I took photos of my life. I used to take a photo to remind me when something happened.
I took so many pictures. So many.
I developed them and stuck them to my bedroom wall. First just a few favourites. Then more. Friends, family, pets, places, bodies. They all began to fill my wall.
Untill one day, you couldn't see the wall anymore.
I had blocked out my wall with my memories. Memories had taken the present and hidden it behind the veil.
Sometimes I wonder. If the wall fell down, would the pictures still stand? A wall of memories supporting the roof of my life.
Monday 21 January 2008
The Crashing Of Waves
Politeness remains. The last bastion of hope. Even at the end of civilisation awkward politeness will see us through.
“How’ve you been?”
My blood freezes in my veins, I’m lost again; in over my head; drowning. I’m treading water in an unfathomably deep, stormy ocean; isolated on all sides for thousands of miles. There is no one to help. The black water slaps my face, choppy waves force their salty path into my mouth. I can’t help but swallow the foul, bitter, elixir. How can I stay afloat in this ocean of despair and emotion? She knows me. How? I have no idea who is she is. There is nobody to throw me a life-ring; everybody just looks on in terrifying apathy.
Has she mistaken me?
She has mistaken me.
The dizzying high of my fear ebbs into disappointment.
She thinks I’m someone else.
I am someone else.
I’m out of the deep and left spluttering for breath on the ground, slumped in the mud and the discarded dreams of the backstreets, coughing up water. My throat is aching, crying out from this punishment. I’m alive but humiliated.
“David? How’ve you been?”
She knows me.
I’m back in the great tossing ocean. Alone. Left to the fury of Neptune.
I’m dead.
“How’ve you been?”
My blood freezes in my veins, I’m lost again; in over my head; drowning. I’m treading water in an unfathomably deep, stormy ocean; isolated on all sides for thousands of miles. There is no one to help. The black water slaps my face, choppy waves force their salty path into my mouth. I can’t help but swallow the foul, bitter, elixir. How can I stay afloat in this ocean of despair and emotion? She knows me. How? I have no idea who is she is. There is nobody to throw me a life-ring; everybody just looks on in terrifying apathy.
Has she mistaken me?
She has mistaken me.
The dizzying high of my fear ebbs into disappointment.
She thinks I’m someone else.
I am someone else.
I’m out of the deep and left spluttering for breath on the ground, slumped in the mud and the discarded dreams of the backstreets, coughing up water. My throat is aching, crying out from this punishment. I’m alive but humiliated.
“David? How’ve you been?”
She knows me.
I’m back in the great tossing ocean. Alone. Left to the fury of Neptune.
I’m dead.
Eyes
I remember her eyes the most. Strange isn’t it that after adoring a person; after loving them so deeply you would do anything they asked of you; after holding them close so to you, learning the contours of their body; hearing their dreams; living in a world of fingertips and brushed moments of hands on cheeks; and then, finally, seeing them walk away from you for that last time; it’s their eyes that you remember. Something as inconsequential as eyes. I mean, they’re closed for the majority of the time, and when they are open you don’t dare to look at them. These two windows to the soul; those two green pools with flecks of gold. These two-way portals, pulling the world and you into them; replacing it all with pure emotion, with an individual’s hopes and fears…if only we’d dare to look. It’s these things that we remember. The two things we see the least.
Liberty of Spring
From here I can see the world.
White mist drags a curtain off the
sun; revealing to the Earth its saviour.
The still life of a dead winter tree
is no more; a lost painting of Inaction.
The sun has come to set it free.
Red and black freedom
glides past my perception. Creations
of a sublime nature. Flowers add dots
of colour to the green of nature’s nation.
The tallest citizens reaching with open arms
towards the warming gold. Redistributive
of life to those in lower height. Alms
for the poor and never conservative.
A variety of life so wide and changeable:
the individualism of nature shines
out, as the sun shines down so able.
The plunging ravines; the tallest climbs:
such diversity and such liberty.
Who are we to argue with these transcendent
rules of nature. Humanity: an obscenity.
Hiding from ourselves as independent.
The liberty of spring reminds
of freedom we’ve lost along the way.
We’re blind and lost far behind.
All that’s left to face is the cost.
White mist drags a curtain off the
sun; revealing to the Earth its saviour.
The still life of a dead winter tree
is no more; a lost painting of Inaction.
The sun has come to set it free.
Red and black freedom
glides past my perception. Creations
of a sublime nature. Flowers add dots
of colour to the green of nature’s nation.
The tallest citizens reaching with open arms
towards the warming gold. Redistributive
of life to those in lower height. Alms
for the poor and never conservative.
A variety of life so wide and changeable:
the individualism of nature shines
out, as the sun shines down so able.
The plunging ravines; the tallest climbs:
such diversity and such liberty.
Who are we to argue with these transcendent
rules of nature. Humanity: an obscenity.
Hiding from ourselves as independent.
The liberty of spring reminds
of freedom we’ve lost along the way.
We’re blind and lost far behind.
All that’s left to face is the cost.
Love's Reqiuem
With her leftwrist bronze twist circling forever,
she reaches toward my face, open
hands. Fingers fold.
Her green eyes with flecks of gold.
Reflecting in mine, reflected in hers.
Infinite reflection, a luxury of contemplation.
Without her I am nothing. Her calm
encircling me, warming the shards of
a broken soul behind the glass of my eyes.
This is where my inhibitions hide.
In the recesses of my being; nothing inside,
what's left to hide?
she reaches toward my face, open
hands. Fingers fold.
Her green eyes with flecks of gold.
Reflecting in mine, reflected in hers.
Infinite reflection, a luxury of contemplation.
Without her I am nothing. Her calm
encircling me, warming the shards of
a broken soul behind the glass of my eyes.
This is where my inhibitions hide.
In the recesses of my being; nothing inside,
what's left to hide?
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