Devoted exclusively to the creative process. Here you will see photojournaling, poetry, prose, an occasional review--journaling or philosophical writing can be found on our other blogs. This is our attempt to use our imaginations. Enjoy!
Friday, June 30, 2006
That she might beat his face with a shoe again.
It made looking at things doubly painful.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
like self flagellation
get a grip;
to squeeze my breath out.
even though i know its only fleeting,
that i wont last more than
a few more fragments of time,
stubborn arrogant selfish pride,
childlike naiive pride,
stands behind me and eggs me on
as i walk, obstinately
just one step out of reach,
resolutely cold and stone voiced,
i'm melting inside.
and i can feel u behind me,
against the small of my back,
like a feather touch of the sharpest knife
i feel ur pain,
and then there's mine
exponentially spiralling down
into the black hole of my heart
i dont think i will be able to hold this pose
a fraction of a second more
i give up
and run for life
and crash hurtling back into ur palm
where i belong
what have you become to me?
what have you done ...
and once again i'm grinning for now reason
as i walk the lonely corridors
and once again i'm alive and singing
is it u, or me, that i am singing for?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
a time when her eloquent voice echoed the sharp flourishes of her mind.
slow now. so slow now.
the ticking of the clock measures the dreadful daylight hours with clipped phrases. a pendulum that travels one way.
the wrong way.
she can't remember raindrops, nor the brittle light of early spring sun with its watery kiss floating in the sky like a promise.
hot days ahead. summer shine.
she cannot use the simplest of utensils not even a spoon. and that is all they feed you with in here, plastic spoons. you see you can't slit your wrist with a plastic spoon and you cannot penetrate your chest. you can gouge out your eyes though. just ask henry.
he knows how to use a plastic spoon does henry.
there was a time when judy didn't cry all the time. a time when her laughter ran like the sense of water running. powerful and strong from the tributary of her heart to the ocean of her soul. no more laughter now though. just pebble stone cold tears.
'she doesn't know anything poor love'
'no, not a thing. her mind is a total blank'
how come she weeps then?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
at some level, meaningless
i close my eyes inside my head
and listen to the real conversation
in the background: a requeim
to the ghost never laid to rest
the child we miscarried
but bore always
i watch a piece of me
flutter in the skies with joy,
at home again;
that's the one which was urs.
and in the foreground,
swinging back and forth between
formal and a little less.
by leaping hearts,
and a link unseen.
all that we had once had been,
all we'd dreamed of being,
every moment we'd ever held,
and let go without weighing.
and everytime we'd stumbled in the dark
to tumble into the refuge of the other
and then, putting it aside,
carried on with life
and every death since then
and every wound since then
and every drop of blood ...
plays unheard, unseen in the background
and we say nothing at all
was us as unbreakable as we were?
the blind wolf's lair
cracked and broken
scars and sores
ghosts and remenants
and for me.
rock my world
whenever they come,
though u tiptoe
around me in the dark,
ur still blind
to the blood and puss
when u push the knife in and twist
wherever you innocently touch
when its u and
of ur smile
and the strength of love,
breaks the shadows apart
and shatters the pain-shards
to blunt toothless memories
because of u ...
because u r my friend
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Tony turned the page. Above his head the day sky was black. He heard the raucous cries of birds. White birds on a black sky. Seagulls wheeling and spinning in a mad pantomime. An ariel ballet that defied the frowns of the gathered clouds.
"A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labor and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both. "
He ran water from the tap and filled his glass. Then he placed a fistful of ice into the glass. He twisted the glass around so that the ice span within the glass and made violent clinking sounds. Like the chiming of time from the depths of the ocean. Then he drained the glass with deep and gutteral swallowing sounds. When he had finished he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Whatever is material shape, past, future, present, subjective or objective, gross or subtle, mean or excellent, whether it is far or near — all material shape should be seen by perfect intuitive wisdom as it really is: "This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self." Whatever is feeling, whatever is perception, whatever are habitual tendencies, whatever is consciousness, past, future, present, subjective or objective, gross or subtle, mean or excellent, whether it is far or near — all should be seen by perfect intuitive wisdom as it really is: "This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self." "
Tony looked at the clock.
The time was five past nine.
The time was five past nine.
Toni looked at the clock.
