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Art & Writing from the members of www.tailcast.com Connect, Create, Collaborate!
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Blogs on Tailcast Rosie Short Friendship 1 Jayfred Jay On The Run 3 Jessica Janes I Live In A World Of Inspiration But... 6Art on Tailcast Lennonlovezandra Sunglasses At Night 7 Blair Zaye Picture This 9 Alex Morning 11 Gromit Angels Await 13 Hejtejp Knopp 15 Tom Pink 16Writing on Tailcast Jonny Meepatron 17 Zenben A Six And Two Threes 19 Reekfeel In Dreams 21 Pete Hood It Could Be You 24 Pseudo Aegis 28 Marshman Ozark 29 Anna Clover The Facts Of Life 36 Tom Goulding E-Books: Where’s The Humanity 37 Emily Noble In Front Of Me 41 Jodamme Temptation tales tales tales TALES 43 Dan A Dance With The Devil 45 Flyinggreengodess Me And This Room 48 Hyla Be Irreplaceable 49
Taymaz Valley - Sea2
1.
Recently, it has been made more and more obvious to me just how important friendship is. I myself feel blessed to have so many friends, not just in the ‘real’ world, but also in the ‘tinterworld [yes, new word]. Perhaps the fact that I feel that I can count so many people as my friends makes it even harder when I am ever asked that all important question. Yes, you’ve guessed it. ‘Who’s your best friend?’ is a question I loathe. I am a pacifist, a pleaser, someone who hates to make one person feel good at another person’s expense. To me, naming a best friend would benefit one person and push aside a dozen others.
I suppose the critera of a friend is difficult to explain. I have always admired a quote by Fr. Jerome Cummings, which says that, ‘A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway’. To me, this is the beating heart of friendship. If I feel uncomfortable telling someone something, I know that they may be my friend, but they could never be truly close to me. There are a select few people I can tell anything, and they will always support me, tell me the truth and get me through - no matter what.
Rosie ShortFriendship
Perhaps the reason for more of them being real life friends than online friends is that there is a certain lack of something when talking to someone online. If I tell someone something face to face, I can convey a million more emotions than through words on a computer screen. However, after saying that, I also feel less inhibited talking through a computer. You can hide your emotions, pretend to be stronger than you are, pretend something doesn’t matter to you when it does, make out you’re not interested in someone when you are. The list could go on and on.
I love the internet, and I love online communities like Tailcast, because having them enables me to meet people I love, whom I would never have met otherwise. How would I have known about Mary in Switzerland or Chris in Portsmouth without Tailcast?? Would I ever have gained an Uncle Jay, or found the hilarious talent of Seattles’ Ben Spees?? No. Of course not. Which is why these friends in particular are important to me.
In the virtual world, friendships are so often made by chance, divine providence, the grace of God...whatever you believe in. Which leads me to remark on the diverse spectrum of friends I have found, and the great pool of intelligence, wit, creativity, kindness, fun and love each and every person whom I have met possesses.
So, if you are my tinterworld friend, this helpless ramble into my thoughts is dedicated to you. Because each and every one of you are a part of me. You all make me the person that I am, and I thank every God, Saint and Prophet I can think of from every religion under the sky that I have found you all. You enrich me, teach me and complete me, totally, and I would be lost without you.
3.
