There are eels that travel across the surface of the land. Here they do not have a home and they travel fast in between the moments of completion when they are back in the water, floating free.
Most of us human beings, because we are land-dwelling creatures, have more of a chance to see the eels in their interim flight across our home-land.
We are host to this jettisoning outwards as the air is host to the stretches of light that current its surface from time to time.
So across our land they run, knowing too that if they stop they will run out and that the land will claim them like the thread on a bolt that remains lost.
So they run past us and we see them one replacing another so that their rushing away is ever present and to us they are like a fossil, as hard as the land upon which they ride over.
We hardly ever do follow them into the water for long and there are reasons why this is so.
Saturday 3 April 2010
SIMPLE
They called us the simple ones.
We smiled and dumbly grinned through
Their hard exteriors as if they were
Not there for, for them to be there,
Our soft skin would be cut to pieces.
So they dug in harder and harder bruising
Themselves against the walls of their own
Making. One or two did smile.
But then broke down and cried.
We smiled and dumbly grinned through
Their hard exteriors as if they were
Not there for, for them to be there,
Our soft skin would be cut to pieces.
So they dug in harder and harder bruising
Themselves against the walls of their own
Making. One or two did smile.
But then broke down and cried.
OTHER
There was a man who stood in the centre of a piece of glass. It did not break for he did not move. Soon the reflection of him in the glass appeared to be a part of the glass itself. The brightness of his coloured jumper added interest to the otherwise transparent surface. Soon he felt a compulsion to stay. So he stayed and set up residence where at first he had just happened to stop.
One day another came to stop in the same patch. She was not like him until the colours that she threw onto the glass surface merged and they became one. Now one could not imagine one without the other and taken apart the figure that they cut could be incomplete, a part-subsiding surface rather than a perspective of a whole. The two had a child and the child skated this way and that upon the surface of the glass, making patterns and remarks. He existed. He smiled. He spoke.
But then a stick came down. It was held by a tall man in a suit. He did not smile or speak. It came and pummelled the glass which shattered into a thousand fragments. And the child skater fell though the glass and all that remained of him was a patch of blood like a small lake. The parents looked into this lake as they stood amongst the ruins of their home and their tears made the lake grow into many tributaries but still it did not lose its colour and out of it many children appeared. They were children of one blood. A people who lived on the edge of those whom they found themselves amongst. The people of many lands.
One day another came to stop in the same patch. She was not like him until the colours that she threw onto the glass surface merged and they became one. Now one could not imagine one without the other and taken apart the figure that they cut could be incomplete, a part-subsiding surface rather than a perspective of a whole. The two had a child and the child skated this way and that upon the surface of the glass, making patterns and remarks. He existed. He smiled. He spoke.
But then a stick came down. It was held by a tall man in a suit. He did not smile or speak. It came and pummelled the glass which shattered into a thousand fragments. And the child skater fell though the glass and all that remained of him was a patch of blood like a small lake. The parents looked into this lake as they stood amongst the ruins of their home and their tears made the lake grow into many tributaries but still it did not lose its colour and out of it many children appeared. They were children of one blood. A people who lived on the edge of those whom they found themselves amongst. The people of many lands.
FAR REACH
Two figures stood some distance away. There was nothing in between them. They paced toward one another but saw nothing but themselves. Both were alone. There was no comparison to be made for both were identical. They wore blue jackets and white trousers. The rest faded from significance. Both of them were tired. For this reason they wished to sit down. They wanted so much to rest in their own reflection. To have the peace of mind to think. They wished so much to meet with themselves and so cautiously they approached.
They got so close that they could almost touch. But face to face, this is not what they did. Instead they turned outward then shifted a little closer until back to back they touched. They slid down on to the floor with one another’s back supporting the other.
Each one reflected a little on the nature of their life so far. Then simultaneously they got up and walked back- back into their separate existences with the encounter that they had just had stored within.
They got so close that they could almost touch. But face to face, this is not what they did. Instead they turned outward then shifted a little closer until back to back they touched. They slid down on to the floor with one another’s back supporting the other.
Each one reflected a little on the nature of their life so far. Then simultaneously they got up and walked back- back into their separate existences with the encounter that they had just had stored within.
