Saturday, 28 June 2008
Moderate this: Track 19
Though it’s many years since I saw you, I still carry the photograph you gave me. It’s of you when you were a teenager - lithe and warm with skin thin stockings, your eyes, the colour of wet coffee. I loved your ears, the way they curved through your hair and your sharp chin; it gave your face a severe look, as though it had been carved from the same stone they used to build the pyramids. The last time I heard from you, you were still in your room on the edge of time. Your fingers, still holding that pipe to your lips, the mauve smoke sliding out from the corners of your mouth. You said you’d just made the dish we used to eat together: jasmine rice with lime leaves, garlic prawns - their curved bodies flecked with chilli. You’d place lemon water in saucers for our hands, and we’d sit by the fire, eating them. I watched your fingers - how they moved over the prawn’s body, teasing the shell away from the flesh. After, you said: ‘Go now. Leave me. Don’t come back.’ You were having what you’d call, a ‘heavy moment’ often brought on a Friday night when the moon was low, or cracked. I’d say: ‘Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying,’ and you’d say: ‘Oh yes, I do.’ I’d look at you again, leaning towards the fire in the grate, your pale hair smudged with soot, ‘But I’m alone,’ I said. You’d stand up, take the raven-feather mask from its nail and walk away.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Moderate this: Track 13
From the house, it was easy to slip down to the river. Today, literally: Rob struggled with the sucking weight of wellington in mud, and – finding gravity mischievous – lost balance. Grasping forlornly at shrubbery, he slid the twenty-odd feet from the top of the slope to the edge of the river, where he lay wetly for several moments, regarding the scene from the unusual perpendicular at which he now found himself. The house – all white-washed clapboard and garrets, whose edges the week's constant rain had gilded with algae – glinted from its windows; Rob glared back. His T-shirt had gathered in a puckered roll around his stomach, and he see one half of the pair of boots sticking smugly, improbably upright, where he did not remember leaving it. His hair, usually black, was now stiff and uniformly brown. The river rushed behind his head, unseen, smelling of damp vegetation and trout.
Rob hoisted the sail of his body by means of a rock and a well-hooked foot, and stretched. He felt the familiar, long-forgotten need to test his limbs, to make sure they would do what he asked; his body seemed somehow alien, treacherous, when it didn't do as he expected. He stood with one sock plunged in the wet soil as he arched his back – the vertebrae clicked satisfyingly. He looked up at the slate of cloud, receiving a drip in the eye which quickly became a full-on faceful of storm; the mud spluttered from his T-shirt and jeans, revealing their drenched, too-dark blues like photographic negatives. In a moment, his skin was the only thing about him that retained its original colour. He shook the blur of his hair: his waterdrops were lost like bullets through trees.
Clamped to the ground by his unbooted foot, and cautious near the edge of the river, he reached for a rhododendron bush; its secret leaves shone rain-light on his hands. Rob braced his knees and heaved. Strength coaxed his foot free; backwards-slipping half a yard for every yard gained, in ten minutes he had regained his wellington. It was firmly wedged. Jiggling it in its suck of mud loosened its affection for the soil, but in balancing to slip his foot inside, something slid; and Rob – finding gravity malicious – lost balance.
Monday, 23 June 2008
Moderate this: Track 5
I had my eyes closed. I could hear birds, a dog, and, distantly, the train. My hands were bound to my front, my knees and ankles were tied together and my shoulders and hips were wrapped up and knotted to the tracks. A snail began to crawl on my face. I cursed at it and tried to turn away, but it persisted. I blew on it through the side of my mouth. It paused for a moment, retracted its antenna, and then continued to undulate towards my lips.
‘I’ll eat you,’ I said. ‘I'll crunch you up.’
But it could not understand.
It reached my upper lip, and then stopped, making a moustache of itself.
‘I’ll get you once I’m untied,’ I whispered.
By this time the train was clearly audible. I began to sweat heavily, which did something to persuade the mollusk to continue moving. It seemed we would meet our end together. Though, of course, it could well survive. I wished it luck.
‘Peter,’ shouted Frederick. ‘I’m here – you’re...’
The rest of what he said was lost to the train’s whistle. He began to untie me.
‘A snail crawled over me,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry – I’ll get you out soon.’
‘Where did it go?’ I said. ‘Has it moved under my ear?’
He was panting too loud to hear. He cut the knots around my shoulders and hips with a knife he carried, and dragged my still-bound form onto the gravel beside the track.
I laid there while he caught his breath. He pressed a cigarette between my lips, and though I didn’t want it, I could hardly resist.
‘How can you let them keep doing this?’ he said.
‘I don’t let them.’
He shook his head. ‘We let them by staying here,’ he said.
I wanted him to feel better. ‘You were very fast with the knots,’ I said.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets and wandered his gaze across the sky. The train roared by, shaking the rocks around me. I winced.
Frederick cut the rest of the ropes and I stood. As I looked down to the tracks I saw the snail, curled up and clinging to the side of one of the sleepers. I picking it up with my thumb and forefinger, carried it to the grass where it would be safe, and sat down beside it, crying.
