enfin's reality, writing

alive

ah i want to look like her!

this girl is certainly one of my best friends. she’s supported me through a very rough time in my life, and i will never be able to thank her enough.  she lives too far away from me, and while the past  few months have been rough on both of us- we never seem to talk anymore, i want her to know that i will always love her.  quite recently she lost someone whom she was very close to, and i’ve been thinking of her ever since that occurred.  seeing her so distressed really took a toll on me emotionally, and i just want her to know that everything will brighten up down the road.  i’ll always be there for my dearest M, and i want you to do everything you can that would have made her proud.

xoxo,

e

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enfin's reality, writing

E & T: a collaboration

As I’ve taken a break from posting fiction, I thought it may interest some readers if I posted the story that’s caused me all the pain in the world and is the reason why my creative posts have become rare.  Entitled Kale and Radishes, it’s the one piece I want to finish.  I began it in collaboration with Mr. John Fury last April, and since then we have not put anything else into it.  In addition to the following manuscript, I just wanted to let everyone know that I am beginning to write a play, which at this point is called B108.  I hope to have it done by late December, and when it’s done, count on segments being posted, along with a date for where and when it will be staged.

-enfin

Prelude:

I wrote this in collaboration with my friend Tobias. It was all done over face book stauses over the course of two weeks. Spelling is bad, as is grammar, but that‘s the stylistic standpoint we‘ve chosen to use. In the beginning it’s a bit unclear as to who is narrating who. When one gets to the middle section it‘s easier to determine the narrators. Toby narrates the girl‘s life, and I narrate the boy‘s life. No ending has been discussed- no plans of reviving the tale itself have been thought about. It‘s impossible to finish this story properly without the commitment from both parties- and because Toby and Enfin have conflicting interests as of late April, it‘ll be quite a while til anything happens with this story.

And so it goes:

Untitled manuscript numero six

“she sat down to a plate of kale & radishes and looked longingly out the window. the rain falling reminded her of faraway countries, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. in the next room, the television burbled about a tool to make cooking easier. on the stove, a pot frothed madly.

an alarming sound emanated from the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. the fork dropped out of her right hand as she stood up from her battered chair which was thrifted from a yardsale the season before. for fear of knocking over a pile of her strategically stacked records, she moved with a touch of cautious air about her, and meandered into the dimly lit kitchen which resembled that of one found in industrial england centuries before her time.

the pot was a horrible anachronism that she had always despised, gleaming silver among the cast-iron skillets which hung like torture instruments over the ancient range. casting a swift glance over her shoulder at the cat about to strike an invisible mouse, she ladled out the soup which was boiling over. limp-wristed leeks clung to each other on the wooden spoon. a deft flick of her hand turned the gas off, and this motion extinguished something inside of her, too. she wondered if she had a pilot light and, if so, how she could lift her sternum and hold a match to it in order to re-ignite its slumbering stoma –

in the apartment directly above her dwelled a boy in his early twenties. i say boy because he had been stunted at the age of 15 as a result of his tumultuous rearing. much like the girl below, the boy stared out his window, which was covered with a thin film of blue tainted dust, at the rain. it was one of those moments where he felt as though the world stood still and time ceased to exist. the boy’s soul was overcome with an outlandish sense of peace, which quickly vanished as he heard a riotous yelp emerge from the hallway that neighbored his quaint flat. as his heart sank, he rose from the comfortably padded seat at his escritoire and ambled to the menacing oak door which yielded a small aperture to the world outside of his banasuic realm. an uncontrollable gasp forced its way up and out of his throat at the sight of the couple, who hailed from apartment 6C, flailing their misshapen limbs in the stale air around them and throwing each other’s valuables over the ledge of the balcony which observed the perilous stairs that led to the caverns within the blue house on arbus road.

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enfin's reality, music, writing

red lettre

about this time last year i compiled all of my favorite lyrics from a bunch of random songs into a letter- which i then entitled, red lettre.  it’s sort of a stalemate because i plan on adding more, though i know i won’t be getting to it anytime soon- especially if i haven’t gotten to it in a year.  i particularly like this lettre because it’s intended for many folks, and its open to interpretation.

Dear Valentine,
Sometimes I feel like I’m digging a hole, and the walls are cavin’ in behind me, so I made up my mind, don’t need to think it over, I’ll move on to another day, to a whole new town with a whole new way where the music is played by the mad man, but let me just say, darling I love you, I loved you like the moon and stars, but I’ve got an angry heart. And it don’t take no Sherlock Holmes
To see it’s a little different around here, Everybody’s got their box doing what they’re told and we’re all buying into something we don’t want a part of, so I’m just getting tired of this scene. The other day I was taking a walk, when I saw you pass by, and when I saw you smile I cried all night until there was nothing more, my friends they just don’t understand and they’ve said its gotten out of hand, my cryin’ and all. You’re makin’ me crazy, I go out of my way everyday just hopin’ that I catch you walking down the street, but you’re just a real nowhere man, sitting in your nowhere land, making all of your nowhere plans for nobody. I wish I would have had the nerve to ask you to stay, now I spend my nights asking, “Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements?” That doesn’t cut it, it keeps me guessing, and I don’t like that, but I like you, Honey Pie, this is what I want to say, “Let’s be those lovers that walk by, holdin’ hands two by two, because I’m bein’ honest as I can, I could use a little bit of company.”

