Point of S(t)ale

in a darkened building

she is behind a counter

there is a long line of shadows

waiting on her

filling the space with decaying breath

she feels around for a screen

or a till stashed full of money

nothing is switched on

she is helpless

but the shadows refuse to leave

with their yellowing nails

clutching this and that

a lot of time has past

the urgency makes her teeth grind

they only care for themselves

she lies on the floor in desperation

they can not see her there

she knows it is childish

she is tired of being gawked at

despite the feeling that she is in trouble

it is a relief

unusually soft too

a body grabs her

she sits up

sticks her hand out

on to her bedside table

the counter seems to vanish

with the realisation

that her partner is embracing her

from behind

in their double bed

far removed from registers

from customers

her heart beat slows

she is in her favourite place

although

it feels like the shadows linger

always wanting

always waiting

unrelenting servitude

in an unending cycle

2016 Eleanor

Some might say I fell
The word is too quick for what really happened
It was as if a time lapse was taken
Over several months
And years
And I just forgot about the things
That were important to me at fifteen
Unintentional but
I’m trying find that place in my brain
That saw possibility
And power in words
Mostly the power it embedded in me

It’s alright
I’m resigned to what I am
Or at least finding that out every day

Fictional World

One of my Creative Writing tutors told me that the percentage of writers/artists being depressed is incredible high. I’m beginning to understand why intellectuals and artists are this way.

Since I was young, I always wondered why I was at my happiest getting stuck into a Harry Potter book. But in my youth I was still excited for the future, when I would grow up myself and go on adventures of my own, just like Frodo and Bilbo did. Yet, now I have grown more I lack this enthusiasm for the future. The real world doesn’t have a concise ending. The hero doesn’t win and live happily ever after.

The world isn’t full of evil like described in books. Not pure evil derived from a ‘hell’ or dark magic. People become evil through the way they grow; their environment and influences. There is no such thing as pure evil. People, no matter who they are, are shades of good and bad.

In a way, it is worse than the fictional worlds. You don’t know who the villains are. People aren’t all fighting for freedom or love, money has a stronghold over humanity and it is harming the rest of the world.

The world is random, made of bits of coincidences that have formed into a mutated state of being. It doesn’t follow a narrative structure where everything ends in closure. You can live your whole life and never find that closure.

This is why artists can be the saddest people in the world, because they are constantly trying to escape it. I want to live in the Shire, go to the Green Dragon for a pint and see Gandalf’s fireworks. I don’t want to work for a pile of money that secures me a comfortable position in a nursing home. Reality is too full of disappointments and uncertainties.

http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20141120-the-hobbits-and-the-hippies

This was a great article about Tolkien’s books and what they were to a sub-culture of people in the 60’s and 70’s. I think the books continue to offer this to people. The Shire is a utopia we can never achieve, but can’t help but dream of.

I’m going to New Zealand soon, and hopefully will visit the place where the Peter Jackson filmed The Shire. It will be beautiful and will fuel my imagination, but it will still be me reaching for a different reality.

The best we can do is find happiness.

Me and I.

Why is it easier to dress other wounds than our own?

Why is it easier to look at other people than the mirror?

Why do we preach love but hold none for ourselves?

It’s just the two of us in here.

I’m the mind and you’re the body.

We are bound to each other for life but we couldn’t be more further apart.

Food For Worms

Many foolish people live selfishly, surround themselves in material goods, and only see things for its face value.

Ultimately, there is no divine purpose for our existence. We exist to exist. That doesn’t mean we can’t live a meaningful life. Devote yourself to love. Love is a balance of taking and sharing, like breathing.

We are all just food for worms after all.

 

So Will I

They’ll die, and so will I.

I don’t believe in heaven or hell.
I believe in the great black nothingness
Where nothing will dwell
And nobody missed.

You’ve been in the black,
Like before you were born.
In sleep, you sometimes go back
But you’ll return when you’re gone.

They’ll die, and so will I.

Parents are failing children.
Politicians are failing people.
The decay always sets in.
The outcome is always lethal.

Is it such a bad concept?
Life is an overload on the senses.
But there is a certainty we can accept
In that death will rid us of all pretenses.

They’ll die, and so will I.

We won’t know of our absence.
Our loved ones won’t either.
You won’t be left in suspense.
You won’t be a survivor.

There is a kind of comfort
That a civilisation of division and war
Will leave with the same escort
And be no more.

The leaves on trees and birds in the sky.
They’ll die, and so will I.