She raised her hand to her eyes to keep the glowering sun out of them. Outside the desert heat shimmered like a host of insects blindly wing beating the air in a transparent display of idiot vaudeville. Real life in a plastic frame thought Toni. She ran water into a glass. It felt like deja vu.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
ESTABLISHING SHOT OF ZEPH’S MANOR HOUSE, SET IN EXTENSIVE GROUNDS. IT’S A LOVELY SUNNY DAY. BIRDS ARE SINGING.
SCENE 15. INT. ZEPH’S HOUSE.
JIZZ STANDS BEFORE A WALL OF GOLD AND PLATINUM DISCS – ALL IN FRAMES.
These are all Zeph’s million-selling albums. When they see us in the paper every day people forget that Zeph used to be a talented musician. I, personally, don’t know why the paparazzi won’t leave us alone. Just because Zeph is 43 and I’m 17. I’m not worried about the age difference and so I don’t see why anyone else should be.
(Off camera) And you love him?
(ROLLS EYES) Of course. How many times do I have to tell people? And I adore his music. Vienna were brilliant. Really cool.
You were a baby when they were in the charts.
I still used to listen to music, though. Good music is good music at any age, isn’t it?
SCENE 16. INT. ZEPH’S HOUSE
LARGE EMPTY WHITE ROOM. (AS IN JOHN AND YOKO’S IMAGINE SESSION) ZEPH IS SITTING AT A LARGE, WHITE SYNTHESISER. HE IS ALSO DRESSED ALL IN WHITE. JIZZ SITS BESIDE HIM. SHE IS WEARING A WHITE DRESSING GOWN. THE FRONT ALMOST REVEALS HER BREASTS – AND, DURING INTERVIEW, SHE KEEPS PULLING IT AROUND HERSELF, AT THE SAME TIME DELIBERATELY DRAWING ATTENTION TO ITS LOOSENESS.
Hi, I’m Zeph. And this is Jizz. And we’re really looking forward to this challenge. I’ve always felt that I have an infinity with the desert.
(Off camera) Is that why you’re doing it?
Well, the truth is – we’re doing it for charity. Aren’t we, Jizz? We’re being sponsored. For every mile we cover we’re donating money to our favourite good causes.
Who is sponsoring you then?
Oh… loads of people from the music business. Um…
Your Mum. And all my teachers at the Tech.
The Desert is a hard place. Do you think you have what it takes?
I’m not sure, to be honest. But we have been training.
And my Dad. He’s been very generous. And my mates.
You’ve been training?
That’s right. First we watched Lawrence of Arabia. You know. To get the feel of it. The heat. The sun. The sand. Great soundtrack.
Yeah. And Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
That’s got some great music, too. All that Seventies disco. Mind you, I didn’t like it at the time. Nobody liked it then. It’s like Abba. Everyone hated them. Now they love them.
(PAUSE) You’ve been training?
Yeah, as I said. We’ve been going for long walks in hostile environments.
Streatham High Street.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Streatham. It’s not that hostile.
No. My last boyfriend came from Brixton. That’s not that far from Streatham. He was manager of the bar at Brixton Academy. Saw some great bands there. I’ve always been into musical types.
We built it up. We did ten minutes one day. Twenty the next.
Then thirty minutes.
Building up to an hour.
Some people might say that you are only doing this to revive a failing career.
To be honest, I don’t listen to the people who say that any more.
JIZZ STARTS TO PLAY CHOPSTICKS ON THE SYNTH.
Stop that, darling. (SMILING) You know I don’t like that tune. Why don’t you open the curtains?
JIZZ’S DRESSING GOWN SLIPS. SHE PULLS IT UP AND GIGGLES COYLY.
SCENE 17. EXT. DESERT. EARLY MORNING.
THE EXPEDITION IS ABOUT TO START. THE FOUR COUPLES ARE LINED UP WHERE THE MADE-UP ROAD FINISHES AND THE DESERT BEGINS. CAPTAIN DICK TROY HAS RIGGED UP A TAPE (POLICE ACCIDENT DO NOT PASS) BETWEEN TWO BOLLARDS WHICH HE PLANS TO CUT THEATRICALLY WITH A MACHETTE TO SIGNIFY THE START OF THE EXPEDITION. RON OPENS A NEW PACKET OF MARLBOROUGH LITES. ZEPH AND JIZZ LOOK VERY DETERMINED.
