this.
10:24pm.
The heat from the heater is starting to make him feel nauseous. It is becoming hard to breathe; the stifling dead air and the asphyxiation this situation causes him all melts into the grey plastic ashtray together with the cinder from his long burnt out cigarette. He lights another.
10:39pm.
He winds down the window to let the hyperthermia inducing cold wind rush inside, freezing his bones. He turns the radio up in the hopes that the sound will drown out the voices in his head; the murmurs, the shouts; the tone.
He sees a crazy man in a yellow shirt sweeping rubbish in the wind outside a 7-11 beneath a sign that promises “Fresh Fish”, talking loudly to himself as he continues this pointless task. People walk by and don’t even look his way. It’s amazing what humans can get used to.
He asks that question. The one he’s asked of himself about a thousand and one times in the last 12 months. Why?
They were happy. They had a future. A future that certainly did not involve a constant stream of bachelor parties and private shows; cash in hand and phone calls late, or early, depending on how you look at it.
A future that did not include other men, disease, abortion.
Gina was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes, a windshield wiper detergent blue. A fake blue. Her hair; dirty blonde.
There was no one else for him and he knew it the moment he said it out loud.
And now he often wonders if he is paying some kind of karmic bill.
10:52pm.
Becoming impatient. Becoming aggravated. Nearly sane.
Billy sings Beautiful and the man thinks back to the moment he saw her face. The perfectly placed dimples on both her cheeks, the way her lips would pout in their stationary position. The way she looked when she thought no one was looking.
And now; every man who cares to can look at those artificial blues, that pout and the rest of her, anytime they want. Any way they want.
Gina decided she wanted them to move away. She wanted to start over, turn over a new tree.
But first; she, they, needed to obtain more medium of exchange; they needed to make enough legal tender. Gina took it upon herself to wear the pants.
Or; not wear them, as the case was.
She had even begun learning Chinese.
She was learning Chinese because the rich business men who usually wanted her services were Chinese. She was really starting to get into it.
Maybe enjoying it a little too much.
These are the thoughts this man is thinking, as he sits in the hot box car, waiting for the love of his life to finish with her private party for two.
11:09pm.
Almost over. He doesn’t think he can take it much longer.
It’s always like this, as soon as the hour reaches its end, he feels as if he’s about to explode.
Harsh jealousy, harsher insecurities.
Lost dreams and fading memories.
She feels the same.
She longs for the time way back when it was just her and him. Man and woman. Husband and wife.
She knows that sometimes things change irrparably. Some things shift and never find their place again.
She cries because she knows it's over.
Hopeless.
He doesn't know.
And they still try to prove something to a love they don't believe in any longer.
And later in the night as he lays on the bed watching comedy reruns, she stares at him, thinking of his funeral...What she would say, who would be there. Her eyes begin to water and she wills herself to stop the torture and asks; why, why, why does she think about these things all the time. She slides down and snuggles in the nape of his neck and wishes the mental preparation for the worst further and further away.
He tries to fight the urge, his daily war.
The urge to get out and get her. To tell her that he loves her too much to let this carry on. To tell her that they’ll find a way. A better way. Better than this.
10:24pm.
The heat from the heater is starting to make him feel nauseous. It is becoming hard to breathe; the stifling dead air and the asphyxiation this situation causes him all melts into the grey plastic ashtray together with the cinder from his long burnt out cigarette. He lights another.
10:39pm.
He winds down the window to let the hyperthermia inducing cold wind rush inside, freezing his bones. He turns the radio up in the hopes that the sound will drown out the voices in his head; the murmurs, the shouts; the tone.
He sees a crazy man in a yellow shirt sweeping rubbish in the wind outside a 7-11 beneath a sign that promises “Fresh Fish”, talking loudly to himself as he continues this pointless task. People walk by and don’t even look his way. It’s amazing what humans can get used to.
He asks that question. The one he’s asked of himself about a thousand and one times in the last 12 months. Why?
They were happy. They had a future. A future that certainly did not involve a constant stream of bachelor parties and private shows; cash in hand and phone calls late, or early, depending on how you look at it.
A future that did not include other men, disease, abortion.
Gina was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes, a windshield wiper detergent blue. A fake blue. Her hair; dirty blonde.
There was no one else for him and he knew it the moment he said it out loud.
And now he often wonders if he is paying some kind of karmic bill.
10:52pm.
Becoming impatient. Becoming aggravated. Nearly sane.
