December 12th, 2007
|06:24 pm - It's a never-ending nightmare...|
I've decided that I really can't bear to write any more of my past months. What has been is over now. One day I may reveal what really happened, may delve into the soul and explore what happens to it when it is wrenched apart by the most absolute despair...
But today Alex's fiancée's best friend spent the day at our house. Cecilia, her name is, Alex's fiancée. It was the most hideous experience of my life. Now this girl, Izzie, is the absolute epitome of everything I hate about the human race. If those stories I have told before described the great beauty you can find in humanity, then this story will revel in the ugliness of our species.
I met Izzie for the first time last year, at a dinner for Alex's birthday. We were at a nice restaurant, there was fairly noisy chatter from every table, and the splosh of wine into glasses provided the orchestra to this choir of laughing patrons. I was happily chatting to a group of people, regailing them with some incredibly interesting tale I am sure, when I see a woman walk through the door. Red nails clutched a tacky purse, straw-straightened, burgundy-coloured hair scratched at her bare shoulders, flimsy, cheap material brushed against her bottom, in a fashion that would have been revealing, had not her underwear already been revealed by the transparency of her garment. She stalked through the restaurant in slut-red heels, and heads turned as she passed. I presume she mistook the looks of repulsion for something a little more flattering.
I look around the room, and wondered to which table she could belong, but none seemed to fit. But to my utter disgust, it was our table she eventually stopped at, running towards Cecilia and flinging her naked arms around her neck.
"Cessy!" She screeched in a harsh and grating tone, my ears flinching at this aural assault.
She plonked herself onto a chair and the symphony was thus spoiled. For, during the rest of the evening all I could hear were her shrill interventions, her vacuous screeches, and her increasingly drunken slurring onto Alex. We were both unimpressed, but he of course couldn't say anything, she being the best friend of his girlfriend.
We all went to a bar after that, drank a little, you know how these things go. A group of people in our early twenty-somethings, trying hard to avoid the reality of growing old, and dreading the day when we will be too old to dance drunkenly with a glass of vodka in our hand.
I was sitting on a sofa, watching some people dance, and the world was swaying a little with my imbibition. I was content. Until Izzie decided to 'cheer me up'. She staggered up to me, piercing my foot with her heels, and my ears with her voice.
"James, James, dance with us!" She yelled, trying to drag me onto the floor. I politely refused, saying that I preferred to sit and watch for the moment, being a little drunk. This lecherous whore would not however, take no for an answer.
"James! Come on! Dance!!" She tried to pull me again, and I resisted. Whether it was her drunkenness, the opposing force to my resistance, or the outcome of her own machinations, she fell sprawling into my lap, and before I knew what was happening, this wanton woman was clambering over me, her shamelessness revealed to all, and she was sucking the modesty from my lips. I could not escape her iron grip as she squirmed herself into me and smeared her slut onto my face. Eventually she rolled away, her dress rolling away from her body as she did so, and slurred her way to the bar. And I ran.
I haven't seen her since, as I actively avoided it, rushing to Sydney whenever the possibility of my seeing her has ever arisen unavoidably. But today, she came over to discuss wedding plans. I opened the door, expecting just Cecilia, but instead I saw that woman I knew well standing behind a woman I well wish that I didn't know.
"James!" She screeched, as my heart sunk. "I haven't seen you for so long!"
"Izzie." I stood back from the door and let them in. "Cess." I gave the happy fiancée a hug. Cecilia started down the corridor to find Alex, and Izzie hung back to talk to me. She was wearing something similar to the last time I had seen her, just a differently coloured version of it. Sensing danger I mumbled something about the living room being down the hall, and rushed to my room, using the lock for the first time in an eternity.
I could not escape that easily though...at lunch, and then dinner, I was forced to endure her bedroom eyes fluttering in my direction, her lack of wit and intelligence being forced into conversation in an attempt to impress me. I felt sickened.
I managed to survive, but it's not over yet. Not only will I have to see her more as this engagement continues, but she is in my house this very minute. Cecilia is staying over tonight, everyone had a little too much wine at dinner. Izzie can't sense how unwelcome she is, and well maybe she has a plan for my seduction tonight. But she is in the living room with the happy couple. I am staying in my room, and I am locking the door. Sydney is looking very attractive right now...
Current Location: a prisoner in my own room
Current Mood: scared
Current Music: harsh skanken shrieks
December 9th, 2007
Today Alex told me of his plans to be married.
I cannot pretend that this didn't come as a shock, for it took me completely by surprise...Alex, my closest friend, housemate, confidante, the permanently drunk student, with his motorcycle, that pride and joy of his...I realised today that we have grown up, and I haven't noticed. I have been so caught up in my own thought and misery that I have failed to notice that Alex is not that carefree young man that he used to be. In my mind I am still standing where I was three years ago...five years ago...the time has gone, but it doesn't seem to have taken me with it.