‘I’ll eat you,’ I said. ‘I'll crunch you up.’
But it could not understand.
It reached my upper lip, and then stopped, making a moustache of itself.
‘I’ll get you once I’m untied,’ I whispered.
By this time the train was clearly audible. I began to sweat heavily, which did something to persuade the mollusk to continue moving. It seemed we would meet our end together. Though, of course, it could well survive. I wished it luck.
‘Peter,’ shouted Frederick. ‘I’m here – you’re...’
The rest of what he said was lost to the train’s whistle. He began to untie me.
‘A snail crawled over me,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry – I’ll get you out soon.’
‘Where did it go?’ I said. ‘Has it moved under my ear?’
He was panting too loud to hear. He cut the knots around my shoulders and hips with a knife he carried, and dragged my still-bound form onto the gravel beside the track.
I laid there while he caught his breath. He pressed a cigarette between my lips, and though I didn’t want it, I could hardly resist.
‘How can you let them keep doing this?’ he said.
‘I don’t let them.’
He shook his head. ‘We let them by staying here,’ he said.
I wanted him to feel better. ‘You were very fast with the knots,’ I said.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets and wandered his gaze across the sky. The train roared by, shaking the rocks around me. I winced.
Frederick cut the rest of the ropes and I stood. As I looked down to the tracks I saw the snail, curled up and clinging to the side of one of the sleepers. I picking it up with my thumb and forefinger, carried it to the grass where it would be safe, and sat down beside it, crying.
Moderate this: Track 19
Track 19
Truman struggled, stooped, out the doctor’s door into sunlight solely meant for those nurturing growth. Heat, a burnt-out nurse‘s feverish palm, irritated his wan neck. He limped til shade, some, just some semblance of oasis, allowed his frame to creak and fold onto the Council’s metal bench.
He lit his last fag, flouting all Reason of the terminally healthy, and sucked smoke deep into scarred lungs. The tests were negative. Not a thing wrong. Nothing.
Silently keening - gut to throat, no further - Truman tried to seek beyond himself. Lives, purposeful lives, so many, streamed along the pavement towards horizons which demanded no change of direction. Care no further than the nearest café, the next meeting.
Across the high street sat a tramp. Stock-still. Mere subjective motion, flickering from the brief gaps between high-end motors. An incessant, ephemeral zebra crossing no pedestrian would brave without codified traffic lights.. Truman would never see the tramp’s eyes, but with this meagre purchase he softened back into the bench. He allowed his song to escape, seep, smoke-stained, from his parched lips. The aleatory music of the streets harmonised, a low hum, some, just some human pleading. Stay, a moment, one, just one moment. Please.
A starched collar flicked an indeterminate coin into the tramp’s upturned cap. Stirring from his stupor, he clasped the coin and stumbled around the corner. Too soon. Truman stifled his song. Stuffed his ears. Took a last drag to singe skin to skins to skin. Stepped out into the sun and weaved his way along somewhere out beyond but ever-bounded.
Truman struggled, stooped, out the doctor’s door into sunlight solely meant for those nurturing growth. Heat, a burnt-out nurse‘s feverish palm, irritated his wan neck. He limped til shade, some, just some semblance of oasis, allowed his frame to creak and fold onto the Council’s metal bench.
He lit his last fag, flouting all Reason of the terminally healthy, and sucked smoke deep into scarred lungs. The tests were negative. Not a thing wrong. Nothing.
Silently keening - gut to throat, no further - Truman tried to seek beyond himself. Lives, purposeful lives, so many, streamed along the pavement towards horizons which demanded no change of direction. Care no further than the nearest café, the next meeting.
Across the high street sat a tramp. Stock-still. Mere subjective motion, flickering from the brief gaps between high-end motors. An incessant, ephemeral zebra crossing no pedestrian would brave without codified traffic lights.. Truman would never see the tramp’s eyes, but with this meagre purchase he softened back into the bench. He allowed his song to escape, seep, smoke-stained, from his parched lips. The aleatory music of the streets harmonised, a low hum, some, just some human pleading. Stay, a moment, one, just one moment. Please.
A starched collar flicked an indeterminate coin into the tramp’s upturned cap. Stirring from his stupor, he clasped the coin and stumbled around the corner. Too soon. Truman stifled his song. Stuffed his ears. Took a last drag to singe skin to skins to skin. Stepped out into the sun and weaved his way along somewhere out beyond but ever-bounded.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
Task 26: Track 18 Redraft
The candle lit up and made her eyes sparkle; they took away the darkness. They took away the tension, the fear that was bubbling up inside her like a chemical reaction. As she waited for her destiny, the soft music in the background was breaking through the silence that was surrounding her. There was laughter now and then but she was feeling alone and almost out of place. The sound of her watch ticking became loud and violent as though it was warning her of something, something she was waiting for.
