Thursday, 30 June 2011

Future overkill.

The future that mysterious time yet to happen, how it troubles me so at the moment, because I try to control it too much when really deep down I know I can't control it. Even planning for it seems to cause problems.

A mantra I need to repeat for a while.....


'A preoccupation with the future not only prevents us from seeing the present as it is but often prompts us to rearrange the past'  ~Eric Hoffer

Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Work Work Work Work


Just a little message to say won’t be writing on here much for the next few weeks as literally have to work from 7:30 in the morning to 1:30 in the morning during the week and work across the weekends so no time to have any kind of life! However, following this harrowing period of non stop work I have a series of blissful holidays to look forward to. The first of which is a week in the highlands of Scotland surrounded by nothing but mountains and Lochs and a deserted beach so writing will resume then when I am surrounded by an inspirational setting and have nothing but time on my hands….

Saturday, 18 June 2011

A short story of sorts.


It reminded her of pressing a cold smooth pebble against her cheek, the softness of the stone pushing gently into her warm yielding skin. The memory transported her back to a time on the beach. Her face had been slightly damp; sweat and tears mixed together imprinting her cheekbone into the pebble making the top half of it a dull brown against the dusky grey of the rest. Before it had glided effortlessly, moving across her face like a rowing boat floating and easing itself across still water but the tears had caused friction making the pebble rub into her cheek. Her life was like that, sometimes she glided through it effortlessly, it almost seemed easy.  Then soon without warning, friction was added turning the glide into a struggle until she sometimes stopped completely, waiting for the pebble to dry out once more, so that she could continue on her way.

 Now, here she was comparing the feel of a pebble on her cheek to the cold reality of a gun’s barrel resting gently into her cheek. She looked up, the steely sheen of the gun was glared in the eyes of her soon to be killer. The eyes could be likened to metal- solid and dirty mirrors of the world around, reflecting everything around them but showing nothing of the inside. It was no longer gently resting, but biting, causing a small circle of skin to be sucked a few millimetres into the barrel of the gun creating a cushioned pocket of pink human flesh.

 Life and death becoming one now, the vitality of human flesh squashed into the deathly black of the gun’s spiralling barrel. She thought about a phrase she had previously given little thought to, ‘from the second we are born we could be a second away from death’, before she had played with this idea comfortable and happy in her detachment from it. In the midst of her life, death had felt along way off. But NOW death was being pushed into her face and the sentiment was suddenly real, death REALLY could be a second away.

 How did this make her feel?

Inadequate and unfulfilled.  Inadequate because she had done her last of everything on this earth. The last person she had a conversation with was a stranger, a stranger who meant nothing to her and who she meant nothing to, it would be an irrelevance to that stranger if she was now to die. She’d always imagined she would do more, affect someone and leave some kind of mark but she doubted anyone would care either way  Unfulfilled because since being born she thought her life had encountered more bad seconds then good, her life had been ‘more bad’ than good so had it been worth it?

Inadequate and unfulfilled….what a note for her life to end on. Such empty words that boasted of little more than a failure, a life failed. She had failed in the most important test of all…life. Despair began to drown her senses dragging her into the familiar void. The start of a life- what promise, what hope, what possibilities. Her life had been a blank landscape ahead of her, ready to be filled with the pictures and words of her life. True, she was the creator of that landscape, it was her life but other people, events and circumstance leaked in from the edges changing the focus of the picture, often transforming it into a scene that seemed alien and unfamiliar to her because it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Well at least her landscape had started more blank than others, it was utterly unplanned. She knew some peoples’ started with odd flexes of colour, faint outlines of soon to be pictures sketched and brushed lovingly there by parents and family who had plans for this child of theirs. For some- money, a life of luxury, opportunity, the promise of eternal love and shelter in the guise of a parental home had been engraved and etched into that landscape before the life had even begun. Lives already directed by the circumstances they were born into. Her life had lacked this from the start.

The point was she could have done anything with it, this life of hers, and at this moment, when death was surely moments away, she felt like she had done nothing with it. A sudden resolve made her jerk her head a little higher causing the gun to jab painfully into her reddened cheek. So she had done nothing with her life….so far… but maybe there was still time, a chance or more dangerously, hope. The desire to turn nothing into something spurred her to fight to not give up.

‘Please….no, not like this’ she half rasped and half shouted.
The killers’ eyes shined a new determination and the gun moved slowly from the softness of her cheek to the hardness of her temple.
 A cruel smile pulled the killers mouth into a grim resolve.
‘Why….why like this, why now?’, sobbing she pleaded with her killer for answers, for an understanding of why this had to happen why, why did any of her life happen if it was to end like this?
The killer shook their head detached from any emotion apart for a glimmer of pity which passed so quickly she thought it must have been imagined.

Internally she tossed the sentiment ‘I was meant for more’ from one side of her mind to the other so that it seemed to bounce from one side of her skull to the next but it did little more than emphasise how empty and hollow the rest of her mind and feeling was.