I cannot comprehend this feeling of age, I feel as if there is so much that I need to do with my life before I grind myself into a rut of comfortable living.
I suppose I should really describe here the last few months of my life, for they haven't been particularly pleasant. I left you as I was walking through the rain, miserable and disillusioned, haunted by memories of the past, and loathing my situation in the present. I reached my house, cold and wet, and sat on the floor of the kitchen, forming a puddle of hopelessness on the floorboards around me. I sat there for I don't know how long, before eventually, exhausted through emotion, I moved to my bed. I stayed there for days, moving only to drink water, unable to stomach anything else. Eventually Alex came home and dragged me into the shower, and force-fed me. It is lucky that he did.
I shan't go into detail of the following few months, for they are memories which I do not want to dredge up - suffice to say I spent much time being listlessly dragged through subsistence by Alex, to whom I owe so much. I don't think I spoke to anybody, barely left the house, sat listening to piano concertos for hours on end, my mind purely blank. There was I think no great emotion for that period to overwhelm me, nothing to drive me forwards, rather there was just nothing. I felt nothing, my existence felt as a dream, and my body felt as though it belonged to another. I can't really say more than that, for it was just a prologued blur of silent motion.
Eventually of course Alex and his girlfriend (fiancee soon I suppose) realised that I was content to sit and mope indefinitely, so carted me off to the doctor, where I continued to sit morosely, blankly, allowing the world to go on around me as if I myself played no role in my fate. You see, even if you do not actively participate, life is such that it continues, others force you to continue, others then take over the shaping of your destiny. So it was that my friends, with the aid of various chemicals, forced me out of my morose stagnation...but I can't talk about it, yet.
I have spent a lot of time writing, time traveling...I suppose you could really say that my life is back to normal in many ways, though it still has perhaps not regained that vibrance which I used to see in the world, everything being rather a duller, more subdued version of being.
That's enough for now...it's a start, at least.
Current Music: Romeo and Julitte suite - Prokofiev
July 9th, 2007
She shouted at me, yelled profanities, and cried a great deal. Heartless, masogynistic, those were two of the politer words that she used. But I don't blame her, rather think that I probably deserved everything that she threw at me.
Yet somehow I felt nothing when my vapid girlfriend flung herself onto the floor, weeping copious amounts of melodrama at that man who had so used her affections for his own experimentation, and then cast her aside as the experiment failed. I watched her antics, and I apologised for my behaviour, yeeet felt detached from the scene, as if I were watching the breaking of another couple, the heartbreak of someone foreign to me.
I sound like a monster, and perhaps I am, but I maintain that I am merely a monster of society, and that this scene, this chain of events was caused not by some inner horror, some inner sadism and psychopathy, rather it was the inevitable, driven into me by the hoards of rules oppressing my life.
She kept asking me why, but the more I tried to explain, the angrier she became, eventually attempting to throw objects at me: books which she had never read and fashion magazines which she had read too many times. I sat and absorbed all she had to say, trying to comfort her. Eventually, I don't know how long later, she stopped sobbing and lay motionless, head buried in the carpet. I sighed, and picked her up, and in a motion of apology, and in perhaps the most kindness which I would ever show her, I carried her to her bed and tucked her in, where she lay without acknowledging me at all.
So I left my girlfriend forever, and left the normality of her little house. A final presumptuous action on my part was to use her phone to send a message to her best friend to beg her to come round. I may be heartless, I may have done wrong by the whole of the female population, but still I didn't want her to be alone.
I walked outside, and it was raining. I walked home in the rain, staring into the open windows of the houses I passed, trying to catch glimpses of what they hid - idyllic tableaus, or the torrid shambles of the unhappy.
My head was itself in turmoil. I couldn't come to any conclusions. I didn't know what to do, my task for the day done in all its gory misery.
So I kept walking, and subconsciously walked myself to a street where, some years ago I went to a party.
It wasn't an extraordinary affair. Before Alex had moved into my house, he lived in a delapedated share house, with 3 other students and a considerable amount of mess. He had a party one night, so as the dutiful best friend, I toddled along, expecting only the usual drunken blur of faces, food and music, expecting to wake up sore, yet none the different from another night of revelling.
I walked further along the street, and came to the house which used to have a sofa on the verandah, and Alex's motorcycle in the driveway. It was more reputable now, the sofa had gone and was replaced by potted flowers, the motorcycle replaced by a slightly aged BMW.
At this party I had drunk a few drinks, and was feeling somewhat tipsy, to put it mildly. So, as is my want in times such as these I decided to write poetry, as it seemed that I had imbibed my brain into action. So I wandered onto the verandah, where with a great flourish I pulled out a pen and started scribbing in a notebook. The quality of that poetry was somewhat dubious, but that is beside the point. As I sat there scrawling, looking pensively into the distance, a girl stumbed out of the door, a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other hand holding herself upright against the wall. She was giggling a little, and I glared as she disturbed my peace. She however didn't seem to notice my daggers, and plopped herself down on the sofa next to me.
