Friday, 14 October 2011

Corridor


Corridor
Glide along the corridor
Straight edge and hardline
Sharp left into the light
Honeyhaze against whitewashed walls
Look out to cold weather beaten blocks of concrete reflecting
back at us, ourselves.

Am I mad because I love that?

I'm buying everything today, I'll buy it all, every concept, thought, idea, picture and frame it.
Whatever you are selling, I'll give you something for it.
Everything must go.
So
Whatever the tune, however discordant the sound, if the timing is right we can all sing a long.

Bristling with our shared madness. Love and acceptance is the only sanity, I want to say to the doctor, all else is madness.

Moving on, I drift through the hazy maze.
Uniformity, conformity, stability, hard, cold, firm and smooth, loud and silent.
Running the tips of my fingers over these textures, the light is warm over these lonely surfaces.
Reminding me of a freezing cold, crystal clear winters morning.
All I'm wanting now is my ideal familiar Heaven. A cup of tea preferably in a glass mug, a supply of rollies with menthol tips and someone to talk too. Is what I want for complete satisfaction of my soul.

Across white plastic tables sitting on uncomfortable chairs, flowers grow.
Appropriate attitudes sterilize the air.
Spilt tea on slippery floors mean that
The drinking of Tea confided to one room and the smoking of Fags to another room.
Never the twain shall meet.

Our two holy pleasures like man and wife teared asunder, separated unnaturally.
Why did none of us think to take in a flask????

"You can separate our tea from our fags, but you can never take our..........

Can't actually end that sentence, thats all I got, thats all I want and you to talk too.

My wish
Please don't segregate




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The Fantastic James

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Van Gogh portraits

John Martyn small hours 1978

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Sz Icon

Sz Icon

St Dymhna as shaman

St Dymhna as shaman

A story by Izzy

Live Forever

Once upon a time, in a place far far away, there lived a beautiful and spirited woman, who was like a wild flower.

Her hair contained the most incredible dreams and wonderful magic spells, from the most beautiful parts of the earth and from the edges of the solar system.

The wind of the East fell deeply in love with her and played through her lovely locks, it became such that she could command the weather.

One day the wind spoke to the smoke of her cigarette and told it to cling to each and every strand of her beautiful hair.
The cigarette smoke obeyed the wind and saturated through everyone of the golden threads and began to decay from within.


The bright sunshine of her days began to grow dimmer and colder and she was dragged deep under ground and was sent to Whitchurch Castle in the clouds.

Here she battled tooth and nail with demons and dragons. Spoke with angels and had untold adventures with good and evil.

The beautiful dreams that dwelt in her hair, turned into terrifying nightmares.

She went to the well to wash her hair, but the water would not cleanse or renew it. The sun refused to shine upon it and the saddest of all, the wind no longer wanted to play with it.

So the young woman by this time, had become a princess, scraped back her beloved hair into a ponytail and the gold sunshine began to grow out, taking her dreams and magic spells with it.

The Castle keepers were worried about her and so gave her a magic potion to rid the evil smoke that had claim of her hair.
An eternity came and went and she grew older.


One clear day the smoke had finally gone once and for all.

She was banished from the kingdom of Whitchurch and was now expected to toil the fields with the good men and women of the outside world.

She was now mortal and pined for the Easterly wind to play with her again, but he no longer loved her.

One cold morning, she had an idea to attract him back to her, so she sat at her mirror and plaited her hair into strands and put coloured ribbon on the ends to bind them.
Would he notice her again?


With her hair plaited, he would see a string of golden tears that she cried over missing him so much.

?
Now she lives in a little hut in the village and has worn her hair in plaits for 2,000 years.


One day she hopes it will be unravelled, when he remembers where he left his sunny days and warm nights with her on the moon.
The End


Illustration for story Live Forever

Illustration for story Live Forever
This is a drawing of the character in a story I wrote for a digital story telling course with the Four Winds

Bay Girls

Bay Girls
This is a drawing of two of my neighbours

Zippo face warmers

Zippo face warmers