Caroline - Drive To Yosemite
Several weeks ago I took up walking for exercise and head-clearing. I started walking the track at the local high school and got bored with that really quickly. Round and round on a flat surface, squeezing past a couple of wide-load yakkity-yak talkers every lap. And the track is right out there next to the street, enclosed in wire fencing, so everyone in the neighborhood can watch you huffing and puffing like a hamster in a cage. It got real old, real fast. I don’t like walking in my actual neighborhood because there are always a lot of teenagers walking down the middle of the streets. I don’t really trust groups of teenagers on dark streets. So I decided that driving over to the big park with the really long, well-lit trail, over the creek, and through the trees would be a much better idea; and that’s where I’ve been racking up the miles every evening for the last couple of months. It’s really a pleasant place to walk. And there are a lot of folks running out there, which has inspired me to step it up and start jogging about half the time. It’s also a great place to watch the raccoons and possums as they dig through the garbage cans. Well, last night my routine turned out a bit different. It’s been so hot lately that I have been going later than normal. I got there around 9 PM last night, and as I pulled into the parking lot I noticed a group of people near the restrooms. There were 3 or 4 men, 3 women and about 5 children under the age of 10. And they looked lost, like they had just been beamed down from a space ship and had no idea where they were. I also
JayfredJay On The Run
noticed that most of the adults looked like they had no teeth – their lips were sunken in like there was nothing to keep them in place. I also noticed that these same adults were probably a lot younger than they appeared. Okay, they looked like a bunch of worn out, homeless drug addicts. And the children were filthy. I made my way past them to the water fountains; and on to the restroom. While I was in the restroom I heard one of the women shouting and cussing up a storm. I could only pick out a few words due to her lack of good dental care. I won’t repeat those words here. When I came out of the can, I overheard one woman on her cell phone, giving directions to someone. I took off on my walk, remembering when my town used to be, well, different. Now, my path is a huge circle. And as I came back around 30 minutes later, I noticed a police car in the parking lot. A big cop was standing there with all the people sitting on the curb. It occurred to me that the woman on the phone was not part of the other group - and had been calling the cops. I kept walking. Next time around there was an ambulance in the lot and a man was on the ground having his leg treated. Next time around there were two more cop cars and the men from the first group were nowhere in sight. I assumed they were in the back of the cop cars. As I passed, I overheard one of the women spinning a tale of excuses to keep herself out of jail. I noticed several of the kids were crying; and a few of them were leaning on my car. I picked up some speed and kept going.
This time around I took my shirt off because I was sweating like mad. I passed a group of teenagers sitting near the creek and one of them whistled at me when I walked by. Cheeky kids. And it was on this fourth turn that it occurred to me that I typically only walk around twice. Somehow, all this excitement has not put me off walking in my favorite park. I guess that’s because I’ve never seen anything questionable there before. Besides, I don’t even know what all the excitement was about. In fact, I think the cop incident and the ambulance incident were two unrelated incidents. So I’ll keep walking and clearing my head. And the cool thing is that I discovered I’m good for twice the wdistance I had been going before. But I really don’t appreciate those smart aleck teenagers whistling at me. I know a sarcastic whistle when I hear one. I noticed one other thing last night. That place has a serious mosquito problem; so I spray myself really good before I head out. On my way home I stopped at the grocery store. While I was there I smelled what seemed to be an old man’s hair tonic. You know that smell. You associate it with your great-grandfather. And it doesn’t really bother you because it reminds you of him. Well, turns out the people at OFF! got the bright idea that their product needed to be perfumed up. I was the one who smelled like an old man’s head! That did not make me happy at all. So today I’ll be on the look out for a bug spray that just smells like bug spray.
6.
