Over the past months I've been writing far more than painting; notebooks scattered around my pillows, tucked in travel bags, hovering around in my car. I've been incredibly annoyed with the frequency I've been able to get to my studio, so luckily a pen and paper provide a similar outlet.
Opposed to the prose I usually write alongside my paintings, I've been working on an experimental set of short stories. Dialogue hardly exists within them, rather details and a train of consciousness paints the story. I've been moving a lot lately, kind of homeless feeling despite the fact that I'm currently renting out three spaces to reside within. I enjoy not being tied to anything, it's a liberating feeling, and these stories deal with my subconscious curiosity and fear of the opposite. What if I did sleep in only one place throughout the week while working only one job in only one county in this state? What if I spent the majority of my time with a relatively stable set of the same people, what if I stated put for a moment...what if I tried. I don't know what it would be like, I specifically haven't tried, but the stories are an outlet for something I question but don't currently desire. Kind of, anyway, in a loose and vague sense.
I'm posting one of the many here, it's very short, and since they're experimental I'd love any feedback at all, I'm absolutely open to it. Hope you enjoy, read it after the jump (the Read More link).
Opposed to the prose I usually write alongside my paintings, I've been working on an experimental set of short stories. Dialogue hardly exists within them, rather details and a train of consciousness paints the story. I've been moving a lot lately, kind of homeless feeling despite the fact that I'm currently renting out three spaces to reside within. I enjoy not being tied to anything, it's a liberating feeling, and these stories deal with my subconscious curiosity and fear of the opposite. What if I did sleep in only one place throughout the week while working only one job in only one county in this state? What if I spent the majority of my time with a relatively stable set of the same people, what if I stated put for a moment...what if I tried. I don't know what it would be like, I specifically haven't tried, but the stories are an outlet for something I question but don't currently desire. Kind of, anyway, in a loose and vague sense.
I'm posting one of the many here, it's very short, and since they're experimental I'd love any feedback at all, I'm absolutely open to it. Hope you enjoy, read it after the jump (the Read More link).
Our friends’ footsteps echo in the hallway and we can hear them periodically squeal into eruptions of delight as they revel in the pure joy of each others company. The light of our green room flashes in slow, choppy, gliding golden light coming from the traffic lights outside; pause, stop, go, slide; pause, stop, go, slide. Deep viridian patches of shadows cover our piles of the passing week’s clothing, the tattered chair holding a month’s worth of reading, a lifetime’s collection of notebooks. A pot bangs outside our wall, followed by a clattering of utensils and another eruption of sincere joy. I can picture Katrina’s long blond waves swirling around her green dress as she dances upon the black and white checkered floor, can picture Dan’s large hands clapping an erratic beat as he mimics her moves with goofy faces and well worn wing tips. I can hear, slightly, Mary’s soft voice as she passionately, eloquently, declares her intent while explaining her thesis exhibition, and I know Jon must be near her, close, waiting to kiss her pink, stained, mouth, while our other friends are out buying more beer. I know the sequins from our afternoon mask making experience must still be scattered around our pale green living room-purple, yellow, blue-because I still have purple, yellow, blue sequins stuck on the bottom of my bare feet. You had fun finding these sequins around my knees and calves earlier, made a game of finding them all, but I can feel their warm plastic presence between the balls of my feet and my toes; I guess you missed a few. But now we lay quietly, enjoying the ambiance of our friends’ energy while we lay in our warm sheets watching the colors pass. We draw letters in the air, create shadow puppets that erupt and dissolve and eventually eat each other as our hands combine and our fingers mesh, locking in our quiet moment where the only place we want to be is here, now.
We hear the front door open, a flood of footsteps and new voices ringing through the small apartment we and many others call home. I can already imagine the sleepy heads in the morning, slowly waking beneath piles of hair; groggy bodies billowing beside door frames, asking who’s made coffee and when will we go for brunch in the park. I can hear Madison’s cool voice as she sets what’s most likely Red Stripe down on our coffee table made of wooden crates we salvaged from a vintage shop going out of business this past fall. I can picture her bright scarf, her sharp black hair, I hear her ask Mike to switch the music and I can imagine him wishing he had his guitar here so he could impress the girls who live next door. I already know he must be wearing plaid, sleeves just barely too short for his long arms, glasses boxing in his manly school boy face.