"Laura" she solemnly held her hand at me. I shook it.
"James" I noticed through a beery haze that she had a slightly lopsided smile.
"What are you doing?" She pointed vaguely at my notebook.
"I am a poet."
...and so it continued, without going into the excruciating details of drunken flirtations.
I sighed and walked past the house where it seemed my heart and been won and possibly ruined forever. The ghosts of that night followed me along the street, stumbling into the street, a kiss as she waited for the taxi, then giggling and running inside, deciding not to wait for the taxi after all...
I walked home thinking of Laura. When someone you loved so very much is taken before the relationship was able to run its full course, before you were able to get bored with each other, you can't help but wonder what may have been. You never have the opportunity to lose those feelings, and it leaves you dead for the future.
I walked home in the rain, unfeeling. Living in the past, ghosts and memories walking alongside me, being washed into the gutter as I passed.
Current Mood: sad
June 7th, 2007
|11:55 pm - In this world, you must make your own bed|
You may well have been wondering where I have been for the last 8 months or so. I am sure that before you tuck yourselves up in bed each night, it is the last question to rush through your head, and you worry that I may have died, or been eaten by a shark, or somesuch dismal fate.
But no, I assure you, I am well and truly alive, and occasionally kicking.
How then have I been occupying myself, you may ask. I shall proceed to fill in the blanks.
You may remember my great unrequited love for a girl of the name of Claire. Oh my heart which no longer feels pain to break. Oh that pretty face which drove me to the land of fantasy and despair...but perhaps I exaggerate. I think that the death of Laura left me dead also, dead in emotion and spirit, and I have been trying to find a way to drag myself up from that pit. In Claire I saw a hope...but the hope is gone.
I have been wandering my mind, I have been feeding off my imagination, and I have been writing. Yet I still do not know if my magical encounters were just a figment...or not. Yet I am inclined to believe they were real...I believe there is something more than drudgery to the world.
After my adventures in Australia, I still felt restless. I went home, to find Alex continuing to do nothing at home, getting up to go to uni, or go to work, then come home and drink, or go and stay at his girlfriend's house. I couldn't stand the opression of this routine, and even in Sydney it weighed me down. And so I left. I bought a ticket to Paris, and with a suitcase and my laptop I proceeded to cure myself.
To cure myself of heartache was one thing, but to cure myself of humanity, quite another. For there it was, everywhere I went, from England, to France, to Germany, Italy, Greece, Spain...society followed me. The society of centuries screamed to me from the stones of ancient cities, and the pages of crumbling books. Society wove itself in a never-ending loop of narrow-mindedness and conformity, alcohol, class and routine, and whilst feeling the elation of history lifting me, those burdens of humanity crushed me.
The need to fit within the societal norms, to live a life determined by the rules of others. To go through life, unquestioning, content with this routine, this one way of thinking...why do people do it? Why can they not think for themselves, question? Why do the ones with powers of free-thinking, free-speech become victimised in their conformist minds?
Perhaps it would be arrogant of me to say that they are too stupid to question. Or perhaps they were never bought up to think of possibilities.
I remember when I was a child, when I was in year 4 at my horrendously pompous school in Sydney, a child in my class got nits. He consequently had his head shaven to thwart the little pests. A couple of weeks later another boy in my class also got nits, and was away from school for a couple of days. In those days, imaginative little me said to my friends "maybe William will have to get his head shaved too!" to which they replied with "ooo's" and "ahhh's" and various little boy responses. I know I repeated this "maybe he will have his head shaven" a few times in those couple of days.
But, when William came back to school, he didn't have his head shaven. So what happened? The blame was put on me. "James said you had a shaved head. James is a liar." And as much as I insisted that I had only said "might", they didn't understand.
A year or so later, the same sort of thing happened. A boy threw a pencil at a teacher and got in trouble. The teacher took the boy out of the room. I whispered to everyone "it could have poked Ms Rudy's eye out! That is why he is in so much trouble!!"
When the teacher and the sorry-looking boy returned however, she had both her eyes, and he had a few tears in his. I was again, proclaimed a liar, even though I again insisted that I had been stating a possibility, the reasoning behind the outcome and the punishment.
So why did I recount these little stories? To show that people do not use their imagination. They ignore the 'could' they ignore the 'maybe' and go straight for the action. They don't stop to think about what they are doing, they don't stop to think about what other people tell them. They continue, happily unquestioning, and it is such as I who are left to ponder in misery.
So what did I do? I wrote about it yes. I travelled the continent with feelings of elation and despair. And I came home.