i have no inspiration!so ive decided to do a little boggity blogging..? yeh.well, my birthday is on september the fifteenthsoooooin jessica time, it’s coming up soon.i made my list today, i tried to keep it short...only three things...a ferret because i want somthing fluffy &&lovable but i know my mom will say no to another cat.plus i think it would be adorable to have a peppy little thing named cardiff playing about in my room.yes cardiff, think what you will >.>second, a camcorder because my previous camcorder died everytime i tried to upload a video...although it made a great camera :Danyway, that one broke after nearly two years of my being clumsy &&dropping it on concrete or tile floors.now im just dying to take new myspace pictures of my lovely new hair!yes, new hair... allthough ive had it for a month now ... sorry i didn’t tell you!its my natural blackish hair but with a bright blonde highlight across my bangs &&blonde on the underside of my hair... its gorgeous(:&&i cant even show it off in pictures! D: the horror!finally... a new doori know it sounds insaaaaane (which it is) but i haven’t had an actual door for my bedroom for nearly 5 months... NO privacy from my 4 brothers >.<so im asking for a door.how did you end up with no door, you’re wondering?well my brother kicked it in while we were fighting...it can be violent at my house(:so i had my list all made up &&i texted it to my mom (after sucking up to her in several texts before hand)&&she totally shot down the ferret idea... not to mention making fun of me for wanting a “smelly rodent-thing” for
several texts later...she also said we would have to “talk” about the camcorder...which is NOT a good sign...gah!looks like im getting a door for my birthday :l
well im spending the week at my dads house.i go home friday.i have a date saturday... so yay im counting down the days till then(:
today i went on a scooter ride with my brother&&wiped outalan, my brother, scraped his knee up bad..so he had me drive... hah! bad idea xDon the rush back i hit my dad’s truck...there is a dime sized hole &&a large scratch! lolhe is oblivious of the damage for now...hopfully it will stay that way xD
oh &&im very discouraged because i have alot of artwork i want to put up on tailcastlike sketches, acrylics, a watercolor, &&some prisma work&&&&&&my scholastics piece thats recently back from NYCBUT(this is where it gets painful)i have no scanner&&i tried taking pics with my brothers awful camera...they looked so bad!i dont dare post them
i will try to figure something out though...later tailcast(:jessica
Jessica JanesI Live In A World Of Inspiration But
7.
Lennonlovezandra - Sunglasses At Night
11.
Alex - Morning
14.
It began at the beginning of the day when I noticed a Full moon would rise that night. Automatically, my plans were immediately canceled leaving me with work for half the day and a dedication to photography for the rest of the day. After work I got home and was ecstatic to go take photos at the top of San Diego's Cowles Mountain. So I got in the car and realized it was very early in the day so I thought I could go do some rock climbing and once Im finished I could just drive over to the Mountain. well two hours later after rock climbing I realized I had forgotten my camera bag. (not good) and so back home I went. In a rush I ran into the house. Thew down my keys, ran into my room, grabbed my bag, then proceeded out locking the door from the inside before it closed. And that's when all of this rush came to a holt. I had forgotten to grab my keys on the way out. So there I was, locked out of my own house with the sun setting behind me.
When I sat down on the steps to try and figure out what I was going to do next, thoughts were rushing through my head. Everything from the recent passing of my grandfather to where I was going to sleep that night. Altogether, things weren't going very well for me. However for some reason, that didn't stop me from grabbing my bike to continue my trek to the top of Cowles Mountain.
When I reached the base, I looked up to find darkness. Nobody was in sight, not a soul. Just me, the mountain and darkness. During my venture, I kept thinking about all the good times I used to have with my grandpa. Ice cream on the corner, stories by the fire, christmas a day early. It all seemed a bit unreal knowing that those memories wouldn't ever reoccur due to his passing. However my tears were cut short when a cool breeze of air flew by me, and I noticed that I had reached the top of the mountain.
It was beautiful. Lights from the city shined from the ground. The Full moon laid a soft light from the sky and the huge clouds balanced everything out from the horizon. This was a near perfect situation, not only for someone who's been through a lot but also for someone who tries to express his emotion through his photography. And that is exactly what I did. I propped my camera onto it's tripod, hooked up the remote, attached the lens and peaked through the viewfinder. What I saw next will forever change me emotionally.
A halo, a phenomenon that occurs due to ice in the air. However, this is san diego I'm talking about. The only ice that you'll ever see is in your freezer. so a halo here, caused by the moon at least, is fairly uncommon. I snapped a picture, snapped another, and by the third try, it was gone. On a photographic level, this is something I will never forget. However on a personal level, the halo is more than just a circle formed by ice. it's ice cream on the corner. It's stories by the fire. it's christmas a day early.
It's my grandpa watching over me.
GromitAngels Await
19.
Zenben - Fire
Flame song, in every tongue, singing -Let this earth become an ashen faceGazing at what were once the stars
The offspring of the setting sunWe are simplicity itselfBuilding a second paradise
From the falling sparks of the first.
ZenbenA Six And Two Threes
21.