We hear more exuberant laughter trailing outside our thin door, hear hands clapping, feet colliding, and as a pale wisp of a guitar’s melody tinkers into our room I get out of bed, float from your embrace and the embrace of such soft pillows, and walk to the window in my white t-shirt and sequin-clad feet. My hair tumbles around my ribs in small tangles, and I look out the window and down upon the traffic, proclaiming my love for this city of ours, loving the possibility that lies on the grit of the sidewalk, reveling in the energy so abundant we can feel it even while holed up, hibernating, in our small room that only we occupy. My head sways to the dreamy guitar melody and soon my whole body follows suit, raising my arms above my head to create flowing shadows on the wall behind the bed you lie in, the one illuminated by the pause, stop, go; pause, stop, go. You watch from this side of the room, cast in green and more green light, and I can feel your smile cast upon me. Dan runs by our room, quickly banging a kitchen utensil upon our door, and as Mary yells out, “come be with us, assholes!” you climb out of bed and come join me in the window light; disheveled as hell, angelic as always. We dance lightly around each other; arms entwining, fingers playing chase and release; small kisses passing exchange as our shoulders brush and our backs meet, as your head bows down unto mine, as my chin grazes your chest. It’s all ours, this moment, and we let it pass without the vain frustration of trying to hold on.
We stumble on our toes until you pull me to the floor with the sound of a smile, the cool wood floor meeting my warm white cotton and your bare skin. We remember that summer with all the stars, the one where I told you while lying in a field, fireflies all around, mosquitoes biting my legs, holding the smooth plastic of a phone to my ear while you perched yourself on a friend’s balcony somewhere in the city, that you were with me like every single star, I could feel you here. I told you I could grasp a tangle of grass and feel it like your hand, and I wanted nothing more than to laugh with you until all the stars faded and sunk. I told you where the big dipper was, and you told me which bicycles were gliding by your stoop. A holiday passed, a hot and sweaty Fourth of July, and I finally met you before the next holiday came...you crept up my stairs stealthily while I stared in the mirror fixing my hair, and we passed the entire night being nothing more than youthful and alive; you smelling like you’d run our of time, my face finally faded from makeup long past its time for retouching but eyes all the same shining with delight. I remember you pulling away that morning, your long fingers extending over your steering wheel in a silent wave goodbye, a soft sincerity covering your facial features. I lean over to kiss you hello, remind myself of the joy in knowing you’re right here, now, that I’m right here, now, as I think of the afternoon that followed that morning: brick walls giving me comfort in the love and familiarity of my current space, but hot tears of frustration in wanting to maintain the moment that had just transpired. When would we again notice, suddenly, all the stars hanging above our head while waiting on a not-yet-friend’s small staircase; when would we claim the dark, early morning hours as ours; when would we dance down sidewalks and steal smirking, knowing glances from bar stools across the crowd. That frustration was still magical in its pain, made me observe the world in a whole new light and awe of fine detail.
So here we are now, stumbling and floating, laughing and chasing, whispering and waking behind clumps of dark hair, enchanted by the possibility of anything at all. Here we are, love, on this hard floor, cast in pale and dark green, illuminated by pause stop go, surrounded by delight and soft, happy voices. Here we are, entangled in the moment we needed not to grasp to maintain, but rather open our hands to to let our moment come in. My eyes close as you run your fingers upon my ribs that push against your own, trace patterns of letters and swirling designs. You kiss my forehead and pull me closer, tell me you love me and can explain exactly how you know this to be true: for me you would do anything, there are no limits to your affection, your desire, your passion; no limits in your pursuit of our happiness and desire. We picture sunshine, we picture freedom, we picture liberated laughter and brilliant success and our forms dancing freely in an endless daydream that echoes the stop motion shadows of our earlier puppets against the wall. Our door opens and a triangle of yellow light is cast upon our pile of the week’s clothing, the collection of notebooks, finally cast upon our entangled, silent bodies staring out the window to the rooftops above. Our arms lie above our heads, our fingers lightly engaged, and as the music and voices become louder and more clear, a camera flashes to capture our moment in the company of each others joy.
You fucked a waitress that night, so I went home with Dan, leaving one of your hairs still stuck to my white cotton on his tan, cold pillowcase, and later returned to the viridian room before sunrise to throw all your notebooks out the flashing window we’d previously passed hours entwined and dreaming out of; the pages billowed slowly, the sight pregnant with transcendent promises we could not keep. I left New York the next morning in tears, and have yet to go back to its gritty sidewalks so abundant with the promise of the possibility of anything at all. The stars still hang here, but it’s no longer you I dream of, and I hear you still count bicycles, keeping a tally tacked upon your pale green wall, one lone green sequin taped to its side. You’ll never find the purple-yellow-blue, and I’ll never admit to the heat of my frustration while staring at these familiar brick walls.
We hear the front door open, a flood of footsteps and new voices ringing through the small apartment we and many others call home. I can already imagine the sleepy heads in the morning, slowly waking beneath piles of hair; groggy bodies billowing beside door frames, asking who’s made coffee and when will we go for brunch in the park. I can hear Madison’s cool voice as she sets what’s most likely Red Stripe down on our coffee table made of wooden crates we salvaged from a vintage shop going out of business this past fall. I can picture her bright scarf, her sharp black hair, I hear her ask Mike to switch the music and I can imagine him wishing he had his guitar here so he could impress the girls who live next door. I already know he must be wearing plaid, sleeves just barely too short for his long arms, glasses boxing in his manly school boy face.
