»

[Faile]

Hi. This is something of a strange beast. I beg of you to take the time to pull it apart and rebuild it and let me know what you think. Basically its a collection of writings that tell a kind-of story, although I only realised a moment ago. Its inspired by various things; people, blackbirds and a song or two. I hope you enjoy it.
Its in no real order but I've placed them in some strange looping narrative of sorts. The names change but somethings never do.

in love
xx


Nowhere

This is beyond. The time brings forgiveness . The air frees the soul of regret . There is no descent here, no shade of grey nor black . White light covers all like an atomic bomb of absolution and redemption. Upon one time we may find this reclusive watering hole within our own consciousness, a place of refuge. Until then however we must simply continue, life unto death unto life once more. We exist.

Six am alarm calls dragged her to wakefulness. Tears stained her pillow again, she noticed without any reality processing the image. Wait, there it was. A...Memory ? Yes. She disliked waking with tears still stinging her eyes. She rolled out of bed.
Which is how she found herself retching over the toilet bowl ten minutes later.
‘Why? Why do I do this?’ she asked herself between forcing her fingers down her throat. ‘Habits bring judgement, judgement brings redemption’, the voice whispered back. She continued to purge her stomach.
She snatched herself up to the mirror. She had found herself staring deep into this mirror recently, searching for answers that were not there. Her scarred body gave no clue towards her existence or where she would end up. Only where she had come from, and that was somewhere she would never visit again. In that mirror she searched for many things however, change, truth, death and hope. She never found what she was looking for however.
Dragging herself out of the house was hard, it took effort to make a change, even on the smallest scale. Locking the door behind her, she peered around her surroundings. Her mood and emotion caused her to cast a gaze that saw only in sepia colours, yet had she cared enough to believe she was real, the true colour spectrum of the area would not have been that different, all black and white cityscape with the grey monotony of another days schedule.
‘Blame , Blame’, the voices chirped.; a rhyme sung to her mind, a lilting lullaby of darkness. She didn’t know why she was like this. She certainly never asked for it.
She walked in darkness, along the streets that hid secrets. She took a left here, a left there, right, straight on. Crowds opened up for her as she passed them by. She would wonder over that when she took notice, if notice she took at all. I doubt the place had a past or a present, and she definitely didn’t have a future here. She was sure of that.
Her melancholia spread across her body, anybody that took notice of her would have seen the eyes of the dead, a one thousand yard stare into time and infinity.

Blank eyes. Dead. Nothing. Dead. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Welcome to Nowhere.


*

Glass

Here is where we shall begin. I have no idea of where we are going, but neither shall you, or indeed they. For this is about them.
Her eyes flashed open like so many thunder storms. Monday morning rain pelted the windows and her moods, emotions were created and reformed in the blinking of the sleep stained eye. But does this matter ? Does any beginning really matter ?

Eyes Close. Opening again, colour floods back across the room, but emotions cast a sepia taint across the view. This time she rises and struggles across the room. She casts a shadow across a grey carpet and sighs with a million curses. Reason doesn't change her reflection, dead eyes meeting porcelain reflections. Salvation is found with the hair brush.
'Welcome to Monday', the cherub blackbirds call.
'Welcome to Nowhere', the skies reply.

For this is nowhere, it always is at the beginning and why should this disprove the trend. For revolution has failed to change the cursed core of what is known. Eyes can close, the void may consume, but there is rarely change. This nowhere place is where we dream of life, beyond caustic work, sinful hobby or most latent dream. A world of what might be, perhaps could be, if we would but see it.

She left the house as normal, dressed in mourning, wrapped in apathy and made her way along the winding road, straight as a die but as loose as escaping death. Traffic passes by, the green of gardens battling the encroaching raptures of the modern. She walks from a room to a place. But today, the world may change. The only way to make it through each day is to believe that, she knows it well, but today the world may find its way to change, through the ether of time, the wonder of faith, and the death of apathy.

Her name is connected, ruby eyes betraying. She is known here sometimes as Glass. She casts a shadow in the sunlight and is sometimes known to walk with a skip in her step in such cases. She lives alone and mainly within her head, causing problems with the world her body occupies. It is sometimes hard to find a way to lectures when avoiding the puddles that make up thought and the obtuse angles of the paths these thoughts walk. A mind born of frustration with the world but a mind born from desire, desire that defining moment be found, moments that change the way a person is, that shape the thought paths and change the winding lanes of resolution away from desolate nine through five working days. These can be found she assures herself, but also a part of her knows that these moments come at the price of security within the real world. She likes to close her two eyes and witness the daily death of the sunlight through velvet curtains, but this mainly leads to people finding reasons to be in another place, and great loneliness and detachment from the world. Peace will always come at a price, crying to sleep, longing for the touch of a human hand against her own, and this drives her further into a world of substance, away from the sprawling mess of humanity within this world of nothing.

