Peter and Steffen Discuss the Elderberry

~ "Wondering is a reason." ~

Rain droplets dribbled down the dirty window and in the garden the mist was so thick one could only see a stones throw. I stirred the milk through my cup of tea and flicked a crumb off the table. There was the bank again, I'm sure I missed it before? Well perhaps not. I better go soon, the sun is setting. Sally dropped out of  a hole in the ceiling and whispered in my ear. I've told you not to play with numbers, they are evil. You can irretrievably disturb or confuse a persons mind by meddling with certain number patterns. You could almost call it a mathematical curse, although it has nothing to do with maths or curses. Steffen has drawn a circle of pure genius, look! he's passed out. What a wonderful, beautiful boy, and by boy I mean mind. A thousand years represents a long time, it also is a long time. I went for a walk past a white picket fence and dragged a stick along it and the sound brought a smile to my face. Peter is wrong (why oh why is he always wrong?). It was drizzling rain, but it wasn't cold. It's still raining gently. It's like a hug. From a cloud. Which isn't a hug. I'm feeling pregnant said George. Oh deary me can someone try and find out what's gone wrong? Alright then. Bye.

I once never said to not shorten words, which I didn't because that's a lie and now I have no idea whether I did or didn't because now I'm lying again. I could sit down and work it out or just guess to save face, it's probably really easy but I've moved on from that place in my life and I don't want any painful reminders. I often wonder which of these three things are more important: Worrying about who you are now, or worrying about who you want to be? Yes there were three things I just mentioned, but most people think there can only ever truly be two options when faced with two choices. They're so fabulously wrong!

Who's a pregnant goldfish now?

Peter found a piece of broken chalk on the pavement. He went protesting and brought down the government. He had so many followers who loved his ideas about life, love and bringing down governments. He had a pet chook -"Hey so did I, what a coincidence!"
"Well silly, Peter isn't really real.
"Oh."
"Yes, he's not."
"Okay then, whatever."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, but make it snappy."
"What did Sally whisper in your ear before?"
"Oh that? Such nonsense: "it's bored not pregnant you duffer." I think, why did you ask?"
"No reason, just wondered."

"Space as we know it is like the space behind the toilet, not often explored, it's dark, no one lives there and it's not useful for much."
"Sir, I'd like to complain about that last sentence; I live in space and I often explore it."
"Dear Sirs, I want to complain about Peter: He's not a really real person."
"To Whom it may concern, I don't like all the negativity about Peter. He's a space-chook."
"Sir I'd like to complain: I live in space and I often explore it and I've never met a space-chook called Peter."
"Dear Sir, I'd like to complain. I live in an undeveloped part of the world. My toilet is a tree and the part behind it is a forest. I explore it, it's not dark, my brother lives there and we farm corn there. I think this is all tremendously rediculous and I order you to stop immediately."

Without a moment to lose Sally grabbed the shovel out of the picnic basket and proceeded to dig a narrow pit in the ground. The soft earth flew out and into a pile and soon it was as deep as her head. Sally dived into the hole head first, followed by her picnic basket. As Sally fell down the hole she sang:

 "Diddley pickle pumpkin pie. Pickledy dippledy do.

 I'm falling down a hole in the earth,

 and I don't know what to do!" 

'Is that true Mike?' 

'Yes and no.'

'Mike says yes and no.'

'what's that mean then?'

'yes she's falling down a hole in the earth and no because she actually does know what to do.'

'What is it then?' asked Sally.

'I don't know, stop falling perhaps?' Sally stopped falling tumbled down into a green grassy hillside full of mushrooms and little bushes covered in red berries. 'Sing Elderberry, sing!' sang Sally, but the Elderberry didn't sing because there's no such thing. 

Hello, look through the window and sitting on the table is a glass bowl with a goldfish slowly swimming around. 'I'm so very pregnant.' She bubbled in a dull bubbly voice. Around and around and around and around...