Eight people. Eight ordinary people. About to embark upon the journey of a lifetime. Nine people if you include me. Even more if you include yourselves and…
Shall we run that again? Just keep it simple.
The Nwangi Desert in West Africa. Two hundred kilometres of featureless sand stands between us and the place that we are heading for. Will we be successful? If we make it – yes. If not – no. It’s as simple as that. It’s all about team work. It’s that simple. It’s all about finding our own inner strength. Summoning up reserves. About treating the desert with respect. As you would your mother. Or father, even. Except when you were a teenager, possibly. About conserving water. About reading the subtle signs of sand and weather. About staying alive.
(TO DIR.) How was that?
(Off camera) That was the Bee Gees. (SINGS) Ooh ooh ooh. Staying Alive….
No. How was that?
DANIELLA LOOKS VERY SMART AND IS HEAVILY MADE UP. SHE GESTURES TO THE CAMERA TO MOVE BACK SO THAT SHE CAN SHOW OFF HER DRESS. SHE DOES A QUICK POSE.
TERRY FILMING CDT WITH CAMCORDER.
CDT ABOUT TO CUT TAPE.
I now declare this expedition…
MACHETE CUTS TAPE. CLOSE UP OF CDT’S FACE IN EXTREME PAIN AS MACHETE BURIES ITSELF IN HIS LEG.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
words by LIlLITH
One dry leaf, wrinkled and brown
Beguiled by a wicked wind
Blown along in blissful haze
To the edge of that golden blaze
To be ravaged by the fire
As the wind whistles on.
words by INKBLOT
when death lies fervently,
life rattles about carelessly.
and so we wait for an end
as the light fades from the
eyes of she who bore the one that made me.
words by DORIANDRA
i trusted you
i think i almost hate you
its a hurt, so deep
like barbed wire has
been twisted around my stomach
is slowly dragging it upwards
its tearing through my inside
and breaking all my spirit.
you were not my friend
the person i knew
this was something i couldnt see coming
its no longer hidden
the loyalty is gone
the secret is out
everything was a lie
words by RAVEN
painting by STICKLEBACK2
honey sweet the memory still recalls the warmest fantasy
words by cocaine jesus
Friday, June 09, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Those colors mingle into blindness;
They say "Revelation is here!"
It's the pre-spice haze of Muad Dib.
I don't think so.
My innards convulse with the bitter taste,
but the spirit of prophesy fills me
like that giant hollow we found in the desert years ago.
Voice from Heaven, will you tell me the end of my life?
What will happen to my people?
Do these endless pools reveal more than shimmering water
or wasted tears?
I'm glad to escape; I'm glad to be inside my head.
I see nothing, but the vision is perfect.
It's so true; we don't need knowledge; there's no point.
Surprise keeps us wandering like nomads, looking for the final oasis.
God, you shouldn't have chosen this vessel.
For I will corrupt what I now observe as truth.
You see, I have no choice; they have it coming.
I hate everyone too much to care if they live or die.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
That sings and dies; I had heard.
The last time I died was last Sepetember;
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways, big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsteps. New songs.
But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again;
A premonition of the fall.
You're the chosen one.
You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well, from which will flow,
the bitter sweet poison-love,
which will maim me and
make me small.
my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.
Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.
You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.
And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Scratched beyond recognition
at the margin of today's paper
that lies soulless
on your coffee table -
as we talk unsure, hushed
our voices sliding into pauses abrupt -
is perhaps my face
that you so fondly drew
knowing it's me on the phone for you.
© Dan Husain
April 13, 2005
- ► 2008 (15)
- ► 2007 (147)
- Elephant skin
- Twinky and Winky
- waiting to exhale
- t 175point2
- judy blue eyes
- the unspeakable
- sometime summer
- girl with ballons
- Kate Bush
- deja vu
- The Savage Desert - Continued
- Kiss The Sky
- stains on the curtain
- cocaine jesus bleeds a soft heart
- best of the six over three
- The Thornbirds
- ▼ June (23)
- Blue Athena
- EATING POETRY
- Innocent Bullet
- Little Onion
- Prmod Bafna
- Roger Stevens
- Russell Ragsdale
- Shubhodeep Pal
- Weirdo Getting Weirder!!
- david raphael israel