Writing a fable eh? It's my first time, not entirely sure what it consists of, just writing and writing and writing. Listen to some inspirational music, oops too loud, better just, yeah, turn that down. Ok now we're good, typing and typing, trying to get my creative juices flowing for this assignment I'm meant to be doing. Writing the "letter I've always wanted to do" or something to do with a memory about a recipe or something stupid like that. I mean, i cant think of anything like that off the top of my head, so i guess maybe this will free up some space in my head, or let out anything which maybe i cant access. I dunno, hopefully if I do this at least once a day from now on, I can begin to write creatively once again, like I used to for my A levels. It's been a while since then, and i haven't done much reading or writing. God i feel so selfish, just going on talking about myself like this for 200 seconds or whatever it is. I didn't figure that out, I just saw it in someone's fable. Maybe i will work it out... ok not 200 seconds, that would be 3:20 minutes, it's actually 260 seconds; what a muppet. Ahh well only half a minute to go, guess I'm starting to feel a bit more relaxed, like I'm not bound by the rules of whatever, I'm not even sure what i was meant to say then, oh well, bye now!!
Tribal chants bounce off the concrete community walls of this endless city. This endless destruction. This endless tree genocide that is civilization. Oh so uncivilization. Reverberation. Tribal encantations. Melodious curses pounded into the stratosphere with drums and wooden blocks. Terrified white folk quickly construct bigger guns and stronger shields. Tribal chants vibrate the authority structure until it crumbles. Fat women rush through the debris in search of ice cream. Twitching men dig through garbage heaps for old pornography, or at least, heavily suggestive advertising. SOMETHING that they can jerk off to. Broken white folk scramble like electrified zombies for fixes. For one more hit for their lame, ungodly addictions.
A jaded take. A busted rake. A winter wind from the brutal north. I'm sleepy to the bone. I take myself to the store to buy my specific brand of almond milk. Seagulls huddle on the tar, trying to soak sunshine warmth. I get my milk-like products and go Starbucks. Every optimistic minion is getting in my way. City planners ensure congestion. There's a homeless guy dozing off on a bench near the Starbucks bathroom. He has a coffee, so he's legit. I ask him if he's sleeping rough. He says he is. I ask him his name. I can't tell what he says. His teeth sabotage articulation. I ask him if he has plans for Thanksgiving. He says not now. I give him $12 and leave with my coffee-products. I get home and tell my wife all about him. We talk about how scary it is to approach homeless people and dream together about having homeless folks over for Thanksgiving. Then she says she loves me.
A familiar face a familiar name a familiar feeling, I couldn't let your hand slip this time so I bound our hands with the string of my heart so that if you let go I wouldn't have to suffer. I ran ahead of you, our hands still entwined dragging you down the path I had walked so many times before, but with you it was different, you tilted up my chin to raise my eyes from the concrete slabs beneath my shoes and up into the clusters of pink cotton candy above us. I looked at you and whispered my secrets, the things I thought would stay locked within me weighing me down, you had the key to everything I had thought everything I had done and every part of me. It was as if my cloak of invisibility had been torn away leaving me exposed for you and only you. As we walked down the path, we came across a line of red red roses and although we were told that's the way roses should be and that that's the way the world is, with you what should be no longer mattered so we painted the roses purple and ran where most wouldn't dare crawl. I wrapped my every thought, every second, every part around your being and you became my purpose, you became my life. That was the moment I told you I loved you not because I felt I should but because that's what it was. The hands emerged from the dark and toyed with my actions, I was like a puppet, a minion to that which ruled me: fear. It flooded my veins and so I took back my hand, but my hand was bound by the strings of my heart so cuts and bruises began to appear littering my body, my mind and my soul but what I did not realize was that your hand was also bound, I had hurt you, the one who had become not just a part of my life but essential to my very existence, I had damaged the bond and as I looked upon those purple roses I knew I would spend all of myself to fix the bond, stand up again with you by my side and walk till there is no more land to walk upon
Round and round racing against eachother, fighting for the attention, the music gets louder as they go round the caresole, I am overwhelmed by fatigue but I cannot get off, the thoughts won't stop racing infecting my mind changing who I am, I have to choose but the choice is no longer mine, I can't stop what I have started, I won't stop it