Trev stood and placed his hands on the rail, his eyes to the open sea. To the left and to the right, not a soul; his mind played with the idea--soulless, and for reasons he could not explain, and fearful he could not understand, found the idea funny, in a sardonic way. The breeze breezed and the ocean oceaned and the oats bent and waved, bobbing to and fro but for all the movement, for all the inhaling and exhaling of land and sea, for all the interminable mental chatter, for all the luxurious solitude, for everything that seemed real to the eye and hand, it all seemed a sham.Does a beautiful sky need a beautiful heart to see it? And if it can't be seen, felt, known, is it real? And why do I (he) feel so fucking alone?
And for the first time, he wished for the company of the one he never knew. For, what could be more real than the hollowness within that echoed so loudly that the waves crashing upon the beached were silent.
14 comments:
This is my Jenni disclaimer: The last sentence is meant to be a statement, not a question.
Trée, that image is so intense! I see an ornate golden mask made of the likeness of a powerful tiger, crafted by an artisan of ancient an civilization, long forgotten.
Glad you liked it Deb. :-)
I'm with Deb - except to me it looks like glass. Tiffany I reckon. Awesome images (written and pictured) as always Trée.
Thanks Doug. Nice to see you stopping by. :-)
Such vivid expressions in only a few words ...
You have me thinking of Fievel the mouse again. Of he and his father searching for one another in a once distant land and missing each other, a seconds difference, a looking in another direction, if only someone had offered a piece of information that the omniscient in the audience know is there be imparted. Here he stands at the rail again, one can almost see like a picture film, a ghostly presence on top of what is real, or a memory played before ones eyes as though real, Em at those rails in her sheer night gown or asking the question about loving her. More than that one thinks of Em's letters - in relation to Fievel - two people with the same (similar) sense, both essentially wishing and fearing that wish is redundant.
I love the way that you put across his state of mind in the first paragraph, for all that is before him, for all that is behind him and for all that is inside of him, he stands and nothing seems real to him, nothing is touchable, complete, it has a sense of if-an-apple-falls-in-the-forest (or for a personal example testing to see if my voice was still there when I realized I had spoken to nobody in a week:).
The question about whether a beautiful sky needs a beautiful heart to see it was more intriguing than perhaps it should have been, or rather it stands on it's own as a question worthy of finding an answer. Without thinking, were I asked that question directly I would probably say a beautiful heart is an open heart and that yes, an open heart is needed to see a beautiful sky. But no matter, that is not what any of this is about. The question I guess is whether there is any hope for him, each time he comes close, he just cannot grasp it, and the fear never gone returns, and I wish I could quote his words, that I could remember them word for word, but the part where he speaks of questioning his part in his father having left. Does he have a beautiful heart, does he have a heart that can be seen as beautiful, one that is worthy of being seen, of being felt, known, one that is real.
The question is heart-breaking, again Fievel, the unawareness, or not unawareness but blindness, and not even that for there is choice to a certain extent and none to another. What can be said but bless his heart.
Awareness, as said not unawareness, such a great part of who he is, a part of everything he does, if my guess on the unknown is correct, awareness that if the hollow part of him was filled and he was complete, he could completely be and were he complete he might be able to salvage.
Fabulous piece of writing, picking them out for they may not come first on any other list given the amount of examples but The breeze breezed and the ocean oceaned is delicious. :-) Enjoyed the quickie, you da man.
I came here to see a beautiful heart, flying across the southern skies
;-)
*HUGZ* I've missed ya!
Keshi.
ah, the sound of silence is the loudest they say....
I am reminded of a poem:
I don't need a tussock of the earth
Pointing towards my nose angrily
To remind me of a hole within.
A hole carved out
By neither Freud nor Marx
But a hole I suspect
I must have been born with.
Through this hole peep gods today
Tomorrow may be heretics - so it grows.
Some day from this hole will leak
A whole range of holograms:
Dazzled by the artistry
I myself will be reduced
To a hollow hologram
Then approach me from various directions.
"Does a beautiful sky need a beautiful heart to see it?"
There you go again. This was a powerful post.
*sigh* A hot man with a poet's spirit and an artists eye.....
"Does a beautiful sky need a beautiful heart to see it? "
Sometimes a DAMAGED heart needs to see a beautiful sky.
"Does a beautiful sky need a beautiful heart to see it? And if it can't be seen, felt, known, is it real?"
Well, yes and no. A sky is only beautiful when it is appreciated. And it doesn't need to be solid for it to be real. A beautiful sky should reside in all our hearts.
Dana, Ms Storm, Keshi, Mona, Jennifer, Charlotte, Meleah and Saffy, thank you all for your kind patronage. I wouldn't write without you guys commenting. Your comments are always deeply, deeply appreciated. Thank you.
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