I was happier, I had forgotten the pain of love, and replaced it with a new woe. But this woe was one which was not about to go away. So I started an experiment.
I decided to be my best friend, for he seemed happy enough. I borrowed his motorcycle, I bought clothes like his. I got a job in an office, and danced to techno music. I even succumbed to the advances of one of those vapid skanks who tend to hover around me. I was, for all intents and purposes, a normal functioning member of society.
But was I happy? Could I ignore the pressure of thought? Could I cast my imagination aside now that I had obtained the dreams of the average man?
No. From the first day, I had never been more unhappy in my life. Sitting in an office, sorting through paper. Living through the menial conversations of my vapid girlfriend. Going to staff gatherings, where the whole conversation revolved around work.
I lasted a month and a half...somehow. Before I ran from the office, and sat in my suit beneath a tree in the botanic gardens, closing my eyes and breathing in the smell of the wild, itself contained within the confines of its creators. We are constructs of society, so what happens to us when we decide that we don't particularly like this society, nor the people in it?
This is what I am currently asking myself.
Yesterday I gave up my chance of a normal life, yesterday I spent all day beneath a tree, not even moving when it rained. Yesterday I went to my girlfriend's house and heard her speak to me without listening to a word.
This morning I came home and dressed in my old clothes, dusted off my MG, drove into the hills and wrote. I was sitting on a log, and it was quite cold, but not wet. I looked at my car, and my computer - those necessities for the life I am living. I thought it was ironic that they were bought with the money of my father the plastic surgeon, money that came to him through the desires of some to fit into the mould of others. Yet did I reject them? No. I used them, for my own gains, even as I continued to whien about these very instiutions and insecurities which had provided me with house, food, education.
We are constructs of society, and in the end all of our individual stories are forgotten by the overwhelming pressure of that mass of humanity.
Current Location: my house
Current Mood: blank
Current Music: Arvo Part
October 31st, 2006
|10:32 am - The B and B of ethereal mysteries...|
Good morning Livejournal, and a good morning it is indeed, for I shall now share with you a story which perhaps you would not believe if I were to stand and tell it to you with a straight face, over a cup of coffee, surrounded by gossipping mothers and screaming children...but here in the world of imagination and cyberspace you can read and believe what I have to tell you...
When I left the cottage of that happy couple I once again found myself on the road, inspired by the joy of their life, and by the countryside which, in the slight mist and overcast gloom, seemed to be green and ethereal - a land which did not belong to the arid Australia which I knew.
I was in no hurry to get home, to get back to Sydney. The life I had been living seemed shallow, and I wondered to myself what I had been doing all these years - striving to find meaning by drinking away my nights, and wasting my days posing as a writer and producing nothing for all my talk. I resolved there and then to finish my book, to go home and rethink my plan...but that is another story, and one far less interesting than the one I am about to tell...
I passed through many little towns, past many cottages, and I wondered what stories they held. I should like to return one day to ask, for in this place, time seemed to stand still, the paradigms of this universe seemed to stand alone from the world which we know, and one felt as though possibility existed in the very air, and all you had to do wass breathe for a wonderful and beautiful life to open up in front of you too.
When it was evening I realised that I would soon have to stop for the night, and so I kept a lookout for somewhere to stay. Seeing nothing after an hour or so, I decided to take out my area map to see if there was anywhere listed on it. To my great surprise, I noticed a tiny symbol, half hidden beneath the lines of the contours of the mountains, and of the few spidery roads which wound their way through them. A bed and breakfast, here in the middle of nowhere.
Following the map, I turned where it said I should, onto a road which looked like it was not often followed, and saw a small sign declaring that I was indeed on the right route. I wondered why someone would create a bed and breakfast here, but put that thought aside, for logic was not a creature which inhabited these lands.
Dusk fell, and my car puttered along the dirt road, not finding any semblance of habitation. I began to wonder if this place existed, if it had perhaps burnt down, or had been envelopped in the endless fog and possibility which surrounded it. I was thinking of turning back, for surely there would be another town not too far down the main road, for many of them were not even marked upon my map.
Before I did though, the end of the road loomed in front of me, and I screamed to a halt, shattering the silence with the pain of my brakes. There was not sign of anything, just the mountains looming all around me. I seemed to be in a valley, and the road stopped, suddenly, for there was nowhere else for it to go.
I got out of the car, to wonder why there was a road leading to nowhere, and why the map and that small and faded sign had told me that there was something down here. Darkness was falling fast now, and I had to make a decision. The side of the mountain in front of me was drenched in my headlights, the foliage illuminated, looking unreal and deathly pale in their light. I thought I saw a flash of light to my right, and turned, but saw nothing, and thought it merely my imagination. But then, again, on my right, a definate swirl of light, standing out from the darkness, leaving trails in my retinas.