Pearl

The only possible society is oneself. -Oscar Wilde

I have a cut down the side of my finger. It's slowly disappearing as pieces of the scab fall off and the skin is stitched together underneath. But it wont vanish completely; I scar. My hands are covered in scars, some dating back further then I can remember. Most are the result of building tree houses and whatnot.
I have a scar down my side from a Christmas day many years ago. I was riding my new bike with my friend when I came off, he didn't see me or hear me. I was lying on the road bleeding and the image of watching him ride off and out of sight has never left me.
Being left alone is one of the most awful things for a child or adult or anyone to be honest. But being alone is completely different. Spending of my childhood playing alone didn't change me, but it makes me different. For the most part my friends were adults but I soon discovered imaginary people are much different to real life adults. Real life people can be perfectly dreadful. Sometimes they're wonderful, but I've not met many wonderful people and when I do they disappear after awhile, much like imaginary people except they leave a hole.
I love to look up into the sky and see the stars twinkle when I pray. The full moon is lovely to watch, a big glowing face looking down from the sky, but I think God is further away then the moon, besides I'd feel like I'm praying to the moon.
I love the stars. I wish that maybe one day I'll see a blue police box and it will take me away off into some galaxy where I can see a supernova. Maybe I could jump though space and fall into it -that would be an wonderful way to die.
My garden is full of silver birch trees that I planted. I think they are the most beautiful tree ever. Come autumn, and the leaves turn yellow and begin to fall. I feel upset because I can't capture that beauty. I can't film it, or photograph it, or paint it, or tell people to come watch with me or stay and watch all month. I just have to accept that it happened, that's the best way to capture the beauty.
There is so much darkness and ugliness in the world, I'm full of darkness and ugliness. I wish I could create something beautiful, I wish I could capture something beautiful.
I think God must have felt so wonderful when he created the stars, and when he captures a heart that is full of beauty.
Often one meets a a fellow disillusioned person who is searching, they say they're searching for truth hoping to find themselves -but they're not. They're trying escape by losing themselves. When life is too painful and confusing, losing oneself is the only way out from under the mountain. So climb the mountain of confusion and search for truth.
I wish I knew what I was saying, perhaps everything I say is nonsense. Maybe I should just sit and not think or talk and watch the silver birch for a full month.

He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. -Jesus of Nazareth

Hear these words

my soft voice speaks only truth.

I will reveal myself to you

I'll see you through.

You are beautiful

my love,

walk with me.

All you'll ever need

I am

So come stay with me

my dear,

Dwell in grace.

All that I am I will complete

in you.

I'll never leave you,

my hand lies upon your head.

Extol -Pearl

Headache

Every time I try to my mind becomes dead. I get a headache, sometimes even at the thought. As though an idea can cripple me. I feel the pressure inside my head. A dam suddenly full to burst, but the water muddies and blocks the river. I can see but I can't see. I see a tree but not the forest. Maybe I can paint the tree and then the forest disappears and the tree dies and I suffocate in the dry airless wasteland. My limbs can't even move now so I can't pain't another tree. Even if I could paint some flowers they would wither immediately. Perhaps I should stop and step back, but it only get's further away and I still can't see clearer. I try to look at the picture cross-eyed, but it's only in double. No! wait, I think I saw the idea I lost. But now it's gone and can't think in double so what's the point? No point, but at least I tried that option. Relax, try to stop being so tense, why am I so tense? Breathe in, breath out. Standinfrontofthepicture! Stand-in-front-of-the-picture. Stand... In front... Of the... Idea...Ahh, I see now. But the gold has peeled off and now it's dull and dirty. I wonder what the difference is? I have a sneaking suspicion this idea isn't really the idea but just a thought my subconscious made for me so I don't feel depressed. Now I know it's a lie, I cant pretend. Why didn't you say before? I guess you where just trying to be nice but now I wonder how long have you deceived me? I know you do it all the time, I've caught you before. Was the first idea a real idea or one of your lies? It doesn't matter really, if it was a lie that is. It was wonderful and I don't care. Show me what it was if you remember, or help me find another if you care? Who am I kidding. I'm just talking to myself. Do you care? no answer... how stupid! why am I getting upset because I'm not answering myself? Or maybe the question is why are you not answering me? Oh you didn't think of that did you? Oh yes I forgot there's always two sides to a story. Stop talking to me...

