Two Objects and the Space Between Them

1. It was too hot to wear on my wrist so I detached it and put it on the table before me. It left an imprint on my skin, I noticed, which was now cooling off. I look at it; silver and blue, mostly, with luminescent glow-in-the-dark indicators. It didn't seem like three o'clock, but it rarely lied to me. And it wouldn't surprise me if time had escaped under its watch. My watch's watch.
2. It was a little smudged - surely not by my fingers though - and there were tiny specks of white clustered toward the basin side of it; escapee spittle from tooth-brushing. I ponder why I take pictures of myself in front of it. The sight I see is never the same as what my camera produces; never as pleasing anyway.
3. I stop watching my watch and I'm 21. I stop looking at myself in the mirror and my hair grows, or I have a pimple somewhere new, or I need to shave again. I can't be doing both at the same time; I shouldn't be hung up on doing either. They are different ways of blinding myself. Time is infinite, just not for me. I will have a physical form, just not forever, or one I will always be conscious of...
   

Inspired by "The Monkey's Mask"

Wrote it last year at uni, for no particular reason. Was just bored, and I should have posted it on here then, but meh. This is something only one other person has seen. Let's see if he remembers... :P

Untitled

It's tearing at my innards
A rake's sharpened prongs clawing every surface
The rash worsens with every dig into my skin
Conscience
Get off! Go away!

Like a vampire - without a soul
No guilt, no remorse
Nothing to fear from oneself
A life without looming consequences
Or nagging thoughts
Or doubt

It used to be fuzzy
Just cold now
Coldness in every face
All seem to know - to chastise with eyes of scorn
Revert, revert, revert!
It's flimsy

A mental voyage completely
To the depths, the recesses
Probing down narrow
Peripherals disregarded
Blind to chasing light from above
Selectively unselectively blind

There is not a real me
Core values?
Faithful disintegration?
It will all go undocumented by the world
Tragedy spurns

Because quietly I'll fall -
You didn't see that coming
Neither did my old I's
Get some perspective!
Gosh.
Awaken from ignorance
Breathe


Dale.

Some stuff I had to write for Uni.

These are two examples of "free writing" which we're being encouraged to do in my fiction writing class. The first one was associated with a text message from someone else's phone, the second was inspired by a drawing by a Japanese artist whose name I can't recall. It wasn't Yoshi or anything though - I would have remembered that. It depicted a relatively small wooden boat in the midst of great, over-arching waves (with a mountain in the background which I didn't have time to work in to my story...)
Anyway, here's the first one.

"Ah, the bane of my highschool existence..."

It haunts me still. The days that dragged on longer than any elastic band could stretch; the all-consuming boredom of learning about chlorafil; the politics and ridiculous pecking orders that left many the aspiring bird wingless and completely without inventive metaphors*. Yes, it was not long ago, but it seems like a fuzzy blur of mundane somethingness. It was a time before now, but after before... It was highschool.

That's where I was when I ran out of time.
Here's the next one.

He was lucky to have survived this long anyway. The years of scouring the ocean for his fishy livelihood had been pockmarked by hints of his good fortunate coming to an end. He looked across at his friends, tugging desperately at the oars, oblivious to the hopelessness of it all. The waves towered over them and each blow against the stern of their insignificant vessel knocked them about with increasing veracity. Even clinging on wouldn't save them now. He knew that the death of his boat was imminent too. Already there were cracks in the hull; it wouldn't hold together much longer before it was smashed apart entirely. He looked to the sky and there he saw an angel. He knew he would be alright.

And that's when I ran out of time for that one...
The angel** in the sky was because there was a cloud that looked person-shaped. Actually, I'll try and find the picture... *google image search* I found it... But it looks a bit different. Think it was reversed too. Ah well, here it is.


And that's it for now. Just thought I'd share a little. :)

Thanks for letting me,

Dale.

* "completely without inventive metaphors" inspired by something Luke wrote once... Don't get your lawyers on me!
** not sure if angels are prominent in Japanese culture, but it's free writing so it can't be completely error free!

"And we've got everybody singing..."

I may not be a music aficionado (thank you spellcheck) or have any musical talent (I tried learning guitar once... It didn't take), but music is really important to me. A song or album comes along every now and then that kind of elevates my mood and makes me feel more in touch with stuff. Some music gives me confidence, it inspires me. Other music I associate with a time or an event and I'm jolted back to my emotional state at that time. Music helps me study, helps fill in time, and even helps me write. A lot of what I have written has been the result of a clever lyric or an infectious sounding chorus drawing words out of me. Who needs therapy! If I feel like I need to have a healthy cry (who doesn't?) I'll put on "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, "Silence" by Sarah McLachlan, or "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap. Other music I just get excited about listening to. If I'm not at home/don't have access to my ipod or computer or CD player or car stereo I seriously look forward to hearing a song or series of songs that I'm growing to really like.

*interrupted by dinner and socialising*

So that ends that. Could probably have been summed up by a simple statement such as: "Music is profoundly important to me". But where's the fun in that?

Dale.

Listening to:

The Audition - "Dance Halls Turn to Ghost Towns"

Who is it tonight, Doctor Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

The bookshelf spins,
when I pull the Websters from the third row,
second from the right,
and this is where the chemicals grow,
this is where reactions flow,
the dictionary chemical cookbook was meant to hook you into me.

Would you please take off your lab coat, kiss me as we roll through every chemical.
Would you please put on your dance shoes? 'Cause I'm sick of dancin' alone.

Who is it tonight, Doctor Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

Two hints lust, then I mix some charm with a dash of wits.
Add some good looks and then, close the door and dim the lights.
(This will finally be the night)
where the dictionary chemical cookbook will finally hook you into me.
...

i am aware they're only birds

We've had them for seven years. Buddy & Holly. Lovebirds. Quite charismatic little winged-things. They grew, we watched. They did stuff, we loved them for it. They woke us up in the mornings, but we didn't care. They conducted a cage-break, and for three minutes they were wild. They decided their little home was more for them, we rejoiced. They laid eggs, but had no luck - between you and me I think they were both male. They got sick, we worried. They recovered, we saluted their combined strength. They loved each other, and we were touched. Then Buddy died. I got teary. Mum got teary. Mark went quiet.

He had a good life. But I still wonder whether he'd have like to be set free so he could fly distances and heights and just go where he wanted. See more of the world. Fly with other birds. I know he wouldn't last long by himself. Perhaps it was knowing his cruel fate (death by predator) that stopped me. There's always Holly... I wonder how long she'll last without her life partner. I wonder if she feels the loneliness. She must...



RIP Buddy, thanks for being such a cool bird (you were always my favourite).

Dale.