My momma once told me, that there ain’t no rest for the wicked, and it got me thinkin’, if there ain’t no rest for the wicked, what about the good? You know I wish I could keep being the girl whose always avoided falling in love, but that’s not the case today. Tomorrow I’ll ask you is it me you been lookin’ for while you listen through the cemetary trees, then I’ll say come on drive a little, nothing is forever, and there has to be something better than in the middle. You tell me its cold, your whisper gets softer, as we wander through that crowded space, we’ll head to the edge of the water where we’ll spill our guts and name our fears, then you’ll tell me goodnight. Back home I realize your smile is the most genuine thing I’ve ever seen, it sets my heart aflame, the mention of your name my stomach will fill with butterflies, I want to get close to you, I want to know you better, and someday you’ll have me within your reach. I’ve been told one too many times from boys like you, Hit the Road Jack and don’t you come back no more, they tell me to take a permanent vacation, but something tells me with you it’ll be different. To that I say REJOICE! You don’t have to believe me though. You do what you want, if you want to rock you’ll rock, if you want to roll you’ll roll, only as long as you feel like you’re in control. That’s what I like. Can we run through the grass and all the reeds and meet oh pretty please, there I will tell you what no one knows about me. I pick pockets just to give it all back, I’m a little bit insane, I’m never sure what I’m looking for but it’s always on my mind, maybe all I want is to be loved- in fact I wish my daddy had loved me more. Would you rather me lie to myself? I’m going to burn down those bridges and rip out them stitches. You told me I got good at tellin’ stories when I left and stumbled out the door. I told you to eat so many lemons because you’re so bitter. We’ve got everything down to a science so I guess we know everything- right? What is it about our fights that make me love you more?

I want to dance with you in style, let’s dance for a while, in the daylight where anywhere feels like home, someday, yeah yeah, someday I’ll hug you and I will forget my country, where the rest of the world awaits. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, you told me, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me,” I want you to know that I’ll take you for what I see, because what I see is what I get. You thought love was such an easy game to play? I thought that Mr. Pitiful had learned his lesson. I promised that I won’t let you down, I won’t break your heart, and I really just want to know you. I want to know your life, that interesting thing we call life, tell me about yours, so we can be friends too. I know you’re scared of loving me but- You know love is better than a song Love is where all of us belong so don’t be shy just let your feelings roll on by. Years ahead, while we’re lying together you say to me, you know, we don’t have the power but we never say never. You tell me that if I try leaving I can’t hide standing under these stars they know everything, they’ll know where you are,
I’m in my head, I’m all turned around with it and they’re shining down their light to bring you back again
Back where I can find you. I know what I am, You know I hear you saying ” I’d sell off my savior for a set of new rings” Don’t sell out, money isn’t everything- and that’s something you taught me. To most a week apart doesn’t seem like a feat, but I miss you more than I should, I know you’re scared that I’ll get over it- but honestly, that’s part of it all. I fear you won’t fall- trust me it’s easy to say, but its a lot harder to feel this way.

I say to you, “OH HONEY PIE You are driving me crazy, I’m in love but I’m lazy, so won’t you please come home, Honey Pie, you are driving me frantic, sail across the atlantic to be where you belong.” You said, “Do you believe what you’re sayin’?” Yeah right now, but not that often. By the time the buzz was wearing off, we were standing out on the sidewalk, with our tattoos that looked like rings ,in the hot Nevada sun and they won’t fade I’ve got you to thank. Take that trip with me to Blueberry Hill.

