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Literature Text
It is one of the defining characteristics in my life that I can never finish what I started.
Every little fleeting hobby or fascination I have held may entertain me for months, but I was never able to actually fulfil the final objective.
When I was young, holidaying in France, I bought myself a plasticine set from the local marché and entertained myself for months, building brightly coloured zoos of animals.
Looking back on those absorbing times I see each little animal, half finished, like some sick fantastical petting enclosure.
A purple aye-aye with large yellow eyes somewhat lacking pupils, with the same morbid stare, every day, pained by its vibrant forms disturbing existence.
Each spindly finger had been spun between my thumb and forefinger, each one smaller than the last, depending on how much plasticine I had left for the disproportioned hands.
Every day on that holiday, having added to the zoo with various assortments of green bears and turquoise chickens, easily double the size of the bears, and other animals miscellanea, I added more fingers to that warped Aye-Aye.
Eventually when enough fingers had accumulated, all different shapes, colours and sizes, I would remove them and build another animal, careful not to merge the colours beyond control.
Another Bear was made from this, predominantly white, after a particularly soulless elephant appeared incapable of supporting tusks .
This theme carried on throughout my life, and I found myself with a vast collection of half finished songs, abandoned video games and half baked bread loaves.
The same patterns repeated itself in my work, having left me unable to keep up the stern interest I need to hold in order to learn.
I find myself surrounded by a plethora of unfinished meisterwerks, that slowly influenced my very social personality, friends would become a bore as I had absorbed everything I found myself capable of, of their personalities.
Perhaps this slowly developing lust for rapid experience learning would consume me till I flit from idea to idea with nothing evolving, and never allow me to settle into a calm normal life.
Everyone has their hobbies, and everyone has their problems, but I was not enjoying my strange amalgamation of the two.
And so I lead myself through my scattered mind to meet someone who could bring me comfort and let me gain a clearer perspective of everything I was seeing.
Hello.
How you feeling?
Ok.
How many fingers do I have?
No.
Come on, it's time to settle down.
Better.
Can you count back down from ten?
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Two...
Two....
I couldn't finish it.
Every little fleeting hobby or fascination I have held may entertain me for months, but I was never able to actually fulfil the final objective.
When I was young, holidaying in France, I bought myself a plasticine set from the local marché and entertained myself for months, building brightly coloured zoos of animals.
Looking back on those absorbing times I see each little animal, half finished, like some sick fantastical petting enclosure.
A purple aye-aye with large yellow eyes somewhat lacking pupils, with the same morbid stare, every day, pained by its vibrant forms disturbing existence.
Each spindly finger had been spun between my thumb and forefinger, each one smaller than the last, depending on how much plasticine I had left for the disproportioned hands.
Every day on that holiday, having added to the zoo with various assortments of green bears and turquoise chickens, easily double the size of the bears, and other animals miscellanea, I added more fingers to that warped Aye-Aye.
Eventually when enough fingers had accumulated, all different shapes, colours and sizes, I would remove them and build another animal, careful not to merge the colours beyond control.
Another Bear was made from this, predominantly white, after a particularly soulless elephant appeared incapable of supporting tusks .
This theme carried on throughout my life, and I found myself with a vast collection of half finished songs, abandoned video games and half baked bread loaves.
The same patterns repeated itself in my work, having left me unable to keep up the stern interest I need to hold in order to learn.
I find myself surrounded by a plethora of unfinished meisterwerks, that slowly influenced my very social personality, friends would become a bore as I had absorbed everything I found myself capable of, of their personalities.
Perhaps this slowly developing lust for rapid experience learning would consume me till I flit from idea to idea with nothing evolving, and never allow me to settle into a calm normal life.
Everyone has their hobbies, and everyone has their problems, but I was not enjoying my strange amalgamation of the two.
And so I lead myself through my scattered mind to meet someone who could bring me comfort and let me gain a clearer perspective of everything I was seeing.
Hello.
How you feeling?
Ok.
How many fingers do I have?
No.
Come on, it's time to settle down.
Better.
Can you count back down from ten?
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Two...
Two....
I couldn't finish it.
Literature
Like a fool
Just the sight of her.....
The smell of her.....
the taste of her....
the touch of her...
Its like a knife..
And all I want to do is push it deeper.
But I'm just some noise in your ear,
Some stains on your carpet that tastes bitter,
But like a fool,I shall love you always my dear.
Literature
if a tree falls in...
a fenceless garden
defenseless and unguarded
she watches you grow
Literature
Letter to a stranger
Dear _________ ,
You don't know me.
I don't know you.
We are merely two strangers
Who happen to be eying each other in a crowded room.
I don't feel so lonely anymore.
I secretly want to get to know you.
I wish you could read my mind.
Find my little black box
the one with all the paper cranes.
Every one has
Love, blood, and ink--
With you written inside.
What would you say?
What would you do if you knew--
Our hearts beat in sync?
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Well I wrote the poem, thought it was rubbish, but started building a piece of prose around it, so as it grew I decided to upload it. I will probably upload the poem seperately too.
© 2011 - 2024 Ceasarman
Comments13
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I wrote a really long praising comment on this three times and it never managed to send.
So this time I'mma just send a:
and a
So this time I'mma just send a:
and a