She was slowly tapping her fingers on the table, with a rose in the middle. A red rose. It made the room feel much lighter and more relaxed. Everyone round her was calm, with a peaceful mind; her eyes couldn’t help their urging feeling to look at the gleaming door. She couldn’t pick up the courage to leave, so there she was sitting still like some statue in a museum. There was a mysterious feeling in the atmosphere. Her hands were close together, her legs shaking about a little. Time was fading away into the past and still there was no sign of the door opening; of her destiny running in towards her. Her hair was smooth, silky and she moved it a bit to the back of her ear. But the way she was feeling inside wasn’t smooth or calm. Her stomach was tight, like her insides were twisting themselves into a knot. The temperature was rising and the flame of the candle made her eyes burn in fury. Yet she was still sitting there - in complete silence.
Task 26, track 12
Her luscious hair dazzled him, surrounding him completely. The way her soft, golden locks oozed into the pale blue sky seemed to him, like a friendly needle piercing his skin and infecting his mind. She got hotter with each passing cloud giving this beauty her own way.
The intensity of her kiss made him blush and shiver with delight. She licked his face, teasing him, leaving marks of love on her admirer. He adored her eyes, and as he stared at her, she stared back politely with a warm smile on her face, leaving him numb to everything else around him
She is of immense perfection, but there is an evil in her, messing with his head, heading for the kill. He lay on the cement floor, staring at her, and little does he know she's eating at his eyes, trying to burn through to his soul. It's too late to stop her, he's already obsessed. So she digs her claws into his eyes, slowly, taking in every ounce of his pain, until she feels him stir; that's when she comforts him, soaking up every teardrop he has yet to cry, kissing his eyes until he surrenders completely.
Her beauty is truly mesmerizing, but she is no longer in control, her pretty hair is torn to shreds and the clouds start to choke her, all wanting a piece of her until she's hidden in their love. That's when the spell is broken and he realises she's torn his heart apart, true love is really blind, and his world has turned to black.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Task 27: Swapping Roles
For Task 27, I am laying down the gauntlet for the moderators themselves.I have asked them all to post their own attempt at EITHER Task 25 OR Task 26, and I would like them to do so by Saturday 28th June.
Then, at some point before Saturday 5th July, you each need to choose TWO submissions to 'moderate' yourself.
How to moderate? Well, for starters, you can take the lead from the excellent comments the moderators have placed themselves over the past year.
Beyond that, I would like you to do three things:
- Comment specifically (i.e. with examples) and generally (i.e. overall) about what you especially liked about the piece.
- Identify two or three examples of what you feel EITHER didn't work so well OR could have been done differently. N.B. Always give reasons for your opinions, and NEVER come across as insulting or rude: you are aiming for constructive and sensitive criticism.
- Finally, also feel free to ask any questions you like about any concept or vocabulary you did not understand, and the moderator can then enter into a dialogue with you to explain and answer your questions.
- have increased respect for each other's talents and abilities
- develop more understanding of the writing process itself
- achieve an even firmer foundation and rapport on which to build with wordvoodoo next year.
- the MODERATORS will get offended
- the entire wordvoodoo relationship will break down
- the entire workshop grinds to a complete halt.
Good luck!
And any queries, just ask...
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Track 13
Sitting there mesmerized at the site of two becoming one, that jig saw finding its own piece that window finding its glass; it was brilliant, exhilarating, empowering. It made me forget all the worries that had happened in my long life time and just think about this moment, this particular moment not the past not the future just now. In all my years of searching and not finding that ‘Perfect’ harmony it suddenly seemed to me that I had finally accomplished my goal even though it was a lot later then planned.
I had been there three times now; I would sit here from 7.05 until 8.55 just watching them play. Every time I came they never noticed me, they would just focus their total being on their instruments and each other, nothing else. These were the first 2 people I had sat and watched that I felt as though they weren’t doing it for their parents, or the people that expected it from them they weren’t even doing it for themselves. They were doing it for each other, to be with each other. That made it magnificent.
Sat there on their tattered chairs that looked as if they had been dragged around the world with them, they both placed their fingers in the right positions and played like I had never seen or heard before. The sound was perfect, their vibe was perfect, and they were perfect. But yet they couldn’t no it, no one had told them. In their world it was just them 2.
I wanted to be part of the unison. But I new that would never happen that was a duet that I could never sing along to. My whole life I had searched for what these 2 15 year olds had not fame not fortune but happiness. Something I never developed until the later stages of my life when I first heard them. What they have they must not let go of.
I had been there three times now; I would sit here from 7.05 until 8.55 just watching them play. Every time I came they never noticed me, they would just focus their total being on their instruments and each other, nothing else. These were the first 2 people I had sat and watched that I felt as though they weren’t doing it for their parents, or the people that expected it from them they weren’t even doing it for themselves. They were doing it for each other, to be with each other. That made it magnificent.
Sat there on their tattered chairs that looked as if they had been dragged around the world with them, they both placed their fingers in the right positions and played like I had never seen or heard before. The sound was perfect, their vibe was perfect, and they were perfect. But yet they couldn’t no it, no one had told them. In their world it was just them 2.
I wanted to be part of the unison. But I new that would never happen that was a duet that I could never sing along to. My whole life I had searched for what these 2 15 year olds had not fame not fortune but happiness. Something I never developed until the later stages of my life when I first heard them. What they have they must not let go of.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
track 11.