BOUND OVER
There was once a man who could not speak. Yet he was an intelligent man and he had an idea to make a mint or two. He went to the bank and wrote down his idea. But he needed more than financial help because for what he had in mind he needed to be able to speak; to put himself across as is the way when people are trying their best to win something over for some purpose or other.
The manager looked doubtful. In fact he scratched his chin for a long time. For so long in fact that the stubble actually grew up around his fingers making the scratching louder and louder by degrees.
“Well now” he said at last. “I might just be able to help you”. The man without speech looked hopeful which is a look that anyone can have with or without speech. Then away went the bank-manager and back again he trotted with a plan of action in between his extended hands which he was rubbing together.
“O.k. all fixed”
“Follow me if you will in this here vault. It is quite comfortable you will find. Here you may stay whilst the speaking hologram of yourself, MR Speakeasy will take your place, clinch the deal, return with the mint and present it to you. We will take a small cut to cover our expenses as is the custom in the banking world and the rest my good man will be yours for keeps. Is that a deal?”
The man with the idea with no voice to give vent to nodded enthusiastically for enthusiasm as was the case with hope is not the prerogative of the speakeasies alone.
So, to work went Mr Speakeasy shining and glimmering at every turn in the road, radiating confidence, suggesting countless directions all of which seemed to validate his excursions to the place where a right old heaped up mound of money could be sought and collected.
At last it seemed sufficient to call a halt to the exploits of the day.
Mr Speakeasy bound the money up in a suitcase and tottered off to the bank. Thereupon he opened the door of the vault. But no sooner did he do so, catching a glimmer in the eye of the man of little words, then once again he ceased to exist. The man got up from the floor where he had been sat motionless for all this time and without an inkling of a thought or a hope in his empty mind.
As for the suitcase, when it was finally prized apart, for it seemed to be made of some kind of stone, it was found that the suitcase was nothing but a large fossil. It was the fossil of a jaw-bone locked in an expression of… but who can say what it in fact meant.
The man got up from off of the floor of the old vault room. He brushed himself down and went out.
The manager looked doubtful. In fact he scratched his chin for a long time. For so long in fact that the stubble actually grew up around his fingers making the scratching louder and louder by degrees.
“Well now” he said at last. “I might just be able to help you”. The man without speech looked hopeful which is a look that anyone can have with or without speech. Then away went the bank-manager and back again he trotted with a plan of action in between his extended hands which he was rubbing together.
“O.k. all fixed”
“Follow me if you will in this here vault. It is quite comfortable you will find. Here you may stay whilst the speaking hologram of yourself, MR Speakeasy will take your place, clinch the deal, return with the mint and present it to you. We will take a small cut to cover our expenses as is the custom in the banking world and the rest my good man will be yours for keeps. Is that a deal?”
The man with the idea with no voice to give vent to nodded enthusiastically for enthusiasm as was the case with hope is not the prerogative of the speakeasies alone.
So, to work went Mr Speakeasy shining and glimmering at every turn in the road, radiating confidence, suggesting countless directions all of which seemed to validate his excursions to the place where a right old heaped up mound of money could be sought and collected.
At last it seemed sufficient to call a halt to the exploits of the day.
Mr Speakeasy bound the money up in a suitcase and tottered off to the bank. Thereupon he opened the door of the vault. But no sooner did he do so, catching a glimmer in the eye of the man of little words, then once again he ceased to exist. The man got up from the floor where he had been sat motionless for all this time and without an inkling of a thought or a hope in his empty mind.
As for the suitcase, when it was finally prized apart, for it seemed to be made of some kind of stone, it was found that the suitcase was nothing but a large fossil. It was the fossil of a jaw-bone locked in an expression of… but who can say what it in fact meant.
The man got up from off of the floor of the old vault room. He brushed himself down and went out.
THE LAST FLOWER
You see she too had a job though people were generally of the opinion that she sat around. True she sat down much of the time but she had a reason for doing so. For this was her job. It did not so matter where she sat as what she sat on. For so long as she sat on flowers then she was readily employed. She was a flower presser and so it was important that she stay put long enough for the deed to be done.
Unlike some jobs which call for a lot of running around, to and fro, this way and that way, up and down and around and about, her job was not of this nature.
It called for a certain resilience clear in the minds of those who knew what it took to stay put and yet certainly it was different from the non-activity of those who simply end up going nowhere. For she was employed to go nowhere and so her non-movement was given poise by the fact that it was a wilful and well-enough earning position.
