Random thoughts whilst in town

The upside to working one day in an accounting firm doing admin is all of the things that I see and all of the people I meet and come across on the train, footpath, cafe, office, and just generally in the city. This week, I was really fortunate to have a chat with a friend who pushed me and nutured me into understanding where I was. I now feel much clearer and relaxed about being a writer. I feel relaxed about the journey that I am on. I feel excited about the journey that I am going on. Most importantly, I feel focused. Feeling focused has actually opened my mind up. Amazing. Feel free to keep popping by to be with me on my sometimes bumping journey as a writer.

Here are some of the things that caught my eye and mind yesterday:

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People walking purposefully through the city talking loudly to themselves. Who are they talking to? Why are they talking so loudly? What has become of our city with all these people slowly going insane talking to themselves barking orders? They draw closer. Plugs are in ears. Tuned in elsewhere. Minds are with somewhere else. Can they see the word around them any more...

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Pop into a stationery shop to buy a USB stick and from the moment that I walk in the door I am lost. Four different floors to go into. Where shall I go? Why don't they have a signpost? What about a GPS given out at the door. Why am I the only one that can't work out where to go...

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Man in the foyer. Placard with hand written words in text stuffed in his backpack. Scruffy hair. Furiously scribbling notes onto a pad. Lines are all uneven. Clothes are all uneven. Oblivious. Suits are around. Scared. What will he do? Will he combust? Waiting. Waiting. Holding phones to their ears. Pretending to talk. Looking away. Waiting. Sitting. Waiting.

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Pass lieing in gutter. Photo side up. Rob French. Who are you? Why did you drop your pass?
Left in the rain, ripped off, lieing, floating away.

distraction

distractions

here and there

waiting & watching

lurking in the corners

procrastinating

jobs calling

piling up

mountainous ranges

overwhelming

toppling

order

lists

plans

turn off

switch off

......

Samson

This was an exercise I did in my Wednesday Workshop with Emilie Collyer to see a season as a person and write about it in a short amount of time. See if you can pick the season.

Samson woke late and slowly from under his thick doona and after rolling over three times and burying his head under his head under his three pillows, he stretched a very long wide stretch and yawned a very long yawn. His eyelids still felt very heavy as his rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and then he gave his beard a nice big scratch. It really was time to get up. Samson climbed out of his double bed, which was just a little too small for him, and sat on the edge with his feet on the old dusty rug he had inherited. He took in another big yawn and slowly stood up to greet the day in his dingy dusty old room. It was now 7.45am and his alarm had gone off at 6.30am, however, he didn't have the energy, or couldn't be bothered rushing into work, especially after the day he had yesterday.

Samson was a short man with dark hair and a very unkempt beard. He had always kept to himself at work, and thought that he had always gotten his job done, eventually. He didn't like to talk a lot, and always wore extra clothes to work because he believed the office was too cold. When he brought up the issue, it had quickly blown up into a stowrm, and Samson had really let loose with his fury. Now there was a real mess to clean up, and he didn't want to go in there to do it. He was hoping that it would be cleaned up for him.

He quietly shuffled his way down his dark hallway to his kitchen to make his breakfast to begin his day. He must face the storm he had created.

Dawn... Dead of Night....Dawn

The brightness of dawn sparkles with freshness and light, awakening the day.

The crispness is in the air around.

Alert, awake, alive and ready for action.

Hearing the birdsong and breath in the fresh air.

Silence and darkness creeping around.

Pools and spots of light spill down.

Stealth is the way and solitude is the preference.

Fear of noises as unknown eyes glimmer and gleam.

Tiptoe around.

Bang into walls.

Angry shouts in the laneways,

Tin lids clatter and clang.