As he tenderly touched the keys producing a calm, tranquille, melodic sound, a shiver ran down his spine. It was beautiful watching him on the old leather chair, striking chords of which I had not heard before. The piano played along with him. They were at one with eachother, no body was to come in between them. Soft rays of light reflected off the patent piano and onto his face inhancing his soft, delicate features. At last he had found himself within the piano.
The audience were still. Nothing could be heard apart from the echoing of the piano's notes. No one dared to speak. Everyone was captured by the pure, intense sound pertruding from the instrument. It was absolutley compelling watching him play. He had put everyone in a trance, he had captivated the minds of every ear within the hall.
How was he doing it? He only had small, stumpy fingers and yet they extended the more he went on. Such talent had never been recognised before as he played and played and played. He was expected to recieve a standing ovation after all the hard work he had put in. And bloody hell, a standing ovation he did recieve. Women wiped their teary eyes as men stood up without hesitation to reward this lad with cheers and applause. Of course he did not stir, it hadn't affected him that everyone was in awe after the performance he gave. He elegantly stood up, took a bow at centre stage and walked off.
Brilliant work considering he was ten years old!
The audience were still. Nothing could be heard apart from the echoing of the piano's notes. No one dared to speak. Everyone was captured by the pure, intense sound pertruding from the instrument. It was absolutley compelling watching him play. He had put everyone in a trance, he had captivated the minds of every ear within the hall.
How was he doing it? He only had small, stumpy fingers and yet they extended the more he went on. Such talent had never been recognised before as he played and played and played. He was expected to recieve a standing ovation after all the hard work he had put in. And bloody hell, a standing ovation he did recieve. Women wiped their teary eyes as men stood up without hesitation to reward this lad with cheers and applause. Of course he did not stir, it hadn't affected him that everyone was in awe after the performance he gave. He elegantly stood up, took a bow at centre stage and walked off.
Brilliant work considering he was ten years old!
Saturday, 14 June 2008
Task 26, Track 11
A Lovers View.
The soft grass swirled gently back and forth as the breezed pushed it into its desired direction. The trees randomly lost leaves hear and there and let them come fluttering down to the floor in a spiralling movement. In the middle of all this there stood something which had a sort of luminous glow of its own. Perhaps another of natures beauty yet accidentally too beautiful; rare and unique.
Soft delicate shape, each detail perfected. Each curve seemed as smooth as silk. Every movement immaculately done. Sun rays shining off like almost as if a sun in itself. The sound striking to any ear. The colour was extremely white and shining, enough to replace a moon in the night.
Her thick hair waved in the wind as if trying to fly. Her lips carved perfectly onto her face with in just the right position; brightly pink coloured. Her cheek bones outstanding and rosy red. Her small delicate nose fitted accurately with everything else. Her smile outshone a lamp in a dark room and brought warmth to the atmosphere. Her enormous dazzling eyes clearly the key features of her face could leave anyone speechless for days on hold.
Her subtle footsteps made no sound at all. Her hands waved freely in the air, each nail glimmering boldly. I stood there, my gaze fixed upon her eyes unable to move, un-wanting to move. She was moving towards me. Adrenaline started to build up. Tension was rising. She didn't say word. She stopped in front of me and I waited for something, anything. It was a worthwhile wait as I soon realised. Something lifted me off the floor and into the air. A sensational feeling, one I'd never experienced before and I knew I never would again. I closed my eyes and let my self drown slowly into the fact her lips were fixed upon mine.
Sorry I'm Late? :$
The soft grass swirled gently back and forth as the breezed pushed it into its desired direction. The trees randomly lost leaves hear and there and let them come fluttering down to the floor in a spiralling movement. In the middle of all this there stood something which had a sort of luminous glow of its own. Perhaps another of natures beauty yet accidentally too beautiful; rare and unique.
Soft delicate shape, each detail perfected. Each curve seemed as smooth as silk. Every movement immaculately done. Sun rays shining off like almost as if a sun in itself. The sound striking to any ear. The colour was extremely white and shining, enough to replace a moon in the night.
Her thick hair waved in the wind as if trying to fly. Her lips carved perfectly onto her face with in just the right position; brightly pink coloured. Her cheek bones outstanding and rosy red. Her small delicate nose fitted accurately with everything else. Her smile outshone a lamp in a dark room and brought warmth to the atmosphere. Her enormous dazzling eyes clearly the key features of her face could leave anyone speechless for days on hold.
Her subtle footsteps made no sound at all. Her hands waved freely in the air, each nail glimmering boldly. I stood there, my gaze fixed upon her eyes unable to move, un-wanting to move. She was moving towards me. Adrenaline started to build up. Tension was rising. She didn't say word. She stopped in front of me and I waited for something, anything. It was a worthwhile wait as I soon realised. Something lifted me off the floor and into the air. A sensational feeling, one I'd never experienced before and I knew I never would again. I closed my eyes and let my self drown slowly into the fact her lips were fixed upon mine.
