Always looking down, With craned necks, To glimpse the moonlit surface. ~ Just a little drop, Of someone’s fear, Falls into every well. ~ A sympathetic breath, In the shadows Seeps into all the fractures. ~ Maybe just a mark, … Continue reading
Reality demanded such fervent focus, that one joint was dislocated from the rest of the pipeline. The crucial aside, the elbow that allowed the flow of thoughts to scatter where they would. The hole was soldered shut and in those … Continue reading
I’ve been trying to extend my dabbling novice creative skills into something more substantial. It has taken me a great deal of time (many years in fact) to realise that artistically speaking, I am almost always working in only two dimensions. I can paint a picture, describe a scene, show a snapshot, play a scale, but when it comes to telling a story all I seem to do is string together snippets that don’t necessarily seem to fit. I’ll provide a rich scene and then tack a twist on the end, and tell myself that’s basically a story. In short, I have hitherto lacked the foresight to bring the third dimension of time into my efforts. I believe that this, at least in part, stems from my misplaced core belief that art comes from somewhere guttural and insentient, that does not need to obey the normal laws of planning and contextual consideration. As I mentioned before I am challenging that belief and trying to push past the ideal of creative purity and dirtying my creations with consideration and positive self-criticism. A really tough lesson for me is planning. I try to make an animation…I realise immediately that I lack the equipment and skill to make what is in my head. The simplest plans are laid in ruins by the blight of poor lighting. I can’t say I’m exactly proud of the silent movie snippet above, but I’m not disappointed either. It has taught me a little about timing, lighting, and angles. But on this occaission, they don’t really work for me, because there is no story. And stories are what make this whole damned life worth living.
Rosaceae are on the move again.
Curling thorns blotting out the sun,
Casting shadows over
the shadows I no longer want to see.
Leaving only moonlight to bathe in.
Gauzy hues and iridescence
where the gaudy and asinine used to lay.
A history reconstructed.
Shading in emotions were there were none.
I seem only to remember us
twisted together in those thorns,
Delicate and tessellated.
Morphing into something we never were
and could never be.
If things had really felt that way,
I never would have left
I never would have fallen asleep.
In my dream, when you said your wife
would love this song,
A part of me withered.
The stillborn fantasy that only awakens in my sleep.
Part of me yearning for something
in the memory of your face that wasn’t you.
Awaking with an overwhelming sensation of loss.
Eyes wide open
And incandescence burns off the thorns,
Leaving a truth bare and brutal
That I won’t mourn.
Don’t give me roses, Love
They will only contaminate my other world.
(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016