How incredible that the same person when seated above these flowers; wedding bouquet’s, lover’s pacts and funeral wreaths was so noble, almost statuesque in her concentrated endeavours. Yet when denied this seating, as was the case in between shifts, she sat unsure of herself, unsure where to look and worried by the thought of life going by whilst she went nowhere. And then her mind fell upon thoughts of time itself and where it might end and what it might make of her. For well she knew the fate of the flowers was very different. The moment of their disappearance never came since before this moment was reached they were flattened, preserved, hung up- their colour dimmed but their ever-lasting presence ensured.
And so the young employee with a flawless record of very good sitting manners, when her season’s work came to an end and all the flowers destined to come her way had been flattened already, she carefully tucked herself under the onslaught of an on-coming lawn-presser then posted herself to her loved one. On the back of the envelope she had already written- for once flattened it is hard to write:
“To our ever-lasting love, affectionately, your flower”.
Unlike some jobs which call for a lot of running around, to and fro, this way and that way, up and down and around and about, her job was not of this nature.
It called for a certain resilience clear in the minds of those who knew what it took to stay put and yet certainly it was different from the non-activity of those who simply end up going nowhere. For she was employed to go nowhere and so her non-movement was given poise by the fact that it was a wilful and well-enough earning position.
How incredible that the same person when seated above these flowers; wedding bouquet’s, lover’s pacts and funeral wreaths was so noble, almost statuesque in her concentrated endeavours. Yet when denied this seating, as was the case in between shifts, she sat unsure of herself, unsure where to look and worried by the thought of life going by whilst she went nowhere. And then her mind fell upon thoughts of time itself and where it might end and what it might make of her. For well she knew the fate of the flowers was very different. The moment of their disappearance never came since before this moment was reached they were flattened, preserved, hung up- their colour dimmed but their ever-lasting presence ensured.
And so the young employee with a flawless record of very good sitting manners, when her season’s work came to an end and all the flowers destined to come her way had been flattened already, she carefully tucked herself under the onslaught of an on-coming lawn-presser then posted herself to her loved one. On the back of the envelope she had already written- for once flattened it is hard to write:
“To our ever-lasting love, affectionately, your flower”.
PATH PLANS
She found a container brimming with bricks. “What an eye-sore to walk around” she noted. She decided to put it to some use. So every day as she walked home from work in her tired stockinged wide stride she picked up a brick or two and quickly whipped it into her hand-bag; one which was never far from her hip. Swinging the bag casually but not so carelessly as to give herself an injury she returned home; a small neat and tidy house where she lived for the present, alone. Well she was a hard worker and there was time and plenty for babies. She had plans.
Now she emptied out the contents of her hand-bag discarding the lipsticks, purse and comb to one side whilst piling up the bricks on her kitchen table in a growing heap. She had a plan and this plan was unstoppable.
She was making a path in her garden. She worked by night and y day hid the path under a green curtain that looked to all intents and purposes like a lawn. Only when one looked close; when one noticed the omission of worms and bugs, weeds and daisies would there be any rise for suspicion but the attention that she got from the immediate public came in short and unstoppable glances. Nobody knew about the path so certainly nobody had a clue where it led to.
At last the deed was done and so on the night of completion, after the final stone had been finally put in place; after the container once brimming with bricks down the road from her neat and tidy dwelling had at long last been emptied, she sighed, kicked off the fake lawn carpet that was really a curtain and walked down the path.
Now she emptied out the contents of her hand-bag discarding the lipsticks, purse and comb to one side whilst piling up the bricks on her kitchen table in a growing heap. She had a plan and this plan was unstoppable.
She was making a path in her garden. She worked by night and y day hid the path under a green curtain that looked to all intents and purposes like a lawn. Only when one looked close; when one noticed the omission of worms and bugs, weeds and daisies would there be any rise for suspicion but the attention that she got from the immediate public came in short and unstoppable glances. Nobody knew about the path so certainly nobody had a clue where it led to.
At last the deed was done and so on the night of completion, after the final stone had been finally put in place; after the container once brimming with bricks down the road from her neat and tidy dwelling had at long last been emptied, she sighed, kicked off the fake lawn carpet that was really a curtain and walked down the path.
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