Lost in the Forest

"Mother! mother! mother?" The child's voice echoed through the forest. The forest floor of needles were so soft and soothing. The towering pines stood silent and unmoved by the tormented child. The forest which could seem so beautiful and friendly is now ugly and proud. The boy angrily wiped his eyes. Suddenly he cried out in surprise; something had bitten his leg, it is ant. He pulls it's legs off one by one and then last of it's head. Even the ant is full of pride, he bit but would not even cry out in pain. The boy looked around for the ants nest but when after a minute could not find it he ran again. "Mother! mother!" the prideful hills mocked him "Mother... mother..." His hand caught a blackberry as he passed tearing his skin, without stopping he pulled out the thorns that had stuck. The pain and the sight of blood gave him new energy. In the distance the sky was starting to glow orange and red. For once this beautiful sight filled him with horror, the red seemed to run as though the sky were bleeding. The sun was dying and already there was a chill in the air. His foot caught a rock and suddenly everything slowed down, he watched a tree glide toward him, in vain he tried to cry out. The whole forest howled at and rose up toppling him over backwards. The ground turned to jelly and the trees danced  around and writhed like huge snakes towering up into the bleeding sky. The roaring wind deafened the boys ears and he fell forward on his knees as the forest reared up and the ground bucked like a wild horse trying to free herself. The forest gave another blood curdling howl and flock of crows swarmed down from the sky. The boy tried to fight off the darkness. The sky flashed red and black behind the dancing serpents. The child wildly swung at the sky trying to keep his balance and grabbed at a tree. The roaring wind and the thumping of his heart echoed through the forest. He twisted his head back and his eyes rolled up and closed.

* * * *

A fox scampered through the forest back toward her den and pups. Her mouth watered from the bird she'd just caught, the taste of warm blood choked her and she dropped the bird to lick her lips. Suddenly her fur bristled and she sat up alert. She had caught a disturbing scent in the night air. Picking up the bird she cautiously moved toward it. After a bit she saw a large creature laying on the ground, motionless. From the smell it was still alive, it lay in a distorted heap of limbs and shaggy twisted skin. After watching for some time she circled in closer to investigate the creature. Perhaps it was sick? It didn't smell of sickness -just the stench of fear, saliva and blood. The creature stirred and the fox jumped back in alarm, but it made no other movement so the she crept forward again. The creature was bleeding and fox sniffed the creatures head, and licked it, the creature was very salty. Suddenly the creatures eyes opened and then it screams: "Mumma!"

The Artist

You are trapped.

 * * * *

You're in space now.     You dream of earth.     You dream of lace.     You dream of cavalier.

Your mind is open and blinded by light. 

Men with masks clean out the cobwebs and your head is sewn up with a silver thread.

It is by your design.

The sound of death, of shattering, of brokenness... You're only stepping on burnt out matches.

Go down to the cities of men.        Common and soulless.        Death is in their eyes from birth.

From lack air they could die. No air. Lack of sleep drives them insane. Lack of food weakens them unto death. Fear controls their minds and their hearts also. Pain and fear guide them. They are blind.

See they cannot turn their eyes upward. A serpent slithers on its belly, a dog walks on four legs and man on two. Only the bird can escape the clutches of the ground. Only a bird can lift herself above the dirt.

By your body you are one of them.
In your heart you love and pity them.
In your mind you scorn them.

In anger the Sun burns itself up. The six planets hang in it's grasp. 

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. 

In pain your mother bore you and in pain you will die. Some say one is reborn, destined to live life over and over. Others say one will live once and go on to the afterlife. Either way the cycle of life continues on earth. 

For me once is one enough.

Your hand reaches out for another.           But returns empty.           None are to be found. 

For you no compassion is found. In your fury you have emptied the skies.

Perhaps it is better to return to contemplation. 