Billy sings Beautiful and the man thinks back to the moment he saw her face. The perfectly placed dimples on both her cheeks, the way her lips would pout in their stationary position. The way she looked when she thought no one was looking.
And now; every man who cares to can look at those artificial blues, that pout and the rest of her, anytime they want. Any way they want.
Gina decided she wanted them to move away. She wanted to start over, turn over a new tree.
But first; she, they, needed to obtain more medium of exchange; they needed to make enough legal tender. Gina took it upon herself to wear the pants.
Or; not wear them, as the case was.
She had even begun learning Chinese.
She was learning Chinese because the rich business men who usually wanted her services were Chinese. She was really starting to get into it.
Maybe enjoying it a little too much.
These are the thoughts this man is thinking, as he sits in the hot box car, waiting for the love of his life to finish with her private party for two.
11:09pm.
Almost over. He doesn’t think he can take it much longer.
It’s always like this, as soon as the hour reaches its end, he feels as if he’s about to explode.
Harsh jealousy, harsher insecurities.
Lost dreams and fading memories.
She feels the same.
She longs for the time way back when it was just her and him. Man and woman. Husband and wife.
She knows that sometimes things change irrparably. Some things shift and never find their place again.
She cries because she knows it's over.
Hopeless.
He doesn't know.
And they still try to prove something to a love they don't believe in any longer.
And later in the night as he lays on the bed watching comedy reruns, she stares at him, thinking of his funeral...What she would say, who would be there. Her eyes begin to water and she wills herself to stop the torture and asks; why, why, why does she think about these things all the time. She slides down and snuggles in the nape of his neck and wishes the mental preparation for the worst further and further away.
Finding Harry
What I love about children’s literature is that it’s magical.
The combination of the words with the pictures and the glossy pages. I want to make that.
And I hope that one day I will gather enough faith in my corner to stop dreaming, write from the child within me, be brave and find Harry in my Olivia.
"Olivia closed her eyes as fast as she could
And opened them again even faster.
Alone on the beach, she thought she had gone mad.
Looking down at her empty hand
Then looking up at the sight before her
She realised she hadn’t gone mad and she knew almost right away what she had to do."
The combination of the words with the pictures and the glossy pages. I want to make that.
And I hope that one day I will gather enough faith in my corner to stop dreaming, write from the child within me, be brave and find Harry in my Olivia.
"Olivia closed her eyes as fast as she could
And opened them again even faster.
Alone on the beach, she thought she had gone mad.
Looking down at her empty hand
Then looking up at the sight before her
She realised she hadn’t gone mad and she knew almost right away what she had to do."
November 19, 2008
A story
Imagine a day in late September. A day so imperfectly perfect in every way.
Consider a girl. A girl almost hopeless.
Almost.
Then the sun gives way to the stars as she applies her lip gloss and sprays her perfume. Unexpectant. Unobserved.
Her phone sounds, a beep informing her a message awaits. Excitedly, always excitedly she grabs it and her eyes begin to pour over the words, with every letter they capture her.
Her heart... it lifts. It beats harder, faster, louder.
She resists the urge to jump in the air, but only for a second.
She jumps.
Disappointments of yesteryears still hang like mist in her mind.
Let’s just wait and see...
And she saw.
This girl, she saw her dreams, her life. She saw everything in the boy.
The boy with the dark hair and the darker countenance.
She found something.
What Tiffany’s was to Holly Golightly, what she searched for, a place to buy furniture for, a reason to give the cat a name.
A home.
In her 22nd year in the world,
She discovered the world.
The beauty of him was indescribable.
She would never forget that night, she knew, or that face, or what she was wearing.
The remarkable boy put his spell on that unsuspecting girl.
And she knows, like she knew, they would live happily ever after.
Consider a girl. A girl almost hopeless.
Almost.
Then the sun gives way to the stars as she applies her lip gloss and sprays her perfume. Unexpectant. Unobserved.
Her phone sounds, a beep informing her a message awaits. Excitedly, always excitedly she grabs it and her eyes begin to pour over the words, with every letter they capture her.
Her heart... it lifts. It beats harder, faster, louder.
She resists the urge to jump in the air, but only for a second.
She jumps.
Disappointments of yesteryears still hang like mist in her mind.
Let’s just wait and see...
And she saw.
This girl, she saw her dreams, her life. She saw everything in the boy.
The boy with the dark hair and the darker countenance.
She found something.
What Tiffany’s was to Holly Golightly, what she searched for, a place to buy furniture for, a reason to give the cat a name.