There was a faint click which resonated poignantly through the thick and hungry air of the room. The click of a CD- player being started.

Then, the trickle of a bird’s song and suddenly an acoustic guitars lonely first chord. A chord that struck at her heart. The words began to be sung.

 Sung so innately that they sounded more like breath, an extension of someone’s physical being exhaled into the air and into the ears of anybody that would listen.

Haven’t laughed this hard in a long time.
Better stop now before I start crying
Go off to sleep in the sunshine
Don’t wanna see the day when its dying’

Odd lines from the song drifted in and out of her consciousness….

I could make you smile
If you stayed a while
But how long will you stay with me baby?
Because your candle burns too bright
Well I almost forgot it was twilight’

She thought bitterly that twilight was it for her now, the candle had guttered a long time ago.

Then the end of the song….

‘Well I’m tired of being down, I got no fight
You’re wonderful
And it’s beautiful
But I’, already somebody’s baby
And if I went with you
I’d disappoint you too.’

Another click; this time the more sinister click of the safety catch being released on the gun.

The killer took one last deep look into the eyes of her victim and then pulled the trigger. A single moment quivered and passed, the bullet turned itself from the barrel and plunged into the skin of the temple. Life was now death so quickly. A single moment had transformed a life into death.

A single body thudded to the floor as the last two lines of the song were exhaled.

‘Well I’m already somebody’s baby
Already somebody’s baby’.

The room was now empty of life.

The last dancing rays of a dying sun reflected off the mirror onto the body below.

The gun slipped clumsily from the bodies’ damp hand resting gently on the floor next to the now still body that had held it a minute before.

Saturday, 11 June 2011

The five stages of Pigeon Love and other unrelated Sky and Flower photos


I was in the garden and captured the five stages of a pigeons love affair:


                                           The Chase- Boy seeks Girl

          
                                           The Kiss- Love blooms


                                          The Honeymoon is over- arguing all the time


                                           Drifting Apart- Getting further and further away....


                                           Flying Solo again :(      (Ps I had to wait a long time for the pigeon to fly off!)


And now onto non- pigeon photos. Earlier this week I promised some photos giving a view of my times lying on the floor and looking at the sky or ceiling if indoors (see this Post for explanation). I failed to do this as it turned into a week where there wasn't really any time for pauses, it was just go and keep going, relentless in every way so I didn't get my rest on the floor. So what I give you instead are photos from today of the sky and a rather nice pink flower which somehow blended against each other in the right kind of way.


So as I use this blog more and more and reveal more and more about myself I wonder what type of 'Blog Identity' I am creating for myself. Does what I write really echo who I am? Do my photos give insight into how I see the world? Which lead me to remember something I used to do when I was really young (probably about 5-10 years old).


I had a strange, boardering on insane thing i used to do and it was a way of making myself lack any identity- just becoming a face -trying to expel all those things that I associated with myself when I thought of who 'I' was. So I used to look into a mirror, stare right into my eyes and say over and over again....

'Who am I?, Who am I? until i could look at my face and just see a face and not 'me'. A blank face that didn't belong to anyone, just another human being and number I don't know why I did this strange thing because surely we want to know our identity and not just be a face that's what we strive to know, who we are and what we're about. I guess it was a way of humbling myself and realising the bigger picture that ultimately when time continues after i have gone I will just have been a number and another face.


So when I was younger I used to do that maybe because I knew myself too well and who 'I' was. As I've grown older I seem to know less and less who 'I' am and who 'I' should be and being happy with the identity I have. It's all entwined with what I think I should be doing and what comes next. Your identity becomes your job and who you know and where you live, how much you earn, what you wear- all the trivial things.


I think when your a child you just have the freedom to be who you are, nobody expects anything from you, there is less judging and you are encouraged to just be who you are, there is less concern about fitting in with what society and other expect.


The whole 'who am I' weirdness is similar to another random thing I have tried in the past- listen to somebody speaking and try not to understand what they are saying, so I'm English so I would try to listen to a conversation in English and try to listen to it as somebody who doesn't know the language would hear it just to know what the sounds of English are.

For example when I think of 'french' or 'German' I can imitate it without knowing any words because it has a certain sound and feel to it but its hard to know what this is if you can speak the language already. By the way it's an impossible thing to do, you just automatically understand what they are saying because the words are just part of you and your understanding of the world you can't train yourself to suddenly not know the language or meaning of the words that are now ingrained in you.

This could lead into all sorts of in depth discussion about how language is key to everything and how without language we wouldn't be able to think because we think 'in language', so I will draw this to an end before anyone still reading this frankly random and rambling post quite entirely.

Yes I was a strange, strange child it seems!

Friday, 10 June 2011

A random early morning musing from a while ago now...

Just been Looking through some old stuff and came across this, wrote it on a coach one early morning driving through London:
          (Image from http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jan/10/getting-started-running-george-gandy)




It’s amusing that at half six in the morning nobody has anything to say to each other, each sits there in stoney silence entombed in it, cocooned thinking dark thoughts and cursing that there is such an early hour in the morning. 