Then this is a dream.            The world is a picture.              Life is a passing thought.

I wish you could have stayed. But you shall be here forever. This is where you came to dance. You will leave now but your mind will belong here in the stars forever. You can return whenever you so wish, for you are here already. Dreams come and go as one sleeps and wakes, but you have seen the earth from a great height. Above the clouds. Above the stars. 

You can wonder wherever you so wish for you can see. You can make your own way.

See with your mind. Feel with your heart. Walk with your soul.

* * * *

Yet you are free.

Another Rainy Day

The rain had paused and everyone (except the Librarian, Sally, Jacqueline, Julius, the Moth and the Moose) joyfully ran outside screaming madly. I was skipping around thinking of clever quotes in case someone wanted to interview me or ask me about my life. The sky was mostly covered in clouds but there were some blue spots where the sun poked through. The ground squished under my shoes and water dripped off all the leaves and flowers. I whistled a tune for a bit and then made up some words to it, "Hom-body-bom. Bom-body-boo" 'I better write that down' I thought. Making sure no one was watching I pulled out my note book marked "Boring Stuff" (to make sure no one would read it) and wrote down the words. After squishing and skipping around and slipping over (once) in the garden I came upon a part where it seamed quiet and magical. I closed my eyes, 'Sally, pass the sugar please' said the Moose. When I opened my eyes I saw a sparrow pecking around in the earth, he then flew up toward a wall of the house covered in ivy and to my surprise flew straight through it! I stood in dazzled shock and dazed amazement and then I guessed what had happened. There was a hole behind and he'd just flown through it. Well the adventure spirit in me fired up and I ran over to the wall and felt behind the ivy and what do you know? there was a jolly old hole in the wall. Pulling back the ivy I saw it was quite big and so I climbed in. There was no floor and I fell down into the dark. On the way down I tried to thought about important things to me (like in the movies) but nothing came to mind. The BUMP! I hit the floor. I explored around in the dark, find a bunch of keys, found a door escaped etc. (Now skip to where I find the box) So I tried to open the box, dropped it, forced it, hit it with wood, rocks, feet, and then I remembered the bunch of keys. So I opened it and there was a bunch of gold. I stood up, there was something wrong, the room was tilting back in an odd way. Must be a dream. Now what...

There was a large crash and I opened my eyes. Back in the Library having afternoon tea with the others. 'Nice song' said Jacqueline. That reminded me and I took the notebook out of my pocket and flicked through it but I hadn't written the song down so I must be awake now (unless this is the dream?). 'Bother it, I can't remember the words to this song I made up.' I said, 'They weren't words' said Jacqueline. Sally put down her book and sipped her tea and made a face 'It's cold, what shall we do now? I'm bored'. The Moose looked up, 'I didn't know hot tea kept you that amused?' Jacqueline kicked him, 'that's my line'  'Well' I said, I have a list here in my book. 'The Boring Stuff one? asked Jacqueline. I nodded mysteriously and read it out to everyone. 

"A List of Cool Stuff to Do"

Dance in puddles with gumboots.

Dig holes in the earth like womboots.

Laugh and roll down hills like barrels.

Tweet and eat bird seeds like sparrels.

Fly like rockets into outer-space.

Draw on mirrors with toothpace.

Wear a mask like a bandit.

Steal some money and spand-it.

Throw water-bombs at people and hide.

Lock your friends and family outside.

Climb up slides the wrong way.

And skip school so you can play.

Desultory

Alone on the side,

Of a hill so wide.

From a daisy white,

To the depth of night.

The petal it fell,

From heaven to hell.

Beneath an oak tree,

So wild and free.

Winters snow hath melt,

And springs warmth now felt.

A marked stone turned,

Toward the sun burned.

The story untold,

A secret so old.

(Now you're going back in time...)