I switched off the car lights, and after a moment of adjustment, I saw them all around, swirling instances of light, now here, now there in the rapidly darkening valley. I ran towards one, to see what it was, but it eluded me, darting out of reach. I ran to where it was now, and again it moved. Swept up by some childish impulse, some inate desire to hunt, or play, or discover, I ran after this speck of light, and it itself gathered more, until I was running after a cloud of luminescence, through small ways in the mountain which I would have never otherwise found, going deeper into the heart of this hidden valley.
It led me then, into a space, more marvellous than I could describe to you: a valley within a valley, a space surrounded by steep mountainside and undergrowth, but open to the now star-filled sky. The cloud burst and dissipated, its participants each finding their home in this place, and sitting there like living decorations on a fairy-story which was real. There was a small lake at one end of this valley, with a waterfall trickling into it, creating music. Surprised that I could make this detail out in the dark, I approached it in wonder, and saw myself blurred in the slightly rippling surface.
Wondering what could be causing this faint glow that surrounded me, for surely it could not be those little creatures alone, I looked instead to the rocks surrounding me, and saw that it was the very essence of the valley which was causing this light. I was amazed, and went to closer inspect this phenomonen. As much as I would like to report a magical occurrance, a valley shrouded in luminescence, I found instead what I could only deduce to be phospherous - to deduce this my memory looked to Jules Verne, and Journey to the Centre of the Earth, otherwise I may indeed have been mistaken.
I looked then at the small creatures, from a new and scientific perspective, and saw that they were covered in the stuff, and they would otherwise have been the plainest of moths, but with this mineral they became objects of ethereal wonder and mystery.
I had lost any sense of time here, and had forgotten the purpose which had led me here, and so, when from the pool behind me I heard a splash, I turned, starlted from my revery. At first I saw nothing but the faint shape of the moth fading from my retina, but this shape merged slowly, as I became accustomed to the light, into the form of a small human child, the colour of its skin melding into the shadows behind it.
I didn't know what to do, and felt like a trespasser, having stumbled into this small world by pure accident, as though I was sullying its existence with my outside thoughts and actions. But I had no need to fear. The child, picking its feet delicately from the water, came towards me, and took my hand. There were no words spoken. She, for, as she came closer, I saw that it was a girl, pulled my hand slightly, and took a couple of steps, looking to me to follow her. I did so.
She pulled me towards the pool, and took two steps in, until the water was lapping around her skinny thighs. I hestitated then, wondering whence she had come, and where she was now leading me. I looked briefly behind me, but saw nothing but the faint glow of the little valley, and a few moths drifting lazily through the air, their reflections in the water distorted by the ripples caused by our disturbance of it.
Thoughts flooded my mind, one after another, images of death, drowning, and nameless wonders... and I too waded into the water. The girl smiled at me, her white teeth a stark contrast to her skin and surroundings, and she led me further. The water was cool, but the firm determination of her hand reassured me as the water came up to my stomach. Her head was barely above the water, but still she continued with that same serence air which seemed to permeate the whole region. I felt small fish darting around my legs, and saw them, glowing too, like everything in this valley.
The size of the pool being as it was, it was not long before we reached the overhanging rocks where the waterfall had dug its gentle descent, and here I thought that we could go no further, but she did not hesitate, I thought that she would walk headlong into the rocks, but she did not stop, and before I had time to comprehend, we were in a large space, a cavern, lit with the same glow as were the rocks outside, for I presumed that we were now on the inner of the outer. I looked back, and saw a large hole, with water covering it from the outside world like a shimmering curtain, reflecting light and any curious people who did not know it was there.
The girl led me then, out of the pool, and along a glowing passage, winding slightly up. We came to another space, and with a sharp intake of air, I had to smile. From a small hole in one side of the room, for room it was, I could see the small valley clustered below me, an untouchable haven. The room itself contained what appeared to be a bed, and food, and water. As I looked, the girl suddenly snatched her hand away from me, and ran off, and for a while the only sound I could hear was the pattering of her feet in the dark, slowly fading until the silence was total.
I sat on the bed, and I ate the wholesome bread and fruit and the like which had been set out for me. With one last look at the valley, I closed my eyes and fell into a rich sleep, my body absorbing the strange forces of the air to rejuvinate itself.
I dreamt. I dreamt of the valley. Laura was there, bathed in moonlight, and she was smiling at me. She ran to the pool, and kicked water at me, laughing, her laugh ringing around the walls of the valley, like the peal of a bell, calling the pious to worship. Like those many, I followed the sound. I ran towards her, and grabbed her hands, to know that she was real. She smiled at me, with such a sweet sadness that it broke my heart, the knowledge that this could never again be, and even here our time was ended. The little girl came, and solemnly parted our hands, placing mine by my sides, and taking Laura's in her own, and leading her away. I thought she was leading her to the same place where I was now sleeping, but they kept walking, and the descent was steep, and soon the girl had dissapered beneath the waters, and I cried out as I watched as Laura was once again lost to me forever.