VerityAtTheDisco - Untitled
ReekfeelIn Dreams
Chapter 1 Once upon a time, there was this girl with the blackest of hair. Dark as the night itself. She had the whitest of skin. Pure as sunlight. But the most impressive thing about her was her reddest lips. Full as the blood moon.
She would spend her whole days with her large black eyes vacant. Nothing could break her attitude. Nor should it! It took her entire being. She was as cool as they went. And the way she went was as if nothing was expected of her.
Chapter 2Slowly gnawing away inside of her was an emptiness. But how could she possibly know this. What does empty feel like? Can there ever be a feeling to describe a void?
She eventually plumped for unsatisfaction.
Her operatic mother took her on a trip away from home that summer.
“Do I not like this!”
Every bump and judder of the train didn’t go through her- they stopped at her, like a lightning-conductor. She was dazed and exhausted, but not after she had seen things through the window. She wanted to stop and investigate, to look round every corner. But she couldn’t, and when she finally accepted this she gave up trying to crane her neck.
She had seen the route on the map, but couldn’t believe the amount of space it would involve. The world was made up of so much stuff. So much land swept on and on. Most of it nondescript. But here, in-between it all, she felt lost, small and unknowing.
She would have cried here if she wasn’t so tired. She just looked down, away, but nothing came into her head, except sleep.
Here, if she had known, she was unhappy.
Chapter 3She went to bed in her new bed that night. She had washed all the day’s scum off her face. But before she switched the light off, she made sure it was within reach of her bed, in case she had to switch it on in a hurry.
Lying in bed, her eyes still counting the looping up and down rhythms of the passing telegraph poles, her limbs slowly turned to stone. From her finger and
toe-tips upwards she felt it advance. By the time it reached her head-top she had forgotten all about it.
She awoke rushing to find herself in the garden outside her room, amongst the trees. She kicked through the leaf-litter looking about, puzzled. A girl was hiding from her round the trees. She could only make out her dancing skirt-hem as the girl giggled and waltzed with the trees singing
Cock a doodle do!
My dame has lost her shoe;
My master’s lost his fiddlestick;
And they don’t know what to do!
The wind changed direction and a great rattle from above obscured all sound and light. A hail of brown leaves rained down on her. Selene ran with the wind to avoid the crashing branches and general pieces of dirt that flew into her hair and eyes, stinging. She did the old zigzag because it seemed the right thing to do as creepers and roots lashed out. Lash. Lash. The noise from above was terrible to her ears. All the birds scarpered in haste.
What was going on?
Suddenly before her two great tree-stalks felled over with a great grunt. The exposed roots wriggled like toes on a Sunday afternoon. She backed to the safety of an old oak tree, and feeling its knobbly knees she looked up hoping to see its face.
Peeping round the bark a dog-face “Ahem-ed!” to gain her attention and furthered its theory of the great battle between Good and Evil just witnessed.
Selene asked which was which as she couldn’t tell her trees apart. The dog, a little shy from trying was eager to show her her new dress and its pretty floating hem, when all of a sudden the sound of a train thundered closer toward them. The Dog-girl tried to tell her something. It was “Remember me!” but I don’t think she heard.
Here I don’t mean the train was bearing right down on them as if their whole lives were in peril. No, I mean in their general direction.
By the time I’ve explained this the train has gone and been. Well, this is not exactly true- the train itself had gone, but the train of the train - the carriages - they kept on coming, faster and faster; sucking all the air back.
Selene could only make out glimpses in each one, but in each carriage there was the self-same thing - a coffin surrounded by mourners. The motion was jerky, but when the train finally reached 25 carriages a second she could finally see it all in all its horror.
She hurriedly switched the light on, in the practised manoeuvre and sat bolt upright. And there in front of her in the blackened window she saw herself looking back at herself. The window was the same window of the train carriage.
I hope I’ve explained that mix. I fear the filmic version would pass better muster. But back to the story.
Chapter 4 That night she couldn’t hurry to go to bed, to see what next would happen in the strange forest. She had figured out that the trees were legs of giants. Now she could see what they really were she had only to find out which was Good and which was Evil, and which was felled down and which remained standing, triumphant.