Sobbing "I love you's"

Doors slamming, wheels squeal

Silence

Darkness

Stillness

Doors shut

Tiny mouse feet tiptoe up walls

Leaves brush on the roof

Possums clamber up the tin pipe

Silence

Darkness

Snore

Silence

Light

Sparkle

Birdsong

Rays of sunshine

Smiles

Sweet talk

Gentleness,

Nods of hello

Walkers chat to each other

Dogs pant

Birds sing to the day

Flowers lift up their heads to welcome the day

Good morning sunshine

Happy to be here

Hello

This was something from my Wednesday workshop with Emilie Collyer last week where we had to write about the character associated with the time/s of day. Quite enjoyable once I got into it.

the life of the migraine

The vice across my forehead presses and compresses invading every thought. The crater at the top of my head is filled with rotten lava. I need to squeeze my head really tightly to stop the pain and wrap it in a cold pillow, thousands of cold pillows shrouding myself from the world; the noise, the light, the complications, the decisions, the smells.

My jaw throbs in sync with the crown of my head. Sleep doesn't come even though I am now nestled in those pillows cowering in the dark, thick with sedating drugs. Pain overwhelms me and takes over my psyche. My eyeballs are bruised and every roll and movement is painful. Time ticks by as I wait it out hoping something will work. Three days now have gone and I am tired. My patience with the air around has all by dissipated. I want someone to fix me so I can move freely again. It's the right side now mixed with an overall headache if that is possible - who knows. Left to start - always the worst - like a foreigner, an alien invasion in my head I feel like I cold remove it. It is so tangible with a line where the pain starts and ends. Like a paralysis, a stroke, if you like, loss of sensation from eyebrow to nose to jaw to eye at moments lost of sensation to then heightened sensation in an overbearing way. I look in the mirror and my eye lid is half closed and drooping.

I will not be able to sleep until the pain has dropped away...

I shower to try to wash the pain down the drain pipe.

Everything makes no difference and nothing makes any difference.

The oil burner glows with the lavender, rosemary... I cannot bear the smell any longer, it makes me feel ill. I blow it out.

I know it will end, eventually, but it is all a matter of when.


Then finally...and suddenly, and quite inexplicitly it's gone and after the hangover, after the post migraine tiredness, renewed energy. Life again. Breath again, move again, speak again and smile again. Don't look back, just in case it sees me again and catches me to slay me down again.

sales stranger at my door

a ring on the bell
who is it now
count kids off one, two, three
dinner on the stove
ready to boil
balls going like missiles
'cross loungeroom
down hall
still ringing the bell
"coming" I shout
.
a stranger in blue
with lanyard and pass
clipboard and flyers
"not interested"
words of power, gas and electricity
all to save save and save more
boil the pot over
slamming the door
.
not welcome sales strangers
we think not at the door
with pots on the stove
children running amok
go home to your own house
to the warmth of your food
where your love awaits you
.
friends come in and eat
drink at my table
join in our mess please
we have more than enough

In the dead of night

Melbourne Laneway, originally uploaded by amd300466.

Doris was exhausted. It was now 4.38 am on the clock at the 24 hour MacDonalds in the centre of the city and her she was still awake because awake was safe. Her head was thumping, absolutely thumping from overtiredness and dehydration. The last drink she had was not long ago, sure, she could still smell it on her own breath. The nice man, well boy really, who called himself Joe, had found her sitting on the sidewalk with a box of white wine – a nice drop too she thought. When she offered him a drink and little bit of a fun time for the night, Joe suggested that he would shout her a fun time and a drink.
It was quite a to-do to get into Macca’s because Doris felt like her legs had gone to sleep and they just didn’t seem to be working so well now. Her heels seemed to have gotten a little wobbly during the night. The strong arm of Joe had been great in supporting her through the long walk to the end of the block and now she was in here, Doris, as she did like to be called now, felt quite weary. The weight of her head was increasing by the second as she waited for Joe to come back with the drinks and the stares of the staff bore through her like lasers. At least they would see her today. They all seemed to recognise Joe as though he were a regular.
A feeling of dread began to creep over Doris. What was his treat of fun for the night? Did it involve anymore than a drink at Macca’s? The weariness was lightening up as the flight instinct took over. No more shakiness in those old worn out legs for Doris. It was time to make a run for it.