I crouched by the water, my head in my hands, the pain once again fresh and unbearable to me.
A tap on my back, and I saw the face of the girl staring intensely at me. She, this black devil who had stolen those moments of happiness from me, those moments which I would never, ever again be able to hold. I made to grab her, in sudden anger, but she just stepped back and shook her head sadly, as if saying that it was never meant to be. My anger subsided as fast as it had appeared, and she gestured to the other side of the little valley. I looked, and even as my sadness was welling yet again, my heart skipped a beat and pushed it into the past, handing it to the healing powers of time here.
For now Claire stood there, looking confused, as if she had been picked up and placed her through no will of her own. I looked at the girl, and she nodded at me, and flitted away into the shadows. I got up, and walked towards Claire. She spotted me, and her confusion seemed to grow. My heart sank, and continued to sink, into the ground, pulling me with it, pulling the valleys down into this pit of despair. She looked on, her confusion turning to horror, and she reached out her arms to me.
"James!" she screamed, and I grabbed her, and the hole which had been evelopping me spat me out, disgusted at the joy which flooded me with her touch.
It was the only word spoken that night.
In the morning, I awoke to find myself in a small cave, on a rocky ledge, with the remains of fruit and a few crumbs beside me. After a moment of confusion, I remembered the night before, and I remembered my dream, and I ran to the window to look at the valley in the daylight. But there was no window. The only light was that from the phosphorus, and running out, I found myself beside the road, by my car where I had left it that night.
In panic, I ran around, trying to find that opening where I had followed the shimmering cloud to find such wonders last night, but in vain. I wondered then at the state of my mind, that I could believe with all my heart that such a thing had happened. I slowly put my hand in my pocket to get my key, ready to drive away forever, to turn myself to the authorities as a delusional wreck. What I pulled out was not a keyring which would open a red MG. At first it gave me rather a shock.
It was a fish, small and limp, and still slightly damp, and glowing.
I drove back to the main road, and saw no evidence of that small sign which I had seen last night. I looked in my road map, and there was not a trace of any symbol proclaiming a bed and breakfast.
I drove on, thinking of what other wonders this region would hold, and feeling glad that it had taken me into its folds, for a night at least, and was determined that one day, I would return here, and give myself completely to the mystery and wonder of the land.
Current Music: Belle and Sebastian - Beautiful
October 30th, 2006
|10:31 pm - Of love and caves and lives that make my heart sing...|
...what have I been doing...oh what have I been doing?
I have been neglecting my poor livejournal again, and sad though this may be, it just means that I have all the more to report now.
I have been travelling around the country a bit - as usual I have spent much time in Sydney, and the wonderful news is that my book has been progressing in a very satisfactory manner. Soon, very soon, I may send it to a publisher, and then perhaps the last few years of my life won't have been a complete waste of time.
The above picture was taken at the entrance to an underground cave, hidden in a small town in the mountainous regions of Victoria. I was driving through this town, when I saw a sign, slightly weather-beaten, proclaiming that a "cave and teahouse" was 200 metres on my left. Consumed with curiosity I drove down the little sidestreet, and found the most gorgeous little cottage hiding behind a small cluster of trees, and then down a path behind this cottage was the entrance to the most amazing cave I have seen. It was not its magnitude which astounded me so, rather the diversity of the rock formations contained within - nowhere else have I seen such a collection of stalagtites, stalagmites (I am sorry if I spelt those wrong - these words are generally not in my everyday written vocabulary) and rockpools, all unspoilt by the hands of tourists which are the downfall of its larger cousins.
I then went to the cottage, for tea, wondering why someone would run such a ventue here, of all places, and why this cave was such a beautiful secret.
There was a young couple living there, much to my surprise.
I asked what they were doing in such a place as this, as the writer within me was screaming with curiosity at the twists of life that take people where they do.
The girl explained to me that her grandmother had owned the house her whole life, and her family for generations before that. When she died, this girl had inherited it, as there was no other family left for it to go to. At the time she had been living in Sydney, working unsatisfactory jobs, motivated by the usual forces that drive the world - those of greed, money, power, and the neverending quest for love. Upon recieving notice that she had inherited the house, she had taken a week off work, and driven out to see what mess she had to deal with. Upon seeing the little house however, she had fallen in love with it, and with the little cave hidden behind it. She had spent that week there, and in going through the old lady's things, had found a much-loved easel and set of paints. She had taken these outside, and had set herself up, wearing an old knitted jumper and headscarf, and had started to paint.
In this activity she found a joy which she had never before experienced, a sense of fulfillment and certain love for life. She knew then that she could never go back to working in the city, so then and there she rang her office to inform them that she was resigning.