She prepared herself by playing cards, determined to fall asleep. She practised pinging the deck from hand to hand, and to her surprise she found that it could be done.
With her snout against the cold window, looking in, she felt let down. She had promised she would remember me, but all that she was doing was gambling. Trying to guess the future. Thine origin is mine and my provenance is thine. Crying.
She turned around to see the one-eyed Jack and the Suicide-King bearing down on her with weapons raised. Ekk!
But inside the bedroom, crouching like a loon at the foot of the sleeping girl was the Scarlet Joker! Who starts to unfurl. Oh, I can’t go on. I can’t describe this. It’s all too horrible. Just imagine some sort of horror movie- a repugnant little hobgoblin advancing to camera with its tongue lolling.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
24.
Luca Grandi - Atmosfera
The lottery stake leaves a hole in her budget.Of course, her chance of winning is low,Almost nil – but she doesn’t know.Maths was never her strong subject.
Meanwhile, her period is late:She’s going to have another kid.It’s ages since she’s seen its dad.Again, the numbers don’t fall right.
That’s her fifth child if anyone’s counting.Some of the fathers keep in touch.They give her grief but never cash.The odds against her keep on mounting.
This week’s rollover was wonBy a couple who are middle classWith good careers and a posh address.They played it just the once, for fun.
Pete HoodIt Could Be You
28.
Pseudo - Aegis
everyone should havea few words readyin case they ever falloff a cliff
like a greek with anaegis: a painted shieldwith symbolsfor protection
a message carried overincan paths of mountains,knots tied in threads,sun gates filled withdaemon logic
someone in 1998 toldme a story in anindian restaurant
about a city falling down a cliff,and it had been fallingsince forever
can you see it there?i drew it on the shieldnext to the harlequinand the evil eye.
PseudoAegis
29.
Syd - Gone Fishing
It was just a riffle at head of shoalA rock where the water humpedShe carried as much roe as fleshAnd was tired by the time she hit my netHell, we both were
Rim Shoals glistened belowSun diamonds covering the White RiverThe mid-day heat coalescingMy icy hands holding the submerged fishWhich finally kicked for a deadfall
On the Cotter Bridge span stood a manIn the shadow of the rainbow archThe boat sliced throughThe blue of the waterAnd the green of the limestone
The man lifted something over the railIt hit the water in a white splashThe white noise of the shoalMomentarily interruptedAnd the man was gone
The contrast of the river and bodyMade the river and bridge smallThe mountain lion’s golden coatWas wet chocolate, save for the lolling tongueAnd gaping hole through its lungs
Such is the relationship between cattleman and lionBut such a day turned the rainbows drabAnd silenced the music of the riverAs it passed through the Cotter Bridge archesGoing somewhere, new and bright
MarshmanOzark
32.
36.
James believed in God.He went to church every Sunday,Prayed every evening,His father a doctor, his mother a lawyer,Prospects: He had the very best.
Jack was second of eight,Pure bred from the estate,His Mum was always pregnantAnd his Dad was always drunk.Prospects?
Aged seven, disrupting class, never listening,At eight, pulling hair, picking fights.At ten, in more trouble again,By twelve, his teachers did concur,He had aggressive inclinations,A violent anti-social disposition,So far unfixed by institution.
Thirteen and hooked on nicotine,Jack couldn’t do two plus twoBut could beat a kid black n blue.Fifteen, detention, suspension, expulsion,At sixteen, exams all screwed,Vandalism, shop lifting, petty crime,Police warnings: Piss off!
Seventeen, fired from the chip shop,He joined the class of unemployed.Eighteen and girlfriend pregnant:She was like his MumAnd he drank like his Dad.
Nineteen, money slim, smashed, needed cash,“Accessory to armed robbery,” the judge said,Jury agreed, life defied, three years on the inside.Twenty one, released, reformed,His higher re-education complete,Life had made Jack a fine, upstandingViolent young man.