Sorry I'm Late? :$
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Track 2
He did it. His hands gripped over my neck so tighly, almost like a lion preying on its victims. He squeezed and squeezed until I could feel my pulse stopping steadily. His hands crushing me like heartbreak. I could feel his emotions through his physical violence. STOP. Iknew he was angry, I knew he was upset. Yet I was finding difficulty in breathing. The sun was smiling down on me, yet I saw no reason for hapiness. I though he was my way out, my light, my life. Yet who would hrut the ones they love, unless they never loved at all? Certainly him, yet his love wasn't real, his love was the sultanas in an iced bun - unwanted and unneccasry.
He got less violent towards the end, maybe his emotions had drained out a little? He had always kept me trapped. He was jail; me his prisoner. Me a padlock, him he key. Without him I was locked up, with him I was. There's no way out. HELP. I could feel his weakening, loosening him gun like grip on my neck, leaving marks on my neck like red ribbons. He gazed deeply into my eyes, sad and innocent. I remeber it was his puppy dog eyes that attarcted me to him int he first place. Yet looks are so decieving. How could I have been fooled so easily? I looked at him with a blank expression. Even our surroudings could feel the tense atmosphere around us. He smiled, and walked away. Just gone. I failed to take in what has just happened. Physical abuse and then walking away like the bigger person forgetting everything we went through together? That's what he always was reffered to as. 'The bigger man'. So from that day onwards that's all I can remember him as.
As for me, I'm still my own padlock. Locked up tighter and securer than ever. Him? He wasn't my key after all. I'm still looking for him.
He got less violent towards the end, maybe his emotions had drained out a little? He had always kept me trapped. He was jail; me his prisoner. Me a padlock, him he key. Without him I was locked up, with him I was. There's no way out. HELP. I could feel his weakening, loosening him gun like grip on my neck, leaving marks on my neck like red ribbons. He gazed deeply into my eyes, sad and innocent. I remeber it was his puppy dog eyes that attarcted me to him int he first place. Yet looks are so decieving. How could I have been fooled so easily? I looked at him with a blank expression. Even our surroudings could feel the tense atmosphere around us. He smiled, and walked away. Just gone. I failed to take in what has just happened. Physical abuse and then walking away like the bigger person forgetting everything we went through together? That's what he always was reffered to as. 'The bigger man'. So from that day onwards that's all I can remember him as.
As for me, I'm still my own padlock. Locked up tighter and securer than ever. Him? He wasn't my key after all. I'm still looking for him.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Task 26 - Track 11
A powerful sense of déjà vu crawled through my veins and tickled the back of my neck as I surveyed the scene. Tumultuous waves of emotion, not entirely unexpected, washed over me and I was transported back in time. Pain ripped through the barriers that time had installed, tossing them aside like a petulant child would an old, unwanted toy.
Daisies danced in the sunlight, they held hands and swayed rhythmically in the gentle breeze, encouraging the busy insects who came to probe, collect and then move on to another, equally willing, host.
Ants busied themselves at the base of a tree stump, too busy to notice me, reliving my ‘childhood’. The grass smelt freshly cut even though it came up to my thighs in places, poking, prodding, exploring. The absence of birdsong was disturbing, I cocked my head to one side trying to pick up the concerto of sound. Nothing. Splashes created by a distant stream were the only sound that trickled through my consciousness that and my relentless heartbeat quickening as I drew closer to the place that I had denied knowledge of for so many years . I never saw that stream, at times, I doubted its existence, that is, when I wasn’t doubting my own.
The house itself remained unchanged. Extraordinary in its simplicity. Perhaps that was the point; a simplistic veneer hiding many complexities. The shadow it cast on its surroundings made even the daisies it was denying sunlight, cower, shiver and move closer together for comfort.
Daisies danced in the sunlight, they held hands and swayed rhythmically in the gentle breeze, encouraging the busy insects who came to probe, collect and then move on to another, equally willing, host.
Ants busied themselves at the base of a tree stump, too busy to notice me, reliving my ‘childhood’. The grass smelt freshly cut even though it came up to my thighs in places, poking, prodding, exploring. The absence of birdsong was disturbing, I cocked my head to one side trying to pick up the concerto of sound. Nothing. Splashes created by a distant stream were the only sound that trickled through my consciousness that and my relentless heartbeat quickening as I drew closer to the place that I had denied knowledge of for so many years . I never saw that stream, at times, I doubted its existence, that is, when I wasn’t doubting my own.
The house itself remained unchanged. Extraordinary in its simplicity. Perhaps that was the point; a simplistic veneer hiding many complexities. The shadow it cast on its surroundings made even the daisies it was denying sunlight, cower, shiver and move closer together for comfort.
Track 11
Peaceful and content. Seeing her makes me forget all of my troubles. Her presence equivalents to having Saint Mary have her arms around me, telling me my life was to change for ever.
Relaxed and yet focused. Her hands clasped together as if in prayer; her head tilted to the side; her legs curled up. Wrapped in a blanket, immune to the treachery of the outside world; immune to hurt, betrayal and grief; immune from troubles, unhappiness, and fear; immune from everything bad and coated in all that is good.
Her tiny mouth twitches into a smile; I hope she remains smiling and never has a reason to stop smiling. Her hands part, maybe her prayer has been answered. So still, no sign of movement at all. She’s one of the good ones; she won’t keep me up all night my darling, my princess.