Weeks later, having quit the city, and upon driving to the cottage to which she had given her heart, she encountered a fierce storm. In the way of things which one never expects to happen to one, her car decided then and there to run out of fuel, and she had none with which to replenish it. She remembered that she had passed a winery not so long ago, so in the rain, and growing dark, she had run along the road trying to find help and shelter, for the notion of spending the night alone in a cold car was for her a more terrifying thought than trying to find help.
After what seemed hours of searching, she found the entrance to this old winery, ran up the oh-too-long driveway to beat upon the door, soaking wet, and shivering from cold. The door was opened by a young man, the youngest son of the family who owned this winery. Upon seeing the girl, soaked as she was, hair plastered to her face, blue lips and desperation pinned upon her face, his heart cried out a tune of sorrow and joy, and he knew that this girl was the woman he would love for the rest of her life. She herself was too exhausted to see anything, and with her near-collapsing, he woke the rest of the household to get her warmed up and into dry clothes, without asking any questions of her.
When she had been sufficiently revived, and sitting at the table in the old kitchen, with cocoa and a warm dressing gown, she told the young man, his sister and parents her story, and with promises of help on the morrow they had sent her to bed.
In the morning, the young man and his father had taken her to where she had left the car with a full can of petrol. The young man was in despair that this girl to whom he had committed his heart was leaving them so soon, but shy as he was, he was unable to confess to her this irrational love which had burst so suddenly in his veins.
By some act of Providence however, it turned out that the rainfall the previous night had been far heavier than they had thought, and in the dark and confusion of the previous evening the girl had left her car in a place by the road which had not been surfaced, so as a result it was bogged down, and could not be moved.
So the girl was invited back to the house while the emergency services were called. The storm however, had caused much damage through the region, and in the scheme of felled trees, powerlines, and roofless houses, emergency services were not concerned with a bogged-down car for the moment.
So it was that the girl had to stay with this family on the winery until such time as help could come. The young man was in anguish as to what to do. Every time he spoke to her his longing for her grew, and every time she looked at him, with a particular half-smile and secrets in her eyes, it was all he could do to contain the words which were desperate to pour out.
Days passed. The girl helped around the winery, and soon the urgency to remove her car and to be on her way was lost. She had a vague desire to reach her little cottage, but for the meantime was content to be surrounded by the people who had unconditionally helped and accepted her, and to offer them what help she could in exchange. Besides, she had become enchanted by the young man who had first opened the door to her, by his shy, well-spoken ways, and by the quick but charged glances that passed between them.
One night she was walking from her bedroom to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, as she could not sleep, when she heard a music coming from an end of the house. One must remember that being an old winery, this house was a large one, with a somewhat rambling structure, with rooms that were seperated entirely from the rest of the house. So it was that her ears led her to one such room, where she opened the door to find the young man at a piano, playing a soft sad song which echoed around the room, filling the corners with sorrow which plucked at the cobwebs, sending the fiercest of spiders scurrying for shelter.
She walked into the room, and he kept playing. She sat on the bench next to him, and in silence he kept playing until the song ended. The melody hung in the silent air, and something unspoken passed between the girl and the young man. They kissed then, softly, and knew that this love was the sort that was true and lasting. They made love then, not speaking, but knowing that by whatever chance had bought about this series of events they had found that love which most people look for in life, but few ever find.
So they moved to the cottage, and living on the small amount from occasional visitors such as I, money from the girl's paintings and inheritance, and the young man's work at the winery, they had a life which was all they could wish for.
I talked to them for hours, and myself stayed the night there, sensing kindred spirits in this couple who I myself found only by chance.
Chance is a things which rules our life, random encounters provide us with meaning, and love is an object of this chance. The story they told me is one which you don't expect to hear outside of the imagination of writers, and so finding it to be true gives hope to those who think that there in no beauty left in the world.
I cannot help it if I am a romantic.
Current Mood: whimsical
Current Music: clair de lune - debussy
September 16th, 2006
Still nothing. Nothing at all.
...and since my last entry this has been consuming me more and more. Consuming, entirely. My thoughts never seem to be my own, are never focussed on what I should be doing.
I have never known anything like this before.
I have been in love, completely, but have never had these feelings of torment to accompany it. Maybe it is the waiting, the not knowing, the total incomprehensibility of it all, or the fact that what I want seems to be totally unobtainable.
It is driving me to insanity.
And I keep getting urges to just run from wherever I am, run away, curl up in a corner and perish alone with these feelings. At least then this torment would end.
September 3rd, 2006
It has been nearly 5 months now.
5 months of these pathetic feelings and inaction...
But the time seems to have flown. These weeks and months, I don't know where they have gone. I have been doing nothing. My book has not progressed, I haven't been working, and even my trips to Sydney have been becoming less and less frequent.
I seem to wake up in the morning, and exist, for those hours until I sleep again.