A home.
In her 22nd year in the world,
She discovered the world.
The beauty of him was indescribable.
She would never forget that night, she knew, or that face, or what she was wearing.
The remarkable boy put his spell on that unsuspecting girl.
And she knows, like she knew, they would live happily ever after.
Litera Scripta Manet
This post will be under construction constantly. It will be a gathering of all my favourite quotes and lyrics and those I pick up along the way. Enjoy
“Between the covers of the books that no one had ever read again, in the old parchments damaged by dampness, a livid flower had prospered, and in the air that had been the purest and brightest in the house an unbearable smell of rotten memories floated.”
“I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.”
“Ottilie was used to boldly smiling at men; but now her smile was fragmentary, it clung to her lips like cake crumbs.”
“It may be normal, darling; but I’d rather be natural.”
"She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.I said, "Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera."
"But if the world could remain within a frame like a painting on a wall. Then I think we would see the beauty. Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges."
"In this heart lies for you
A lark born only for you
Who sings only to you
My love"
"It's useful being top banana in the shock department."
“I wanted to believe his words, to be the truth of the story he told.”
"O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs
She hath no questions, she hath no replies."
"Enough. These words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life we have refused
again and again
Until now
Until now."
Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still.
The forest knows Where you are.
You must let it find you.
"I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"
"I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break; and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter - the Eternity they have entered - where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fulness."
“Wonderful a fistful of snow in the mouths
Of men suffering summer heat
Wonderful the spring winds
For mariners who long to set sail
And more wonderful still the single sheet
Over two lovers on a bed.”
“All those years, that ugliness hadn’t even touched them, hadn’t changed them, hadn’t hurt them, hadn’t even occurred to them until now. That’s th real surprise, one of the girls would say to the other if she could speak to her now, if she could call her best friend on the telephone from her bedroom, if she could lean over and turn the radio down as they drove together into the weedy green of June, and say something, anything. If she could glance at her friends’ reflection beside her in the girls-room mirror, put down her hairbrush and smile, she’d say; that’s the miracle... The real miracle... All the goodness all our lives."
“The truth was that I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.”
“How wonderful, she said. I’ve always said jealousy knows more than truth does.”
“Humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.”
“To hurt is as human as to breathe.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
“Between the covers of the books that no one had ever read again, in the old parchments damaged by dampness, a livid flower had prospered, and in the air that had been the purest and brightest in the house an unbearable smell of rotten memories floated.”
“I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.”
“Ottilie was used to boldly smiling at men; but now her smile was fragmentary, it clung to her lips like cake crumbs.”
“It may be normal, darling; but I’d rather be natural.”
"She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.I said, "Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera."
"But if the world could remain within a frame like a painting on a wall. Then I think we would see the beauty. Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges."
"In this heart lies for you
A lark born only for you
Who sings only to you
My love"
"It's useful being top banana in the shock department."
“I wanted to believe his words, to be the truth of the story he told.”
"O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs
She hath no questions, she hath no replies."
"Enough. These words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life we have refused
again and again
Until now
Until now."
Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still.
The forest knows Where you are.
You must let it find you.
"I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"
"I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break; and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter - the Eternity they have entered - where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fulness."
“Wonderful a fistful of snow in the mouths
Of men suffering summer heat
Wonderful the spring winds
For mariners who long to set sail
And more wonderful still the single sheet
Over two lovers on a bed.”
“All those years, that ugliness hadn’t even touched them, hadn’t changed them, hadn’t hurt them, hadn’t even occurred to them until now. That’s th real surprise, one of the girls would say to the other if she could speak to her now, if she could call her best friend on the telephone from her bedroom, if she could lean over and turn the radio down as they drove together into the weedy green of June, and say something, anything. If she could glance at her friends’ reflection beside her in the girls-room mirror, put down her hairbrush and smile, she’d say; that’s the miracle... The real miracle... All the goodness all our lives."
“The truth was that I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.”
“How wonderful, she said. I’ve always said jealousy knows more than truth does.”
“Humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.”
“To hurt is as human as to breathe.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
Great Expectations
“You’ll always be this handsome and your weight will never gain and when I give birth to our children I will feel no pain.”
I am not going to lie. I am in love and the latter lyric Sandi Thom wrote is almost exactly how I feel about my future with the man of my dreams.