I reach out to touch my darling but my hand freezes. My hand freezes from the coldness of her body. The stillness of her stomach, the lack of pink in her cheeks. I step back shocked to silence. I should have known that it wasn’t meant to be. I should have known that I would never have something to love me. My baby was gone; like everything else in my life. Gone.
Monday, 9 June 2008
Track 11
His head now lay in the soft patch of grass, as if it were a moss-covered pillow deliberately planted there to cushion the impact. The remains of his body however, lay scattered across the rest of the forest like some impossible jigsaw maliciously prearranged for the police to solve.But with one piece missing.
The trees stood unstirred and untroubled; in perfect harmony with there surrounding neighbours, apart from the strange creature crouched down beside a bright red rock. Slowly rocking back and forth, the creature gently grabbed the rock as if it were some prized possession destined to disintegrate if not grasped swiftly. But as the furry hand moved closer, the rock began to beat and slowly throb, now resembling its previous state rather than the nature inflicted object it had become. The creatures eyes widened at the sight of it; and as the heart began to beat more rapidly, regret was injected to the very same object that lay beside him but was instead embeded in his own chest. His body was anaesthetised by the realisation he finally knew what he was looking for. What he had lost all those years ago: A heart. Essentially, this was the missing part of his puzzle, the puzzle of emotion. The puzzle of his life.
p.s sorry the ending is a bit weak but i couldn't think of something powerfull
The trees stood unstirred and untroubled; in perfect harmony with there surrounding neighbours, apart from the strange creature crouched down beside a bright red rock. Slowly rocking back and forth, the creature gently grabbed the rock as if it were some prized possession destined to disintegrate if not grasped swiftly. But as the furry hand moved closer, the rock began to beat and slowly throb, now resembling its previous state rather than the nature inflicted object it had become. The creatures eyes widened at the sight of it; and as the heart began to beat more rapidly, regret was injected to the very same object that lay beside him but was instead embeded in his own chest. His body was anaesthetised by the realisation he finally knew what he was looking for. What he had lost all those years ago: A heart. Essentially, this was the missing part of his puzzle, the puzzle of emotion. The puzzle of his life.
p.s sorry the ending is a bit weak but i couldn't think of something powerfull
Track 18; Jug Ears
He had his green gummy earphones inserted into his oversized jug ears. Promenading down Oxford Street with a constant stride, like a child exploring his surroundings. A soul gone astray, he looked like as if he had not a care in the world but to find truth in his existence. This is how he did it. The Blues Brothers helped him incredibly so, blaring into his oversized jug ears, reminding him that someone felt the same as he did. His mind was elsewhere, stuck in another world where nothing existed but itself.
Sauntering by ‘Next’, he gave a steady press for his next song; ‘Rubber biscuit’. Altogether how he felt. A pointless, useless and utterly unsatisfying man with no meaning that he could find. His bag jumped in a continuous motion up and down from his back, revealing every second a large and moist sweat patch on his rear. Staring at every petty ant on the sand hill made him sweat even more. He was singing now, bringing what he believed was an equal harmony to the words of fire from the Brothers themselves. Eyes stared, pupils widened, eyebrows raised. Nothing bothered him.
McDonalds. The breeding ground, an untiring place where people steal a moment from life to consume a burger. He wondered why people did it, why to waste away life in such a pathetic way, why they even bothered. Music still flared from his iPod into his oversized jug ears. Wires were starting to appear now. People started to point, the one thing he was so used to. As a child he accepted points and stares that felt like needles, all to be avenged for now. His iPod was still blaring in his oversized jug ears; the Blues Brothers would help him to prepare.
Sauntering by ‘Next’, he gave a steady press for his next song; ‘Rubber biscuit’. Altogether how he felt. A pointless, useless and utterly unsatisfying man with no meaning that he could find. His bag jumped in a continuous motion up and down from his back, revealing every second a large and moist sweat patch on his rear. Staring at every petty ant on the sand hill made him sweat even more. He was singing now, bringing what he believed was an equal harmony to the words of fire from the Brothers themselves. Eyes stared, pupils widened, eyebrows raised. Nothing bothered him.
McDonalds. The breeding ground, an untiring place where people steal a moment from life to consume a burger. He wondered why people did it, why to waste away life in such a pathetic way, why they even bothered. Music still flared from his iPod into his oversized jug ears. Wires were starting to appear now. People started to point, the one thing he was so used to. As a child he accepted points and stares that felt like needles, all to be avenged for now. His iPod was still blaring in his oversized jug ears; the Blues Brothers would help him to prepare.
love in the time of Yorkshire
As I hungrily pulled her closer to me, I could feel her soft brown hair caress my ears. For that split second in time, I finally felt like it was all worth it. I had captured her soft, lush, precious lips and I wasn’t prepared to let them go. I would happily keep them locked under armed guard just to experience their soft touch once again.