During this existance I eat, I talk to people, I cook, I go for runs, I go shopping...this is all a blur. But then I see Claire, and everything is in focus, for those hours. My existance has meaning, and my heart stops aching...
But afterwards, the world again turns bleak, and greyness saturates those momentarily vibrant colours.
I know I have nobody to blame but myself, for being unable to do anything. For being too scared to say anything. For my brain freezing whenever I need to say something.
If only I knew if I should, or not...
I can see this continuing, my unreciprocated admiration...for want of a better word...for ages into the future....because I really can't see myself doing anything.
I have no motivation to work, to write, to socialise. Nothing. All I want to do is to sit and daydream, because at least then everything is happy.
And when I dream everything is perfect.
And I awake to reality and cry.
Alex hasn't noticed. He is spending more and more time with his girlfriend, and so I am left alone in my house more and more.
Alone with my imaginings, warping reality to a better creation of my own making.
Current Location: kitchen table
Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: we looked like giants - death cab for cutie
June 27th, 2006
Since my last update, I have seen very little of Claire. A few chance encounters, a few moments stolen from reality to have a brief conversation, before the pain of mundane life without her begins again.
My friends think that I am stupid, for not calling her, for not doing anything about this, but I can't. I am too scared. It is pathetic, but I don't want to presume anything from any of our meetings, don't want to presume that she has read into it what I have.
But I feel that she is my counterpoint. I cannot get her out of my mind. It has been weeks since I last glimpsed her, yet that moment is in my mind as real as if it were just an hour ago. This shows I think, that this is not a casual crush, not an 'oh well it didn't turn out' sort of thing, this is a longing on a deeper level. This has spanned the weeks, without her constant presence to re-inforce my desires, and the heartache has not dimmed for a minute.
I don't know what to do about this one, and it is killing me.
Current Mood: distressed
June 5th, 2006
It has been a while since I have updated, hasn't it?
My life has been spiralling into a meaningless void it seems, I have been doing little writing, little work, and have been avoiding anything at all which involves the smallest amount of responsability. I have been in Sydney, have been wasting my year away with parties and parties, alcohol, girls and cups of coffee to heal my ever-pounding head, and lost consciousness.
But why write now? you may ask. You may, but you, my beloved readers do not seem to have any interest in my musings, however hard I try, however many times I have appealled to you...
It is thoughts of love and girls I write today - no, not my carrying-ons of the past year, the random girls, the meaningless girls whose advances I accepted, hoping that one of them could replace Laura, Laura who was taken from me by the tragedy which was the goodness of her own heart...no. Many times I thought one of them could replace her, I thought that I could love them, that I was in love with them...I needed someone to adore, someone about whom I could think, and so I filled that void with the nearest candidate. It always worked for a short time, until I realised that I was lying to myself, trying to love for the sake of love, instead of letting it hit me when it was ready to. That is the mistake I made. The making of this mistake has caused me to berate myself now, for my stupidity. Now my feelings have become meaningless - words and affections to be thrown at anyone. My friends no longer believe me when I talk about how I feel, and I don't blame them. Too many times they have seen a brief infatuation masqueraded as true love for what it really is, and have watched my behaviour in contempt, and amusement.
If only I could erase that time.
For now you, my dearest readers are my last hope. You, I know will believe me when I tell you about the experience I had today.
I was sitting in my favourite cafe, mulling over the newspaper with a latte and croissant, when I looked up and saw a girl. Now this girl has been a casual aquaintance of mine over the years, though more friends with Alex than with me. Since I have been back in Adelaide I have been seeing her more often with Alex, doing the things we do. Claire. I bumped into her last week, when I was wasting away my day in the museam, and I found her company to be pleasant, and found myself falling for her. Alex believed, as did I, that it was yet another infatuation which I would be over in a few weeks. But today...
She was walking along the sidewalk outside the cafe, thoughts elsewhere, and passed me by unseeing. I however glanced up by chance and my eyes locked on her, and I felt in my chest a bolt, as if I had been hit by 1000 watts of electricity. I lost my breath, and my pulse started to race as I my eyes were transfixed on her passing. I was frozen, unable to call out to greet her, unable to move. My hands were trembling, my whole being was focussed on her, and I realised that this was it. She was not another crush, I found myself falling head over heels in love with her, in that one moment. I may sound stupid, but that happened. My mind and heart were in perfect accord in their feelings for her. Since then I have been in a daze, I have been unable to think of anything else. My chest has been aching, my mind lost in a daydream.
I am helpless, I do not know what to do. She doesn't know, and if she does it could shatter my hope that one day my daydreams will be fulfilled.
What do I do? I can't ease this pain...
I see a wilderness for you and me, punctuated by philosophy.
Current Location: Kitchen table
Current Mood: giddy
Current Music: photobooth - death cab for cutie