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enfin's reality, music, writing

stranded in the woods sans les murs

surprise! i have interweb.  i’m not surprised actually- in fact, i’m a bit more disappointed than i ought to be.  walpole, isn’t too remote, and the marine center is affiliated with the university, so obviously i have connection.  i was infested today.

infested with thoughts, and words and bubbling hatred.  my mind is cynical right now.  it goes through many phases, and it always has, but currently, i’m a bitter bitch and i couldn’t care less.  i suppose this is because i didn’t read any tao of pooh for the past few days, but so what? i had better things to do.  like flip people off, get escorted off the premises, and eat fried food.  oh that’s the life.  not that i miss any of it.  in fact, i’ve sort of missed the roomate situation thing- especially since coming back from d.c. jmilz was in a league of her own, but there’s always a form of comfort with having two people to vent to, especially when they have the same views as you do.  it doesn’t even matter if you’re interested in the same sorts of things, just not being judged while in their presence is what i like.

but yes. my mind is sort of weeping.  weeping pleas and hopes and demands.  i feel like he’s a leech and all he does is suck suck suck my energy away from me.  i’m followed like a puppy dog’s owner, and i want some time to reflect, to dissapate my thoughts.  i am slowly feeling my mind floating above my head.  balancing, shining, giving off an aura.  too bad that’s all imagery.  too bad that doesn’t happen in real life.  

let’s light stuff on fire

grievously pious, and piously grieving.  take heed, tread and stop.
i need some ten feet away, so you can’t detect that tanline,
and i can’t detect that face.  being, stopping, reoccurring.
match the strides, and slow them down.  differentiate.  
educate…annihilate.  flickering eyes, slippery tongues,
ruby slippers in boxes that house bowls, and herb and zippos galore.
refuting arguments, trampled confidence, coincide with why i
hate you.  raking my face with your smug gestures
cursing your name and burning your clothes.  i hate you.  i want you at an arms-length distance,
or at least ten miles away.
you stand by me, when i bid you good riddance, and you disappear when i need you most.
what can i make of you? what i want is not what you can give,
thus i am only hear to teach you a lesson,
move on
and scar your heart.

someone drop a beat for that serious shit up there.  poetry never felt so good.  i’m hating and down and ready to fucking lay my head and see the stars.  more boat time tomorrow. perhaps my blog entries will end after this.  they sure as hell will by friday, that’s when i’m officially gone lovelies.

-enfin 

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enfin's reality, writing

ballads and odes and tributes and petrichor.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

thank you ee cummings for making my life so much better with your carefully crafted words, your heart-to-hearts, and your finese.  i carry your heart in my heart.  my newest rendition:

but what brings you here so scarce,
so harsh, so cruel, so wretched and putrid,
and what brings you to my stoop, where you bow your head,
with sadness, and sorrow, and pity, and remorse.
out of your mouth spews a black goo of egocentricity,
and a jargon of a braggadocio.
your face twists and contorts roughly,
almost to the point where its unbearable to see,
because the see-er is effected by your toxins.
your sympathy, a facade perhaps?
slithering through, trying to find a crevice in which you may manifest,
where you may gnaw relentlessly at my mind, and my spirit, at my heart.
absorbing every bit of positivity i may hope for.
taking my life away, making slashes at the seams,
ripping out my resolves,
burning my ambitions for a form of fuel.
into the world you go- barebacked and hungry,
lonely and abandonned for once and at last.
be gone, and don’t return, be foul, and expect the worst.
to dabble, to die, and most of all to wither,
like a violet in the snow, quickly, rapidly,
without a thought.  dig yourself a trench, and fill it with your dreams,
burrow where you won’t be found, and become the person you should be.
evolve. make. despair. propogate.

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writing

a little poem entitled, “oh”

the bareback streets,
thought to be as terrifying as the night itself,
the dwindling time,
what with its constant threat of ceasing to continue,
your lack of words,
and perhaps my gift of gab, or so some call it,
breezy type gusts wind through the porch where we dwell,
where that black coffee smell wafts up and through the cracked doorway,
and tea for the tillerman is slowly, but surely,
playing along in the background, helping us realize
that silence is deadly.

eyes flicker with what the day brings.
whether that be rage, surprise, or ease, doesn’t seem to let the human apertures
take breaks, not even short ones.
crunched up stale granola,
dirt engrained under the freshly bit nails,
which by the way have never been manicured.
the sound of chimes making contact with thin rods of steel,
clacking outside the realm in which we sit.

playing cards strewn upon the half-rotted wood,
empty bottles of portocolo and california pinot grigio
plummet out of the electric blue recycle bin,
toxic smoke fumes out of an un-smoked cigarette,
resting, resting, resting,
in the steel dipped tray.

your lips are rounded, as if they huddled
tightly around the words about to exit your mouth,
like the inuit do over a fishing hole.
the eyes that remain as green as the day i first noticed them,
tilted ever so slightly upward, towards the endless sky.
banasuic.
wretched.
heart-breaking.
oh.
it’s not as clear as it ought to be.
my cup isn’t as empty as it was yesterday
and as far as your words,
that are choked out, as if they were forbidden,
alternate with, oh, oh, oh.

oh. it’s not a word of contentedness.
perhaps because we haven’t obtained complete serenity.
oh, a poor excuse not to continue on with this colloquy,
be bigger than expected,
oh, just tragic, just wonderful, just life.
sensibly, i don’t know.
but deep inside… oh i do.
how i do, oh i do.

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