We hear more exuberant laughter trailing outside our thin door, hear hands clapping, feet colliding, and as a pale wisp of a guitar’s melody tinkers into our room I get out of bed, float from your embrace and the embrace of such soft pillows, and walk to the window in my white t-shirt and sequin-clad feet. My hair tumbles around my ribs in small tangles, and I look out the window and down upon the traffic, proclaiming my love for this city of ours, loving the possibility that lies on the grit of the sidewalk, reveling in the energy so abundant we can feel it even while holed up, hibernating, in our small room that only we occupy. My head sways to the dreamy guitar melody and soon my whole body follows suit, raising my arms above my head to create flowing shadows on the wall behind the bed you lie in, the one illuminated by the pause, stop, go; pause, stop, go. You watch from this side of the room, cast in green and more green light, and I can feel your smile cast upon me. Dan runs by our room, quickly banging a kitchen utensil upon our door, and as Mary yells out, “come be with us, assholes!” you climb out of bed and come join me in the window light; disheveled as hell, angelic as always. We dance lightly around each other; arms entwining, fingers playing chase and release; small kisses passing exchange as our shoulders brush and our backs meet, as your head bows down unto mine, as my chin grazes your chest. It’s all ours, this moment, and we let it pass without the vain frustration of trying to hold on.
We stumble on our toes until you pull me to the floor with the sound of a smile, the cool wood floor meeting my warm white cotton and your bare skin. We remember that summer with all the stars, the one where I told you while lying in a field, fireflies all around, mosquitoes biting my legs, holding the smooth plastic of a phone to my ear while you perched yourself on a friend’s balcony somewhere in the city, that you were with me like every single star, I could feel you here. I told you I could grasp a tangle of grass and feel it like your hand, and I wanted nothing more than to laugh with you until all the stars faded and sunk. I told you where the big dipper was, and you told me which bicycles were gliding by your stoop. A holiday passed, a hot and sweaty Fourth of July, and I finally met you before the next holiday came...you crept up my stairs stealthily while I stared in the mirror fixing my hair, and we passed the entire night being nothing more than youthful and alive; you smelling like you’d run our of time, my face finally faded from makeup long past its time for retouching but eyes all the same shining with delight. I remember you pulling away that morning, your long fingers extending over your steering wheel in a silent wave goodbye, a soft sincerity covering your facial features. I lean over to kiss you hello, remind myself of the joy in knowing you’re right here, now, that I’m right here, now, as I think of the afternoon that followed that morning: brick walls giving me comfort in the love and familiarity of my current space, but hot tears of frustration in wanting to maintain the moment that had just transpired. When would we again notice, suddenly, all the stars hanging above our head while waiting on a not-yet-friend’s small staircase; when would we claim the dark, early morning hours as ours; when would we dance down sidewalks and steal smirking, knowing glances from bar stools across the crowd. That frustration was still magical in its pain, made me observe the world in a whole new light and awe of fine detail.
So here we are now, stumbling and floating, laughing and chasing, whispering and waking behind clumps of dark hair, enchanted by the possibility of anything at all. Here we are, love, on this hard floor, cast in pale and dark green, illuminated by pause stop go, surrounded by delight and soft, happy voices. Here we are, entangled in the moment we needed not to grasp to maintain, but rather open our hands to to let our moment come in. My eyes close as you run your fingers upon my ribs that push against your own, trace patterns of letters and swirling designs. You kiss my forehead and pull me closer, tell me you love me and can explain exactly how you know this to be true: for me you would do anything, there are no limits to your affection, your desire, your passion; no limits in your pursuit of our happiness and desire. We picture sunshine, we picture freedom, we picture liberated laughter and brilliant success and our forms dancing freely in an endless daydream that echoes the stop motion shadows of our earlier puppets against the wall. Our door opens and a triangle of yellow light is cast upon our pile of the week’s clothing, the collection of notebooks, finally cast upon our entangled, silent bodies staring out the window to the rooftops above. Our arms lie above our heads, our fingers lightly engaged, and as the music and voices become louder and more clear, a camera flashes to capture our moment in the company of each others joy.
You fucked a waitress that night, so I went home with Dan, leaving one of your hairs still stuck to my white cotton on his tan, cold pillowcase, and later returned to the viridian room before sunrise to throw all your notebooks out the flashing window we’d previously passed hours entwined and dreaming out of; the pages billowed slowly, the sight pregnant with transcendent promises we could not keep. I left New York the next morning in tears, and have yet to go back to its gritty sidewalks so abundant with the promise of the possibility of anything at all. The stars still hang here, but it’s no longer you I dream of, and I hear you still count bicycles, keeping a tally tacked upon your pale green wall, one lone green sequin taped to its side. You’ll never find the purple-yellow-blue, and I’ll never admit to the heat of my frustration while staring at these familiar brick walls.
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