Twenty two and on the dole,The girlfriend had done a runner,At twenty four, alcohol was lover, wife and mother,The judge guffawed, “Aggressive Re-offender”.
Twenty eight, out brawling on the street,Lick of knives through gut and skin,Intoxicated grievous bodily harm,The bastard victim died in care,Jack was charged with murder.Defence of provocation failed,Jailed for a long fifteen years.
Thirty eight, ten years spent,He fell out bad with an inmate,By a chair legBludgeoned to death,Jack’s brainsSplatteredAll acrossThe grimy wall.
James worked hard at school.
At eighteen he won an Oxford scholarship,Two weeks before leaving for university,He slipped in the shower,Smacked and cracked his head,And bled dead all over the floor.
Anna CloverThe Facts Of Life
37.
Tom - Screeeen
Call me a starch-ironed Conservative, but there are some things about technology that I just can’t stomach. The Atomic Bomb, Spy-Satellites, and Tamagotchis: these are all products which are more or less incompatible with my view of a sustainable society. However the greatest offender most likely to fulfil this relatively recent prophecy of imminent self-induced destruction would be the E-book.
Before cyber-bookworm hybrids chew me up and spit me out for this blasphemous statement, I’d like a chance to defend myself. Some years ago, my primary headmistress (or totalitarian dictator, whichever way you want to look at it) in one of her usual bouts of unjustified demonic rage foretold the death of the book. No doubt she saw an indifferent mob of pre-adolescent schoolchildren who were more interested in trading Pokémon cards than knuckling down to the good, honest adventures of The Famous Five. Whatever the reasoning behind her hysterical prediction, signs are emerging that she may have been half-right. Not in the traditional sense that she most likely presumed; the mass burning of paperbacks on an open fire, cold megaphones screaming warnings of
government violation through billows of black smoke, no. The transformation from page to screen – an ever-increasing phenomenon – poses a far more likely, and in a way just as terrifying conclusion.
Since this foreboding of literary ruin, a decade has passed in which time we have all, especially those reading this, conformed to the faint electrical hum of the hard drive over the musty smell of a yellowing novel. Even newspaper journalism, a reasonably safe career in 1999, has started succumbing to the damage of 24-hour online blogging. Not only have broadsheets been forced to adapt and survive by moving their business on to the Web, but some such as The Times have taken to publically unmasking bloggers; a dangerous game which can lead to job loss and prosecution in the name of eliminating the competition. It’s worked only too well on me. I openly confess to spending hours at a time reading The Guardian website rather than spending 90p to arduously trawl through the paper; why should I when there’s an unlimited archive available to me at the click of a button?
Yet in many ways, the E-book is a step too far. Unlike the bland objectivity of a news story, a novel is a living, breathing document which harbours the ideas and values of the most distinguished minds to have graced the Planet. To systematically categorise each and every published writer from Aristophanes to Atwood
Tom GouldingE-Books: Where’s The Humanity?
in a flickering LCD screen is mechanical, impersonal and ultimately soulless. There is nothing quite like stepping into the contemplative hush of a second-hand bookshop or Waterstones branch (depending on your
38.
preference) and letting the nostalgic familiarity of aging paper or the fresh wonder of an unread paperback waft through you. The smell is unique, enchanting and one which is certain to provoke an eternally passionate relationship. Again, turning each page of a book, whatever size or length, can only be regarded as a sensual feast, whilst staring at a hundred thousand words strung together on a portable television will probably result in a migraine.
As Aldous Huxley once said, “technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards”. In short, E-books are dehumanising gadgets of little educational worth which promote ethical regression. For the first time in history, we’ll be able to touch books, but books will no longer possess the power to touch us.
41.
Danangib - Doors (1)
Here I amSilly and batteredAnother one goneAnother friendWith a glimpse of the sun and a gust of the windI´m in transition again
I´m floating down a river at a leisurely speedLetting my fingers dangle in the streamGlancing at the scenery trying to enjoy whats in front of meJust letting it all pass me byPass on by
But I can´t mess around with this timeThat I´m wastingOn slippery idealsSliding and colliding just to crash again
In my head the past rewindsIts a constant reel playing in my mindMy eyes are wide open but then cannot seeThe glimmering landscape directly in front of me
I don´t feel loveI don´t feel peaceI don´t need to prove that I´m meHow do I curb the worryOf what will come to beCome to be
Emily NobleIn Front Of Me
43.
Klarabella - Letter
Glorious letters from simplistic faces against neuron-sceptic apple-traces behind second guessed ugly faces, running behind a pinwheel shot, against the best you forgot, you forgot you not. I’ve flown through chaos wind pack your bags, heaven is a wasteland of filled fingers, touching my heart inside a rolling pin, crossing faces. Faces. Faces. Faces. Every face against a picket, every sidewinding man against a mad choice of green, a mad choice for the mean, broken and spent for repent my accidental lover, falling over space with love in her place. Forgiving the most primal, loving the April season with a person you never knew before, six seconds have destroyed an entire universe, I love you, simple Jesus, with my heart the forefront crossing my soul for your show.
Eyelid’ed dressed-being examined through my skin, a parker-bold weaver with mellowing parts to thing. Presented in some dying form, the colour abounds my name adorn, with swift-ist cantor and milling right, I’ve lost the Gods to win this fight, some aching pain inside my soft, I steal the love, I sleep in my loft. Canteen baby, you make the artificial artful, my architect brilliant bright white light, speeding increase with quiet beams of sand, silence, I’m 18th century civil-war antiques, and SUPER SCARY SPACE ALIENS WHICH WILL PROBE, PROBE, PROBE, PROBE!
I can’t accept the world, I can’t accept the world, I can’t accept Anne Frank, I can’t accept the world, I can’t see it, I can’t breathe it all in, everyone’s a different level of dead, I know I’m not fully alive, if I was alive I would never stop screaming and crying, I’m sorry Anne, People make choices to survive, I don’t know which section of skin-eye loves you, but it’s a skin-cut-slide-section that I hate, can I hate what loves you and love you all the same? Can I please pretend I’m better but still reward my pathetic, predictable post-procedural photo-sonic factual free-forming overly-overt hateful, hateful, hateful existence into some green laid pasture corn button button button I am static, I am tear, I am one take of human rejection push through counter-fit super-reaction to form my own attraction which brings me satisfaction in some recognised sense, the feeling is my heroin through my fingertips, I’d kill for you baby, we’ll run away and rob coffee shops.
JodammeTemptation tales tales tales TALES
45.
[n0isebl0ke] - Barcelona
‘’If the Devil asks you to dance, you better say never, because a dance with the devil will last you forever’’
Damien grew up in a rough part of town, he lived in a dirty old apartment block with his 20 year old brother Lucas. Damien’s mother had died several years ago of cancer and he never knew his dad. He had seen his father once, in a grainy old photo. He longed for his family to be all together living happily. His brother Lucas was the closest thing to a Dad he would probably ever get and he loved him dearly.
Lucas, or ‘Luke’, was always there for Damien, he worked two jobs most of the time to support himself and his little brother. He would often get home very late at night after doing long hours at the nearby store. When Damien dropped out of school at the age of 14, Lucas wasn’t happy. ‘You dropped from school to hang out with those losers?’ he yelled. When Lucas said ‘Those losers’ he meant a local gang of thugs who robbed shops and cars and dealt drugs. The gang
members were all much older then Damien, but he was a perfect target for the ruthless drug lords, he was innocent and young, and longed for a family to be part of. They recruited him to be a ‘run around boy’. Damien loved the image of being a gangster and couldn’t wait to get started with his new ‘family’.
He hung around the corners all day selling bags of weed. One day, he wandered into territory run by a rival gang and was beaten so badly he was knocked unconscious. His attackers picked him up and threw him into a ditch. When he woke, he was in hospital. It was Lucas who came to comfort his little brother, not his new so called ‘family’, they couldn’t care less about his condition. When he fully recovered they showed no sympathy toward Damien, ‘Where were you? My God can you do nothing right?’ is all he got before he was sent back out to the streets to do their dirty work. Damien knew about 4 or 5 guys who were serving jail time for selling drugs for the same gang he was now in. He didn’t care. He was disillusioned. He dreamt of buying boats and cars, smoking cigars and lounging by swimming pools.