But now it can be sensed that change is nearby. Maybe she cannot see it, but certain aspects are moving rapidly across the sky, lunar cycles are becoming complete. But who can ever notice ?

*

Rain Down

It was a Tuesday again. She awoke and washed, quickly, superfluously. These things just happen, look at the clock and you’ll see it passing us by, but try not to let your gaze linger there.
She loves the feel of summer, all tangled hair and black glasses, but ultimately she fears it with each year. She makes each day a petal on a daisy chain inside her mind, knowing they will break, but didn’t they used to occupy your mind so? Spirals of what was that make that which is easier.
From the door to the destination always foot after foot, never in a straight line. Easier to avoid the eyes this way, but the sunshine gave her a touch of sparkle, a hope uncrushed. She could have skipped, but instead swayed, softly seeking the shadows of tested doubt as she had to. Yes, you could spend days and hours of soft focus questioning asking why, but it was just the feeling. She hated contact with the outside world unless it was upon her own terms, and she knew it wouldn’t be on those granite prayers of town management. Yet she was never completely cut off from watchers. The simple fact is that nobody can be. You just are, dropping completely out of existence is hard in that way, but she gave as good as any could have; all Cheshire cat grins and nothingness.
She watches them in the solar reflections of windows, curving architecture, a slightly slanted view of human nature shown. She was more than content however to let her gaze slip from there to the future in her mind. Each day she played out the same secret fantastical daydreams of him. It was perhaps the best way of coping. It also explained her inherent fear of the people, they might touch her, wipe away the dust that the moth-like wings of his fingertips had left on her soul. She was pure on the outside, but only powder fresh on the soul. She wanted no handprints there, no sufficient evidence of other. So it was and so, she hoped, it would stay.

*

[Faile]

Autumn

The sun caught his eye, unprepared;
It left me blinded, like the dying autumn leaves
may deceive yet fall to earth (under pressure
of the inevitable).

His thoughts wilt in the dusk of a life;
never fully comprehended beyond the black
of being afraid of the dark;
remember, purity once existed.

I remember seeing him on the beaches,
black and white vintage;
broken promise and drained of speech,
only death the holy.

The leaves are falling faster now.

*

It has been some time since we were last here. I remember but I’m not entirely sure you do, or whether you could even? Questions built on questions, but I’m sure that all it takes is a memory.
She fell, do you remember? We watched her together, walking in those same sand marked footprints, the rough drag of the paving slab not touching our immortal youth yet still lacking definition, all we ever could do was follow. I’ll forgive you the slip; we all make them from time to time.
Where are we going? I’m not even sure she knows yet.

*

Thursday


It was a Thurday morning. The rain caught the last gasp of sunshine, atomised white light and teenage explosion of hope. Small moments with which to maintain faith with, whilst the world ground down hope and heaven under grey skies, malignant and threatening. Wake up, wake up.

That night she had dreamt of nothing, cursed blank minds, no inspiration left to be found there. Her head felt like concrete, pulled by unseen hands from above. The radio hissed static voice, monotone crowed calls of times past and times to be, people who were and people who are. She was neither there or here. It didn’t matter. Few things do in the end, a lesson learnt under moonlight.

Finding her way there was akin to the dreamscape she was lacking, failed medicine again. Thoughts of him grasped at her hands, burning and wreathing in an air of dirt that made her want to cut her fingers off, as if to keep her purity intact. Walking down the same wooden steps, she hoped to follow his footsteps mixed and muddied with time and earth. He was here before.

Her eyes scanned the sands, watched the wind smooth everything over, watched the grains scour stones, wood, souls. Walking to the water was easy, he had gone and she must follow. He had stood here somewhere, just a week ago. She never knew, nobody had. They found him days later, washed a mile away.

She closed her eyes and met the tide head on. Grey skies met dead eyes, symbolism to the end. The last thought was of him, then nothing else mattered.

[Pu the Owl]

... I have seen a thousand fractures
I have seen everything ...

Welcome back melacholy...
Thanks for posting these fragments and writings. Reading them I had an imaginary trip, a sort of deja vu... For few seconds I daydreamt about living a sepia-toned life, smelling dead autumn leaves. It all happened, years and years ago... maybe, maybe... I looked into someone else's dream... hidden behind blinded eyes.