I had more than I bargained for however since her determined hands scurried around my waist begging for a response. Before I knew it my primeval instinct had done the job for me. My arms were now accepting the request, followed by my pulsating heart, almost immediately we were as one with the surrounding crops. I felt her wanting, pleading, begging for more as my pristine white shirt was demolished at the busying hands of her, by now, immense presence. The buttons popped liked a cork from a champagne bottle, the straps cracked like a ferocious whip, the zips opened like a department stores doors at an exclusive book signing. More than all of this however was that her clearly aroused being was searching for an opportunity to show its full potential.
On show for the world to see, her and me, naked as a newborn. We didn’t care though since this embrace was worth much more than moral standards. I finally had the world at my feet, an angelic figure of a woman, flowing free, surviving off of my very existence like a blood hungry leech. What more could a man want? If Gandhi, Mandela or Bono could harness a weapon to fight against world conflict and promote world harmony, it would be love. If there was no love in our world today, we would not exist.
As one we submerged into a world of passion, overcome by it. We lay, naked as our ancestral predecessors and watched the ambient Yorkshire sun set. No longer frantic. Rather subdued in fact. Together, as one.
Sunday, 8 June 2008
Ink Eyes second draft
Its only a minor changed based on a really good comment made by the moderator.
The cascades of sweat seemed unanimously destined for doom. With every facial shudder the thoughts of rescue anxiously fled. The teardrops sped mournfully towards what most called ‘the trickle’. Every single one was destined for the trickle, the fall, the everlasting dive towards obliteration.
Everything was quite tense in the abortion clinic. Everyone seemed calm compared to her. She whispered harshly to herself, cursing and occasionally taking huge bites out of the skin by her fingernails. Her thoughts almost came up like cartoons in her eyes, jagged and graphic, jet black ink welling up in her tear ducts. She spat carefully into a tissue, as her capillaries bulged round her nose they slightly resembled the winding purple lines on the pages of the Rutland A-Z. The only thing that mysteriously contradicted her tense aesthetic was her hair, her hair hung loose. The hair was the thing, the thing that sparked interest, her hair shimmered innocently, and it graced her shoulders bouncing elegantly framing her eyes and cheeks perfectly. This juxtaposition provoked anger in her abortion room comrades; their jealousy orbited her, why? The mob couldn’t understand why she had time to get pregnant and do her hair. She couldn’t be desperate and beautiful, the room seemed to heat up with silent conflict, and this adopted truth cornered her and was about to seep into her flesh before her name was called for her consultation.
The cascades of sweat seemed unanimously destined for doom. With every facial shudder the thoughts of rescue anxiously fled. The teardrops sped mournfully towards what most called ‘the trickle’. Every single one was destined for the trickle, the fall, the everlasting dive towards obliteration.
The cascades of sweat seemed unanimously destined for doom. With every facial shudder the thoughts of rescue anxiously fled. The teardrops sped mournfully towards what most called ‘the trickle’. Every single one was destined for the trickle, the fall, the everlasting dive towards obliteration.
Everything was quite tense in the abortion clinic. Everyone seemed calm compared to her. She whispered harshly to herself, cursing and occasionally taking huge bites out of the skin by her fingernails. Her thoughts almost came up like cartoons in her eyes, jagged and graphic, jet black ink welling up in her tear ducts. She spat carefully into a tissue, as her capillaries bulged round her nose they slightly resembled the winding purple lines on the pages of the Rutland A-Z. The only thing that mysteriously contradicted her tense aesthetic was her hair, her hair hung loose. The hair was the thing, the thing that sparked interest, her hair shimmered innocently, and it graced her shoulders bouncing elegantly framing her eyes and cheeks perfectly. This juxtaposition provoked anger in her abortion room comrades; their jealousy orbited her, why? The mob couldn’t understand why she had time to get pregnant and do her hair. She couldn’t be desperate and beautiful, the room seemed to heat up with silent conflict, and this adopted truth cornered her and was about to seep into her flesh before her name was called for her consultation.
The cascades of sweat seemed unanimously destined for doom. With every facial shudder the thoughts of rescue anxiously fled. The teardrops sped mournfully towards what most called ‘the trickle’. Every single one was destined for the trickle, the fall, the everlasting dive towards obliteration.
Task 26: Exemplar (Track 15)
Stroke Victim
Still and unstirred, like a silent oak, the rings of time carved into the bark of her face, she watched nothing. A miniature seed of spittle swayed imperceptibly in the corner of her mouth, the ghost of a smile lingering from some joke not even she could remember; and, if you listened carefully, you could hear the sibilant scrape of her breath. Her eyes held a conviction of wonder, a cloudy cataract of joy at who knows what, when or where.
Her hands rested, statuesque, on her knees, the thumb of each hand tapping the seconds out with metronomic precision, a rhythm hypnotic in its persistency. I walked over, edging closer, terrified I would wake her from what seemed to be such a perfect state – alive and yet enraptured, totally detached from this ugly world. I touched her cheek, but she didn’t register. I held her hand, gently – and I was disturbed by the brief hiatus in her digital beats, as if I had stopped her music.