As unrealistic and as improbable as these expectations are, and as moderately intelligent as I consider myself to be, I still find myself believing, nay, expecting these absurd day dreams to be a reality some day. Of course the said lyric above takes on a deeper meaning, so rather than just looking at the words and the immediate impression they make in our minds, I decided to consider the things underneath the surface of this seemingly ridiculous statement.
The likelihood of labour being anything less than excruciating is laughable, sure. But imagine if you will, having a baby with a man you adore. This is not as frequent an event as we’re lead to believe. Sure, it’s going to hurt, a pharmacy full of drugs will be your fantasy at that point, but the knowledge that you are having a child with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, that is, in itself, a pain killer.
To love somebody so much that you do not even consider the fact that he may, one day, obtain a belly that is twice the size of the one he holds now. That he may eventually wrinkle. So as I sit with thoughts of my beautiful boyfriend, I stop and wonder: as delusive as it is to anticipate your lover always being how he is in his very best moment in time, is it damaging to the relationship to hold such expectations, or can it actually help make it last “till the end of time”?
To dream so extravagantly used to come so easily, and without apology, up stairs playing with our Barbies when we were 5. We dreamt up perfect husbands for our dolls and they would indeed live happily ever after. They would do anything you said, anytime you said it and they would only have eyes for you. But being in the dating game for any extended period of time, and by extended period of time I mean anything as short as 6 months, can really make you rather sceptical. And the longer you are in the dating game, the more pessimistic you become about true love and other urban myths.
So that when the most amazing guy comes along, we are not capable of comprehension. We do not know this species, and unfortunately we reject what we do not know. I’ve seen it time and time again with friends of mine. One bad relationship after another, for years, and then fate literally hands them prince charming on a silver platter and they have no idea what to do. Inevitably, they screw it up. Goodbye happiness.
The truth is, there are just way too many frogs out there, and way too little princes, that is, I’m afraid, the dark and depressing reality. If you are one of the rare lucky ladies, like myself (sorry) that happened upon a one in a million man, aren’t you reserved a right to be a silly little school girl, are you not permitted to behave accordingly? He will never get fat! He will always be this sexy and when you go into labour with his child, ok let’s just be a little realistic here; it’ll only hurt a little bit.
I am not going to lie. I am in love and the latter lyric Sandi Thom wrote is almost exactly how I feel about my future with the man of my dreams.
As unrealistic and as improbable as these expectations are, and as moderately intelligent as I consider myself to be, I still find myself believing, nay, expecting these absurd day dreams to be a reality some day. Of course the said lyric above takes on a deeper meaning, so rather than just looking at the words and the immediate impression they make in our minds, I decided to consider the things underneath the surface of this seemingly ridiculous statement.
The likelihood of labour being anything less than excruciating is laughable, sure. But imagine if you will, having a baby with a man you adore. This is not as frequent an event as we’re lead to believe. Sure, it’s going to hurt, a pharmacy full of drugs will be your fantasy at that point, but the knowledge that you are having a child with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, that is, in itself, a pain killer.
To love somebody so much that you do not even consider the fact that he may, one day, obtain a belly that is twice the size of the one he holds now. That he may eventually wrinkle. So as I sit with thoughts of my beautiful boyfriend, I stop and wonder: as delusive as it is to anticipate your lover always being how he is in his very best moment in time, is it damaging to the relationship to hold such expectations, or can it actually help make it last “till the end of time”?
To dream so extravagantly used to come so easily, and without apology, up stairs playing with our Barbies when we were 5. We dreamt up perfect husbands for our dolls and they would indeed live happily ever after. They would do anything you said, anytime you said it and they would only have eyes for you. But being in the dating game for any extended period of time, and by extended period of time I mean anything as short as 6 months, can really make you rather sceptical. And the longer you are in the dating game, the more pessimistic you become about true love and other urban myths.
So that when the most amazing guy comes along, we are not capable of comprehension. We do not know this species, and unfortunately we reject what we do not know. I’ve seen it time and time again with friends of mine. One bad relationship after another, for years, and then fate literally hands them prince charming on a silver platter and they have no idea what to do. Inevitably, they screw it up. Goodbye happiness.
The truth is, there are just way too many frogs out there, and way too little princes, that is, I’m afraid, the dark and depressing reality. If you are one of the rare lucky ladies, like myself (sorry) that happened upon a one in a million man, aren’t you reserved a right to be a silly little school girl, are you not permitted to behave accordingly? He will never get fat! He will always be this sexy and when you go into labour with his child, ok let’s just be a little realistic here; it’ll only hurt a little bit.
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