DanA Dance With The Devil
You dropped out of school for this Damo’ his brother kept repeating while Damien was recovering from the beating he had gotten. Damien thought nothing good could come of staying in school, and that he would end up on the streets anyway. Almost everyone did. So he carried on. Lucas was worried sick all the time, he grasped the cross hanging from his chain and prayed to God every night that his brother would be OK. Damien was out one night with a couple of the guys in the gang, they drove around aimlessly smoking and drinking whiskey. The guys wanted to test Damien, to see how hard he was, how tough he was, how much heat he could handle.
They hatched a plan. They drove slowly in the rain, sitting, waiting. Then they saw a lone figure walking briskly down the footpath in the dark. It was late. About 1.30 AM. The driver pulled the car up alongside the person on the footpath. ‘This is it kid’ said one of the gang members to Damien. They all hopped from the car and the guy in the passenger seat hit the figure in the back of the head with a wheel brace. The figure fell to the pavement with a thud. They then wrapped his head
in a shirt and dragged him up a fire escape onto a rooftop about five stories high. They proceeded to beat him badly, blood soaked through the shirt that was wrapped around his head. One gang member pulled out a revolver handing it to Damien. ‘Do it kiddo!’ he said. Damien looked at the revolver, he felt strong standing there with his new brothers. He bent down and removed the shirt from the head of the innocent victim. He was staring down at his brother Lucas. The blood dripped from Lucas’s chin, it covered his battered face. His left eye was closed up. He was crying louder then when he was being beaten at the sight of his little brother standing over him. Damien remembered all the times Lucas was there for him, supporting him, his only family. He was returning home after doing over time at the store. Lucas was slipping closer and closer to death. Damien turned, dropped the gun, and jumped from the rooftop.
*Inspired by the song ‘Dance with the devil’*
48.
It has been twenty-one years today. Twenty-one years inside this house.Looking outside I can barely see through the glass for the dirt and when I catch a glimpse it’s of the over grown jungle that is the garden.How big is the world? I was taught that once in school a long time ago.I was taught the continents and countries and cities. But now I’m not so sure it’s all true.The world is as big as what surrounds you, nothing more or less.When I close my kitchen door and look into the corridor the kitchen doesn’t exist anymore.And when I am inside the kitchen nothing else exists.I have been in this house for so long that I am starting to question whether everything I was taught is right at all.Maybe all that exists is me in this room, who decided that one plus another one should equal two? Because what happens if the two ones are different? Then they must equal something different than two ones that are the same shouldn’t they?Maybe I am going mad but maybe I am the sanest person in the world, and who decides the difference between sanity and madness?And which one it is more correct to be?Who makes all the rules? And who am I to ask these questions to because if I am right there is nobody to answer to.
FlyinggreengodessMe And This Room
In this world the majority rules, but I am the only one here, so does that mean everything I do or say is right?I should perhaps stop using question marks.My head has grown too big and too small all at the same time and now it feels as though it will explode or implode at any given second.Maybe the whole idea of learning is bad because to learn is to reach the conclusion of something and gain knowledge and generally the conclusion is reached by confirmation of other sources reassuring you it is right.Whatever is true I don’t know anymore, who invented the concept of truth.Truth is just a moment in time which will never be repeated again and cannot be viewed by anyone because as soon as someone experiences it, it is not truth anymore.Sort of like virginity. Or photo-paper as soon as light hits it.Or my brain before it was rammed full of shit.That’s why I’ve been here in this house for twenty-one years; I don’t want to be contaminated anymore. Or contaminate others.I am starting to rot and forget which is good.The world forgot me a long time ago.Or maybe it didn’t because the world is only as big as me and this room.
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In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.
Coco Chanel
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