Driving through London now, 8:19 in the morning the city is fully awake, hoards of black suits meandering along in the half light.  My elevated perch on the coach allows me to peer into office windows, some are still empty, keyboards waiting to return to the the ‘click’ ‘click’ as their keys get pressed in and out, phones quiet anticipating their first ring, photocopiers cold from the night  anticipating the coming warmth emitted from the passing green light. 


Others, have a few early birds scattered at their posts, drawing up to their desks, shuffling their chairs forward, reaching to turn on the blackened computer, ‘another day, another dollar’ you can almost hear them sigh but it is Friday so it’s alright.. 


So many different people, some hurrying, some strolling, some just stood waiting and some running. An early morning jogger, earphones plugged in a barrier against the world for now its just him and his running, his only thought to get to his destination, him and pain, pain to just get there. 


A young women in her 20’s, converse stark white against dark tights, a slip of purple dress falling beneath her coat, worn brown satchel slung around her shoulders, off to pursue some creative dream for the day. 


The city awakes and inhales a deep breath, in the night it has exhaled and now it inhales and grabs it breath and life again for another day. Friday is in the air.'

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

A sweating forehead!!!!

Oh my! I nearly nearly had to perform on the piano today---a thin film of sweat started to seep on my forehead, my stomach got that familiar feeling that a lump of dough had just rested there and decided to stay, and nerves oh nerves how they effect me so-

 i sit down to play those beautiful ivory keys, they are pressed and sweet sounds fill the air....that is until somebody else other than me enters the room and then and only then the nerves and the pressure kick in and PLONK......a discordant smash of keys as I mess up. This is what happens when I perform in front of others, an automatic smattering of wrong notes.

On my own all is well, by heart I am definitely more of a on your lonesome in quiet solitude composer type than a brash and confident performer shining under the accolade of an adoring audience. BUT I was saved from a performing fate by a friend in shiny armour who has stepped in to do it instead of me- Thank you to this person, you saved me from much stress!

Sunday, 5 June 2011

A city of Stories and Music and oh The Beatles.

Way back in the cold of February I went to Liverpool with my boyfriend, in what can only be described as a pilgrimage to 'The Beatles'. It is a city that has lived through things... that you can tell, I wouldn't call it a beautiful but aesthetically and atmospherically it was interesting and fascinating. A city full of stories is how I would describe it. Due to this many photos were taken (see below for some of these). All I can say is that by the end of the day I wished I was in my early 20's in the 1960's living in Liverpool, music was the city and the city was music. As uploading these photos I listened to this (and others) and it bought the atmosphere back to me, have a listen and turn it up loud-it is the perfect sound-drop to the photos below.










                                    His name is James so this photo had to be taken....
                                The old Docklands

























 This area by the river, was away from the main bustle of the city and mainly deserted, we sat here for quite some time, a quiet haven.





The Bell Jar has resonated.

I've Just read this in 'The Bell Jar' by Sylvia Plath and I underlined it with my little white pencil because it resonated with me so...here is another quote, it has been a day of quotes today mainly because others say it much more eloquently than me:

'It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction-every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and that excitement at about a million miles an hour'.

I have a growing excitement in me at the prospect of getting under my thin 'summer duvet', resting my weary head on my pillow and reading into the wee hours in the cosy glow of my room as the world sleeps around me, possibly reaching over to my desk and writing something meaningful oh the prospect of it, right now I want nothing more in the world than this simpleness and restfulness for the soul.....aaahhhh it really is the small things we need to make the big things happen.

Saturday, 4 June 2011

Quotes about the sky related to post below

“for once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.” – leonardo da vinci.


"What is that feeling when you're driving away from


 people and they recede on the plain till you see their 


specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, 


and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy 


venture beneath the skies."

Kerouac-on the road

Lay on the floor and look at the sky.

A lot of the time when I want peace and a breathing stillness I lie on the floor....

The world takes on a new perspective, 'above me' suddenly looms directly into my eyes and becomes 'in front' of me.

It's a way for me personally for a minute or two to stop all the rushing that goes on in life, to breathe a bit deeper, for my tired body to droop and settle, my mind to stop its whirling thoughts, for me to just exist in the present moment for once rather than thinking what I need to do in the future or recollecting something said or done in the past.

My lying on the floor is me taking a moment to appreciate the here and now and a token chance to just be rather than existing just to do, it is me regrouping and collecting myself- remembering who I really am and what life should be about- a calm and stillness before I get up once more and continue with the to-ing and fro-ing of daily life where you can easily loose yourself amongst the tasks that need to be done and the people that expect so much from you.

So for this next week, each post will be accompanied by a picture from this perspective. Lying on the floor over the years has taught me the sky is beautiful and endless and even the plainest ceiling makes the ideal canvas for your thoughts. Here is the first picture: