Sometimes, it’s more than a meeting of minds.
Entirely on its own.
Stands up to the blistering light.
The humming of the night hushes the blemishes left by words that cannot be spoken.
Postponed for another time.
We return to the spot.
In the war against self, angst and joy make the most noise… Increasing the burden on the soul to pretend to find the spiritedness of its once youthful exuberance… Shoooo even the sound of that sentence makes my mind exhausted
So I flip the page, hoping to find a new chapter… A corner of the mind that hasn’t yet been polluted with the dejectedness of being grown…
In between the rubble sprigs of hope sprout shoots… Growing small eyes with a skewed view of the pavement. In the end all that’s left is me, the mirror and my goddam boobs
Leading me to my favourite street. With its welcoming avenue…
Some people discover their best smiles in front of the mirror.
Some people roll our of bed into last night’s pair of jeans.
Some people just never do..
so every now and then, this ‘silence’ engulfs me… by ‘silence’, i mean not being able to write… i toss and turn.. watch Two and a Half Men… toss and turn some more… hoping that the feeling will pass and it usually doesn’t…
so what does a writer do in moments like these?
let me go think about it for a little bit…
….to be continued
while you wait, have a read of a post i wrote a little while ago about this very same affliction
i see rainbows..
even when it doesn’t rain…
i see rainbows…
streams of warm colours
that tremble when touched.
i hear songs
harmonies of pleasure
that hum along over scattered rhythms.
i see rainbows…
and i remember
a time when i loved you
before you could bring yourself
to stop throwing up
at the sight of your face
reflected in the still waters
around our home…
i see rainbows
streaks of hope
between the ribbons of light.
and i wonder
if my imagination is enough
to carry me
to its ends….
There’s nothing that fascinates me more than the creative process… especially of art forms other than writing (I like to believe that I am a writer, you see)…
I came across this video of Mike Harrison, graphic designer and illustrator, based in London. in this clip, he gives a tutorial of his work for the Fotolia TEN collection using Adope Photoshop and Illustrator… some amazing stuff! What’s special about the Fotolia TEN Collection is ‘that people can download the full PSD free of charge for 24 hours allowing them to discover techniques, tips and tricks from the artist.’ Check the work out on Mike’s website. Actually before you do that, here are some images of Mike’s work from this collection:
This process of creation reminds me of Marian Bantjes’ film I saw during the 2013 Design Indaba Film Fest.. I had the pleasure of interviewing Marian… very humbling experience… her process of creation – beautifully intricate.. For once, I have no words to describe… Have a look at this snippet of her TED talk – here she talks about her work and how she aims to create work that incorporates make HERSELF AND the CLIENT happy. Definitely a space worth aspiring to.
Here are some samples of her work:
French-Canadian singer, Madeline Peyroux sings:
“sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but tears don’t leave any scars
so i’m alright”
these lyrics almost have me flipping to ‘Survivor’ by Destiny’s Child.
And I can’t help but think that
being a survivor
is truly overrated,
if you ask me(i know you didn’t but still, i’m sharing that anyway).
it’s a vain attempt to show the world our supposed strength.
that i-can-beat-anything, false bravado.
what does it even mean to survive?
who determines the degree of resilience?
heck, i’ve been through somethings
and most of the time, i like to fool myself into believing that i have successfully
survived those trying times.
how do i explain to myself
those moments when i simply cannot get up in the morning?
those moments when i simply do not have the strength to enjoy the sunshine?
does that mean i’m not surviving?
is that a sign of weakness?
when your body is so consumed with this mind-pain that is unbearably huge and seems insurmountable..
so really, what does being a survivor mean?
is there a badge one gets to show the world that i have “survived”?
i may walk with my head held high
and laugh with the world
does that mean i have survived?
i’ve never been a victim of sexual abuse as a child, or physical abuse by a partner or any of those things that get people gasping, speechless, fumbling for words of sympathy.
does this make my plight any less heavier?
well i believe it is completely acceptable to concede defeat along the way.
it’s alright to completely miss the mark some times, at the very least it makes life’s twist and turns seem interesting (laughable,almost)..
the story of you’s been walking around the world with me for so long, that i’m now afraid to let it go on paper.
you’ve been growing in my head all this time that i can hardly separate truth from lie from fiction.
i’m not me. i’m not you.
what about all the lies? were they part of the narrative of you? a way of escaping the unbearable reality called life.
multiple personalities? there must be, how else do you explain the intricate lives your character is juggling?
paranoia? afraid that someone will figure it all out. the fiction.
fear? hardly surprising considering the fictional living
all make for an interesting state of mind…
do the lies we tell, the small untruths, add up to the fiction of you?
if they do, then we are all born storytellers…