#143a

Friday Oct 1st - Morning/afternoon

Something terrible is happening around me; I can feel it. It's like there is another force which has taken control of my bland life and is twisting and perverting it out of shape. Nothing quite makes sense any more and yet somehow it makes more sense than it ever has. It's as if everything is being set up, put in place and tweaked for a very specific purpose. I feel like somebody else's plaything.

The storm I first saw gathering and swirling around on June's horizon has now arrived proper. It pulled up overhead this morning and just sits there weighing down heavy on the last plane of light. Under its presence the world feels compressed and hallucinatory. Any moment soon it will open up and break, but for the minute it just sits there, waiting.

Looking out through the smashed front room window, I watched as the neighbours prepared for the deluge. No.17 brought her small plants in; No.23 weighed his dustbin down with bricks; and Mr Bartholemew called out to Marlow, who arrived from some place looking as if he was going to the gallows. Each one would look up at the sky and kind of shiver at what was in store. The smell of ozone, that salty, acidic smell that nature secretes as a warning was everywhere. When this one breaks there will be hell for us all.

As I prepared for the downpour myself – pinning black binliners against the window to cover the break – I saw John roll down the little pathway and turn his head skywards. Under the presence of the storm, in the strange light and combustible atmosphere it gave off, he seemed to look his part. I thought of the telephone call I'd made earlier, how I was told that unless John kills someone or attacks a McDonalds that there is nothing that can be done... that we cannot just remove people from society and have them admitted to psychiatric hospitals at whim. The man, gay I think, asked me: “What kind of a world would that be?” And I know he's right, that the world cannot work like that, but John is ill... really, badly, terribly, dangerously ill.

As I watched John some more it made me feel sad. Whatever it is he has lost also carried something of me - my hopes and dreams and a large chunk of the future. As he looked at the black swirling mass above, he smiled, and in that moment I knew that he saw a different beauty from the one I saw, that our eyes were not made to see the same things, that the worst thing we could possibly offer each other was each other, that it'd be cruel to carry on together as we were. I pressed the last drawing pin through the bag and into the wooden window frame. It was a green one. The world was ready to go.

7 comments:

  1. I thought this ..although very sad .. was a very beautiful piece of writing T.
    I have been there, I am sure many of us have been there. That final realisation that you are trying to preserve something, that has died far too long ago...
    Take care stay away from the mental geezer in the metal machine xx

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  2. holy shit,
    that realization
    was expressed so beautifully.
    i feel like i believe in beauty way more now,
    for a moment.

    call the beast,
    dusty lee.

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  3. 'I was told that unless John kills someone or attacks a McDonald's that there is nothing that can be done'.

    It always amuses me, the strange way societies regulate themselves:

    Your neighbour can make your life a misery for years and years and 'there's nothing the police can do about it.'

    But just put your plastic rubbish in the wrong bin and they bang you up for 6 months.

    That's one of the reasons I just had to get my own island.

    I highly recommend it.

    John and Brayn would have been dealt swift and severe justice by Judge Abby.

    Just ask my nephew.


    I wonder if it will be a Perfect Storm...

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  4. Wildernesschic: There's nothing like a storm to wash away old treasures and unearth new one's. I'm not sure this storm is one of those types or somthing a litte more ominous...X

    Dusty: You must always believe in beauty. To see it only at the point of death is a common tragedy... when the world lets up her secrets, well, there's nothing else like it. X

    Mrs Winthrope: 6 months for putting rubbish in the wrong bin??? So I got off quite lightly when I chucked eight bag loads in the canal? Btw, that episode isn't finished yet, but I say no more.

    My own island... people like me cannot escape so easily. There'd sure to be an ant or aphid or something that'd come along, belittle me and make my life hell. No, my life's here, in the eye of the storm... X

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  5. That was beautiful. It's sad though, that this depressing epiphany (of sorts) has come so close to your birthday. Although maybe it's fitting. A new chapter?

    Soup

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  6. That was beautiful. It's sad though, that this depressing epiphany (of sorts) has come so close to your birthday. Although maybe it's fitting. A new chapter?

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  7. Soup, a new chapter... I'm sure you're right. Let's just hope it's a better chaptr than the last I'm tired of being the worlds toilet X

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