Somebody..Nobody

This irrelevant life
I face the back wall
Unnoticed
Unrecognised
Passed by again, again
Smile at someone
Reach out with a little wave
"Hi...."
Hoping for something

Busy, busy, busy
Everyone
So very important
And busy, busy, busy
Noticed
Recognised
Achievers all on the road to somewhere
To busy to notice

Where am I going?
What am I doing?
Watching
Waiting
Treading
Breathing
Trying to understand why
It's so important to be important
It's so fantastic to be too busy
It's so great to be too tired

I feel tired and weary
I long for nobodies
To be somebodies
I want people to stop
And listen and talk
And sit
In silence
And so nothing
Together
And enjoy it
And remember each other

Words and Pictures - Pretty

Pretty passionfruit, originally uploaded by megs threads.

Exhaustion,

I do feel

as the wind blows

straight through me

and I do choke with heavy dust

and lose a piece or two,

All my toes

twist and turn

in the bed of poo

and food that does so rot

makes them grow an inch or two,

My lovely green hands

have been burnt

by the searing sun

so dry and yellow

now they fall

gently upon the ground,

Laughter

awakens me

from a rest

as little hands

pull at me

from the fence

to hunt for balls

and treasure.

Now I sleep

as I prepare

to make my pretty flowers

that I will once again

give the treasures for the hunts,

So you must wait

with patience, please,

and feed me if you will.

With all the goodness

you can find

and a drop of juice

or two.

Thanks Pip for the "Pretty" theme in words & pictures this week. I thought that I would do something different this week. I hope that you like it.

Words and Pictures - Souvenirs

Sally-Anne shoved her hand as deeply as she could into her pocket of her Faberge jeans and skulked around the shop just one more time. How long was it going to take for her mum to talk to the pharmacist? She was so over waiting. This was just tedious. There were so many other things that she would rather be doing.
Sally-Anne stopped in front of the perfumes and picked up each one of them, taking a long deep sniff. That musky one took her into that piano teacher's house. She couldn't remember the name of her, but it was always so cold and dark in that house, and silent, until her fingers hit the keys on old Zimmerman. The sound would resonate throughout that dark house trying to fill it up, unsuccessfully as it would make its way back into the music room, disillusioned with the dullifying features in the house. The sweet floral perfume suddenly took her to her Grade 3 teacher, Miss Tilly, who was always full of happiness and sparkle. Every morning she greeted the class with such a big smile that would spread over like a wash. Any tear or fear that was lingering, was washed away in that defining moment. Sally-Anne smiled even now as she thought of her.
"Come on now", her mother called. Sally-Anne snapped herself back to the present and dropped her smile, letting her hair fall over her eyes and face again. Best not to let others see too closely. The girls at the chemist called out good-bye to her, but she only mumbled as she trudged behind her mother. She shoved her hand into her pocket even further. To even it up, she decided to shove her other hand into her other pocket as she shrugged off her mother's light touch on her shoulders as they started to cross the road.
The trip home seem to take forever, even though they only lived two streets from the shops, and the time it took for Sally-Anne's mother to find the key, put the key in the hole, open the door and go through the doorway seemed to take even longer.
Sally-Anne made a beeline for her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She extracted her hands from the pockets that had now seemed to grow into her skin and opened her right hand to find her souvenir. The lipstick was a lush red colour and she was so excited about it and went to the mirror and put it on. It was fantastic. She heard the footsteps in the hall and her heart dropped. Nausea swept over her as the realisation crept in that what she had done was dreadful. She got the tissues and tried to wipe it off as quickly as she could, but it was leaving a stain on her lips, and the footsteps were so close, the door handle was turning.
"Darling..."Jackie stood there shocked. "What are you doing? What are all those tissues for and why are your lips so red? What is going on?"
Sally-Anne froze like an animal caught in the headlights. No going back now. This was not a souvenir. It was a curse. A curse that she was going to have to deal with.

Thanks Pip for hosting Words and Pictures