Syntax

"Some people see paths like a single thread leading on, some as a spider web fanning outwards and some as a maze which is a cross between because although it has many paths leading in different directions there is only one that leads all the way through..." The Moose leant back in his armchair and puffed at his pipe. The librarian blushed and offered him some tea and a chocolate biscuit. Jacqueline raised an eyebrow and said in her condescending way 'You'll have to try harder then tea and biscuits if you want moose-face to notice you sweetie.' The librarian stood up quickly and dropped the teapot on the floor ('like where else?' Interrupted Sally.'the table?' I suggested) and blushed even more 'I was just offering him condiments!' she replied in defence. 'Oh you're in love with him' said Jacqueline -the Moose opened his eyes and sat up 'Love? Who said love?' 'I did, becuase-' said Jacqueline 'Well don't' said the Moose, 'It's a nasty, tinny sort of word' I nodded in my cool secret agent like way 'Awwwl-right now...' A large depressed moth who had flown in the window some hours ago had walked over to stand near the fire and was now sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. 'Who delivered the papers?' He asked 'Becuase it's got jam on it' he continued without waiting for anyone to answer. 'I know the answer to that' said Sally excitedly, 'Ohhhh well, the moments past' drawled Jacqueline. There was silence for the next half hour. Then the fireplace crackled really loud and the moth blew his nose. Then there was more silence for another five minutes (It really is a library and I know that even though it is a lovely place to talk and share poetry you've just written you probably shouldn't because there are signs that say "QUIET" so you should obey them.) and then the Moose stood up 'I've just written a poem I'd love to share, it's quite an interesting poem becuase you can rearrange the verses into any order you like to make another poem.' Sally jumped up and clapped her hands. (Now Jacqueline will say something negative I bet...) 'It sounds stupid, does it work? You're pathetic and no one likes you or your poems. Die moose, die.' said Jacqueline (told you so...) 'First no and then yes' said the Moose counting on his toes. 'Tell it us next time' said Jacqueline. The Moose pulled a syntax out of his pocket. Jacqueline's hair is dark red and short and I don't think she ever brushes it, but who knows?

Close Your Eyes...

The old room has that wonderful, exquisite warmth that only occurs when a warm autumn or spring sun has been shining in through a window all afternoon until the floorboards and the walls, every book, every pillow, every piece of furniture and every particle of dust that floats through the air is glowing with the warmth. The smell of oiled and polished wood chairs and tables, of old hard-cover books with faded yellowing pages, of knitted wool scarves and patchwork cushions and blankets, of an old leather armchair sitting in the corner and of pottery vases full of wilted flowers from the garden. The sooty smell of unburnt logs in the open fire place and the cool earthy smell of the old red bricks that it was built from. From over the years comes the smell of numerous dead mice in the walls. And from above comes the faint and almost unexplainable smell of the plaster in the ceiling and multitude of different scents that have drifted up and become trapped in the patterns of the cornices among the the many spiderwebs. The smell of detergent and soap from clothing and cleaning and even the strange smell of baby-sick add to the tapestry of smells. The unique scent of every person who had visited this room lingered along with the different perfumes and soaps they wore. An orange and black butteryfly fluttered in the window and crazily went from place to place in the room offering it's own touch to the festival of scents and smells. The sun moves and the shadows change and we can see the different people who have come and gone from this room now as shadows and ghosts. In the corner on the leather armchair sits an old man, his eyes are shut but his silent lips move -perhaps prayer has a scent of its own? A lady leans out the window gazing into the distance, a tear escapes her eye and falls down her white cheek. We can't see anyone through the window, perhaps she waits for her beloved to return from war? Big, strong, sweaty builders come and go working on different parts of the room. Kneeling down we see a boy fearfully hiding under the bed, from an angry parent or maybe an unknown  monster lurking in the corners of the room? He slides back into the dark out of sight. The table is set and the smell of hot tea and scones, blackberry jam and cream fills the room. We pause and listen as someone practices flute, the soft clear notes bounce around the room. On the bed sit two people reading poetry to one another -happiness is a field of different scents and they linger and float around the room like bubbles. Our faces reflect on the bubbles and we've just woven more colours of our own into the tapestry. We wonder at the magic of breathing and open our eyes...