I stepped back; regarded her again. And then I saw it. A briny diamond creeping down her left cheek, like a distant cry from a child buried deep within this ageing casket. Sadness distilled, too potent to contemplate. I knelt down, dropped my head on her lap and my own tears dripped on to her fingers, which did not stop tapping.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Task 26: Track 18
The candle lit up and made her eyes sparkle; they took away the darkness. They took away the tension, the fear that was bubbling up inside her like a chemical reaction. As she waits for her destiny; the soft music in the background was breaking through the silence that was surrounding her. There was laughter now and then but she was feeling alone and almost out of place. The sound of her watch ticking became loud and violent as though it was warning her of something, something she was waiting for.
She was slowly tapping her fingers on the table, with a rose in the middle. A red rose. It made the room feel much lighter and more relax. Everyone round her was calm with a peaceful mind; her eyes couldn’t help its urging feeling to look at the-gleaming door. She couldn’t pick up the courage to leave, so there she was sitting still like some statue in a museum or gallery. There was a sense of a mysterious feeling in the atmosphere, her hands was close together, her legs shaking about a little. Time was fading away into the past and still there was no sign of the door opening; of her destiny running in towards her. Her hair was smooth, silky and she moved a bit to the back of her ear. But the way she was feeling inside weren’t smooth or calm. Her stomach was tight, like her inside was twisting itself into a knot. The temperature was rising and the flame of the candle was making it seem like her eyes was burning in fury. Though she still was sitting there in complete- silence.
Track 11, a new society
The barrage of pleasantries from Mother Nature were constant, consistent yet comforting, her soft-silk touch of excellence seemed to carry on throughout the whole area. The trees were heavily laden with blossoms and petals of her younger children, the wind was as welcoming as a family to a newborn. Mother Nature left nobody as a pariah in this neighbourly community, but it seemed that she need not worry as they were all as close as siblings. The proud, pleased and playful parrots conjoined together as one unit to challenge the mighty, mellow and miraculous mice to a game of hide and seek. Whilst the mighty, magnanimous, majestic lion stood proudly as the strongest, fastest, biggest second in command at the top of Kingdom Hill. The hares and rabbits strolled over the constant green grassland and would often come across clumps of beautifully formed roses and camomile that varied in colour changing from the awe-inspiring spectrum of a never ending rainbow.
The trees seemed to make way for passing travellers, as the healthy, thick branches quickly yet carefully opened up respectfully to the pathways that lead to the hidden beauty within. The woodland society often visited this “hidden beauty” and they all say that it is aesthetically pleasing in many assorted ways. They even welcomed us, the tired, weary, smelly, and not jolly travellers searching for an area that would induce our creative juices and hopefully find peace. I think we’ve found it.
The trees seemed to make way for passing travellers, as the healthy, thick branches quickly yet carefully opened up respectfully to the pathways that lead to the hidden beauty within. The woodland society often visited this “hidden beauty” and they all say that it is aesthetically pleasing in many assorted ways. They even welcomed us, the tired, weary, smelly, and not jolly travellers searching for an area that would induce our creative juices and hopefully find peace. I think we’ve found it.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Track 17: Ink Eyes
The cascades of sweat seemed unanimously destined for doom. With every facial shudder the thoughts of rescue anxiously fled. The teardrops sped mournfully towards what most called ‘the trickle’. Every single one was destined for the trickle, the fall, the everlasting dive towards obliteration.
Everything was quite tense in the abortion clinic. Everyone seemed calm compared to her. She whispered harshly to herself, cursing and occasionally taking huge bites out of the skin by her fingernails. Her thoughts almost came up like cartoons in her eyes, jagged and graphic, jet black ink welling up in her tear ducts. She spat carefully into a tissue, as her capillaries bulged round her nose they slightly resembled the winding purple lines on the pages of the Rutland A-Z. The only thing that mysteriously contradicted her tense aesthetic was her hair, her hair hung loose. The hair was the thing, the thing that sparked interest, her hair shimmered innocently, and it graced her shoulders bouncing elegantly framing her eyes and cheeks perfectly. This juxtaposition provoked anger in her abortion room comrades; their jealousy orbited her, why? The mob couldn’t understand why she had time to get pregnant and do her hair. She couldn’t be desperate and beautiful, the room seemed to heat up with silent conflict, and this adopted truth cornered her and was about to seep into her flesh before her name was called for her consultation.
Everything was quite tense in the abortion clinic. Everyone seemed calm compared to her. She whispered harshly to herself, cursing and occasionally taking huge bites out of the skin by her fingernails. Her thoughts almost came up like cartoons in her eyes, jagged and graphic, jet black ink welling up in her tear ducts. She spat carefully into a tissue, as her capillaries bulged round her nose they slightly resembled the winding purple lines on the pages of the Rutland A-Z. The only thing that mysteriously contradicted her tense aesthetic was her hair, her hair hung loose. The hair was the thing, the thing that sparked interest, her hair shimmered innocently, and it graced her shoulders bouncing elegantly framing her eyes and cheeks perfectly. This juxtaposition provoked anger in her abortion room comrades; their jealousy orbited her, why? The mob couldn’t understand why she had time to get pregnant and do her hair. She couldn’t be desperate and beautiful, the room seemed to heat up with silent conflict, and this adopted truth cornered her and was about to seep into her flesh before her name was called for her consultation.