My own little world (working title)

"We're not gonna make it!"
"Keep running, Chris! We're going to make it!"
"No, no we're not! We're going to fall!"
"Shut up, Chris! Just jump, just do it!" Chris' long legs ran with nervous ferocity, one after the other making hard, distinctive steps in the barren ground under them. His chest heaved, with fatigue from running, and with fear. He pushed as hard as he could, and closed his eyes as they neared the edge. Chris could feel her grip on his neck get tighter, and her legs push into his sides. She was jolted upwards as all four of Chris' feet left the ground before they met the cliff's edge. They had both closed their eyes tight by now, but only Chris' moaning howl could be heard as it echoed off the flat surface far beneath them. After a few moments, her eyes found themselves open, and wandering towards what was below her; when they were met with empty space her arms quickly wrapped around the base of Chris' long thick neck, where her hands met on the other side and grasped each other hard, fearing the long fall down. She sprung her head back up, focusing intensely on what was in front of them. "See! See, Chris?" Her voice screamed over the roaring wind rushing past their faces. She laughed. Her arms flew up to touch the free air all around them, and succumbed to the wind pushing back her hair, and enjoyed it. "Open your eyes!" He did, and when he looked down his were not met with a gaping trench, but with grass. And wildflowers. And weeds. And a fence. And a flock sheep. She leaned her hand over the side of him to feel the fresh wool brush past her bare palm, and it felt like a sea of velvet and down. She felt like she was in a dream, floating on the all the sensations her body was experiencing at that moment. Chris, on the other hand, was befuddled at the fact that they hadn't touched ground yet.
"How did you know I could hover?" He yelled back at her.
"Because everything can!" He looked back behind them and saw the flock of sheep that was once below them now slowly drifting up, in a lumbering, gawky fashion towards them. Only few were upright while most were on their sides or turned completely over, underbellies facing the sun's warm tickle.
"W-ahh!" Chris belched as one of the sheep brushed against his hooves, sending him flipping sideways, and her flying off his back. "Ahh! I'm sorry, where did you go!"
"Over here, Chris!" She had landed on one of the sheep that was drifting near them. Though the sheep was upside-down, she was unscathed and hitching a ride from the friendly ewe.
"Baah?"
"Yes, thanks for asking." She replied with a friendly smile. "Say, do you know where the next town is?"
"Bah. Bahhh Baaaah."
"Could you take us there?"
"Baah." The sheep flew out in front of Chris, and slowly drifted off the right, motioning with it's tail for him to follow. After a few minutes of hovering, the wooly tangle under her seemed to be increasing in size. Her legs could no longer dangle over the sides, but now had enough room to lay out in front of her. In fact, she had enough room to lay down, which she did.
"Baaaah?" The sheep asked in a now deep, baritone rumble.
"Yes, it's perfect."
The sun glimmered orange against the white flock, and off her hair as they flew parallel to the horizon.
"Do you know where we're going?"
"Hopefully somewhere that is serving breakfast when we get there."
Chris huffed under his breath. He never liked spontaneous trips, and was still irked that he hadn't touched ground yet. He was still confused as to how he left the ground, and the knowledge to reach it again still hadn't found him. He looked over, and she was settling into the white cushion, slowly falling victim to sleep, just as the sheep was dozing off too. He feared that if he too shut his eyes for the night, that he might not wake up in an agreeable setting. But as the sun could no longer be seen at the edge of the horizon, Chris found himself extremely exhausted, and became more comfortable with the idea of letting the wind push him to where ever they were headed.

Somewhere down South

These are two small little exercises that I've decided go together. They were written about two months apart, and I feel a story coming out of them. I'm working on some character development and stuff in the meantime, and a plot and all that good stuff... Also praying it develops into something amazing.

As the summer wore on, I spent more and more time studying science and less time practicing the piano. The dandelions outside my bedroom window wore from a flaxen bed to one of dreamy cotton. Often, I was tempted to jump out of the window into them when I couldn’t fall asleep. I thought about how soft the dandelion fluff would feel on my skin, and how the hollow steams would bounce upon my body’s arrival, and how gravity would react against my weight, and how the pollen would soar on the wind, and eventually settle where the breeze placed it, fertilizing other dandelions, continuing the lives of many more dandelions to come.

My morning routine started with running the water through the old brass pipes in my dwelling to shower, and starting a pot of water to boil for coffee; putting one piece of wheat toast in the toaster, and getting a plate and the orange marmalade ready in the anticipation of the timer. I put the clothes on that I laid out the night before, and find a pair of shoes to make the outfit complete, usually my canvas red pumps that had belonged to my grandmother, oddly enough still in near new condition, even after the beating that her and my mother gave them. 

Before I do all this, I lay in bed for a while, reflecting, visualizing. Remembering how much I love the white paint chipping on all the door frames in the house, revealing dark wood; how the brass feet on my tub shine in the morning when the sun is coming in through the window, and how each individual stair creaks and groans when I put my weight down on them. 

That day in church in the middle of sermon, I saw his face peeking up from the one of the windows by the confession boxes. I told my mama that I was feeling dizzy and needed to step out for fresh air, and before I was all the way out the door he grabbed me by my right arm and we flew behind god's house, where my prayers came true: he kissed me right then and there like no other boy beforehand, well, like billy had, but it was still the kind of kiss that really did make me dizzy, and my lips felt loose and buzzed with the flutters of my heart. His hand was on the middle of my back, dragging his fingers up to my shoulder blades and down to the top if my butt. I had never been more out if my mind than I was now, and before I knew it his hand had come round to the side of my leg, and it slowly made it's way up my dress.

passenger car

I’m sitting on this train; the seat is old mohair, the waitress has a demure look upon her face as she offers me something to eat. I feel important in this worn red seat, in this car of a train, among people who are just like me, who all look like life has taken just a little too much out of them. Their faces pale, their eyes lack every thing but apathy. No, there is plenty of that to go around. But the carved wood that frames the interior, and the smell that is stuck in the carpet, the smell of many thousand tired feet over many thousand miles, all eager to get to their destination, it all runs together and gives me pleasure, because while I don’t have any one destination in mind right now, I still feel important in an out-dated mode of transportation.

Wednesday Night
I always thought that people gave off noise, no matter what. Your body just hummed no matter how quiet you were trying to be. Because, even when everyone is sleeping, the house is louder than if they were all gone. My mother was one of the loudest people I've ever met. She was small and gentle, but she filled every room she walked into. Even in the months leading up to before we had to leave her, my sister and I, she always pulled everyone together with the vivacity that poured from her. This woman that was behind me in the ticket line, looked just like her; her smile gave off a radiance that could cook like a convection oven, and her hair was messy, pulled into a pile on the back of her head. Maybe we will have a nice encounter. She looks like interesting company. And that's the point of traveling, right?
I only had one suitcase, so I kept it with me rather than storing it elsewhere. The woman seemed to have five or six, and was giving detailed instructions to the smaller of the two conductors at the station about how her luggage should be transported. Watching this made me giggle. On the train there were only twain handfuls of people, all shuffled about the seats, none of them wanting to be near anybody else. Being that it was well passed sunset, close to midnight nearly, the thin moonlight coming in from the windows didn't do much to light up their faces, and neither did the crude sconces that lined the inside of the passenger car. Walking through the tight corridor, I see that all the cabin doors are unmarked. My ticket just says "cabin"; there is no character to denounce which one has been assigned to me. "Excuse me, which cabin is mine?" I hand my ticket to a found conductor walking the aisles.
"Oh, whichever is open. It doesn' really matter. Just make sure to put the white card on the other doorknob.""For what?""So people know that it's occupied."
"Oh, yes. Thank you, then."His smile looks plastic-y and forced. He is one of those people that perfectly fits the job they are preforming. I look down at his name-tag, and it reads 'Kyle'. His name even fits his face, with the sputters of juvenile blonde hair that accent it. He walks away and his red coat is stuck over his bubble-butt. I'm not sure I like Kyle, and I hope he doesn't end up being apart of my trip.
I guess that I can pick any cabin, so I open each door, and try to find the one that smells the most pleasant. They all look the same inside; a loft bed, a couch that hangs on the opposite wall, and a door to a "bathroom", if you care to call it that. The third one from the end smells decent, dusty, like the binding of a thrift-store romance novel, and I trust that smell. The door clicks when I close it, and the springs in the couch against the wall give an angry squeak when I put my suitcase upon it. It's too quiet to sleep, so I crack the window to listen to the wind being sucked into the small room once the train is put into motion. My pants drop off my waist, and I strip of my shirt as well as my glasses, and set them all next to my suitcase. I find an alcove for my shoes to sleep in, and climb up to the bed, but slip and fall on my ass. I'm glad I'm not sharing the room with anyone. My second attempt is successful, but just as offensive as the first, with my butt in the air and my arms straining to pull up my body weight. Maybe in the morning I will find something to step on.
As I lie in the dark, I can't hear much but footsteps, with the exception of a voice. It's feminine, and I hope it's my woman. I wonder what cabin she picked, and what it smells like, and where she put her clothes or does she sleep in them? I get sweaty when I sleep in my clothes.

Thursday
The air coming in from the cracked window runs over the wall and on top of my feet. It tickled me awake, just in time to catch something to eat in the diner car. I look over the pillow to see that my clothes are still where I left them, as well as my shoes. Before I slip everything back on, I shut the window to stop anymore cold air from coming in, then leave my cabin to scavenge for something to eat. When I get to where I came in, it seems as though all the people sitting in seats are still there, like they haven't moved since last night. Kyle, as well as a darker looking version of Kyle, are walking around. Kyle looks vigilant, but his darker version looks bored and a little halfhearted with his un-buttoned conductor coat and uncombed hair. I like Darker Kyle.
The train is large, but I only have to walk through two cars to get to where the food is served. There are bagels and doughnuts adorned on a silver cart in the middle of all the tables, and I wriggle through all the empty chairs over to it. There is a cough from the back corner of the car that's emitting from the throat of an older gentleman in a suit coat, but no pants. Across from him is a portly woman in a dead looking fur coat. They are both reading a section from a newspaper probably a week old, and doing their best not to look at each other. I'm going to assume they have been long married. Besides them and myself, the dining car is empty. I look down at my watch and see both hands are lined up on the seven, which is upsetting. I could have gotten a couple more hours of sleep before I had to get up. Damn window. Though upset, something big and white catches my eye on the silver cart. It is a doughnut half the size of my head, and in the side there is a little hole with red around it. I can only assume this mark implies that this pastry has been stuffed full of red-flavoured jelly. I can't resist it, and take a seat by a wide window.
Halfway through my doughnut, "You have good taste, guy." It's Darker Kyle!"What makes you say that?""I was saving that for myself.""Oh! I'm sor--"
"It's fine, guy. We get a box or two every time we stop in Stratford. Don't sweat it." I'm charmed by Darker Kyle's face. His smile gives me the impression that even though he is a lowly conductor on a half-empty train, he is still plowing some chick at least twice a week. I wish I had thought to look at his name tag. I look down and the rest of my doughnut is gone. I must have shoved it into my mouth when I wasn't looking. My watch tells me it's eight on the nose now. I sit in the vinyl seat and think about what to do for the next fifteen hours awake on the train. I come to the conclusion that my only options are Read or Sleep, so I head back and dig through my suitcase for one of the books that I packed. Rabbit, Run falls into my hand, and I can't resist anything by Updike.

***
My feet are tickled again, and my face is met with a wet puddle of discarded spit when I roll over. The top half of me jumps up in recoil, but my eyes are met with another pair, and I lay back down as fast as gravity will let me. "Excuse me?"
"... Yeah?""There is a big group of people boarding the train now, and we have to double up in the cabins. I was in the one next door, and I thought maybe it would be easiest if we just shared. Is that okay? I'll sleep on the couch."
"Uh, yeah. That sounds good." It's the woman, and I'm not sure what just happened. I think she tickled me awake."So, I'm just going to grab my bags, and we'll figure out what to do from there. Yeah?"
"Yeah."And she is gone again in a rush. I expect her to pop around the corner right away, but she does not. She came and left so fast, I didn't have time to look at what she was wearing, or to study how her hair falls against her shoulders. The light coming in through the black framed window was tinted orange. I was upset that I had slept so long. It was almost ridiculous.
"Hi, again!" She was dragging four pieces of over-stuffed luggage behind her. They were all a misty shade of pink, except for one that was a beaten brown leather. It was held shut with wide straps that buckled near the handles. "The conductors at the station just would not understand how to store my luggage, and I thought I was making the instructions quite clear, but I," I was frightened that her mouth would never stop moving. I like how that complimented my distaste for conversation.
"What do the initials stand for?""Huh?""On that suitcase. LFR?""Oh, it was my great-grandfather's. After he died, my family went and picked through his house like goats. I was nine at the time, and when I came across this I figured it would have some kind of treasure in it or something."
"Was there?""Old train stubs and a sock, if that counts treasure." She had a subtle sense of humor. Her voice didn't match the way she looked at all, but it was easy to listen to. It had the same tones as a clarinet, and flowed just as smoothly. "So, I'll take the couch?"
"If you really want it.""I suppose it's better than the floor." I wanted to invite her to share the bed. It was bigger than a twin, so it wouldn't be crowded, but I feared that she would take it the wrong way, and find some other stranger to bunk with. "Do you want to catch something to eat? It's the perfect time for dinner."
"Yeah, that sounds delightful.""Delightful? I've never heard someone use that term to describe train food before.""Is that bad?""Not if you like train food, I guess."
When she whipped out of the room, her hair flew behind her. I would describe it as short, but it concealed the whole of her neck. The colour of it seemed to fit her personality a tad too well, and I wondered if she dyed it.


"So, what are you going to get?" Her nose was buried in the tiny plastic menu. "Nothing looks all that appetizing.""Soup?""On a train?"
"Good point." She always makes good points. "What about a sandwich? It's hard to screw up a sandwich.""You make a good argument, sir." Even after we had decided on food, she continued to glare at the options. Her eyes darted all over the place, not in flowing lines.
"Aw, here comes Kyle.""Hm?""You see that conductor over to the left, kind of behind me?" Kyle was pushing around the silver cart that holds all the food he is delivering. He looked like a proud new mother pushing a pram with the stupid grin carved into his high cheekbones and his gleeful posture. God, I hate, Kyle.
"Oh, him? I hate that kid." I'm glad she agrees!"We should make fun of him when he comes over here.""What do you mean?""Here, shush, just watch. He's coming over now."
"How are you two tonight?" Oh, the tone in his voice makes me want to punch a chicken."Just, fuckin' terrible!" His mouth was stuck open like a hyperventilating cat, searching his brain for a response.
 "I-I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Have uh, h-have you decided on anything to eat?""How-""Do you have anything on that faggy cart of yours that doesn't fucking suck, Kyle?" She interrupted me with this. I have to say, I was proud of her.
"I-I'm just going to... leave this h-here, for you t-two, and come back later." And that's how we got rid of Kyle. He is smug and deserves it."How did you come up with that?"
"My gramma was senile before she passed, and whenever we went out to eat with her, the waiter always got a full serving of shit from her. I'm beginning to think she was faking it though. Screwing with people is a ton of fun."
"What kind of sandwich would you like?""Whatever you get is fine.""Does cake sound good too?""Yes, ma'm.""Should we take this back to the cabin?"
"I don't think we're allowed to do that.""I don't think we were allowed to fuck with Kyle.""You never make a bad point.""I know."

***
"You're getting crumbs everywhere!""Well, I'm sleeping on the couch, so it shouldn't matter to you.""What if I ride this train again, and pick this cabin, and there are mould spores everywhere because of your bread crumbs?"
"Then I guess you'll get very sick." God, she was witty and I loved talking with her. I wanted to smell her; get it stuck in my nose. Ask her about her life and watch her graceful hand gestures illustrate her stories. "Do you mind if I get my pajamas on?"
"No, go right ahead. You can use the closet.""You mean the bathroom?""It's really more of a closet.""You are so..." Oh, the tension is killing me. Pajama choice says so much about a person. Does she wear a nightgown? A full ensemble? I don't know. I was going to take this time to get into my own pajamas and try to get up into bed before she saw my ugly attempt at doing so. Her luggage is in the corner, but I don't want to step on it, and my one bag isn't going to help. I guess I just have to heave up there again.
"What are you doing?" My back stung as it hit the floor. She startled me so bad, I lost my grip on the bed frame."I'm trying to get up into the bed before you see.""Why don't you use the steps?" And low and behold, like magic, she pulled out a set of two metal steps that were attached to the underside of the bed.
"That's a good question. Hm, are you done eating?""Yeah, I think I'm going to lay down and read if you don't mind.""I was thinking of doing the same thing, actually." I wasn't. I had wanted to just talk with her. And actually, I just wanted her to listen. Nobody has ever really wanted to listen to me. I've been the background noise in everyone's live as long as I can remember. I suppose it's my own fault, not being assertive. I guess that's maybe why I turned to the written world, but not with her. She seemed caring, and attentive. Like a good listener. You have to be a good listener to be a good talker, right? Or however that goes. I don't know, but I do know I really like this woman. She is kind, and fun, and she reads! I wonder if she likes cats or not. I wonder where she lives, where she grew up, what her parents are like, all the stupid cliché things you want to know about a charming woman. Goodness, her pajamas. I almost forgot. She is wearing a light top that's the colour of a ripe peach, and navy shorts with two pockets that are sewn on the outside. She looks comfortable and beautiful and so lost in her book. I don't know how long I have been staring at her, but it's been at least good hour. The sun has set, and yellow light from the crude sconces outside are flooding in from under the door.
"I'm getting tired. Do you mind if I turn the light off now?""That's fine. We both should sleep now." Damn, I wish I was more assertive. I don't want to sleep! I want to know you as well as I know myself. I'm so frusterated with my lack of balls, I probably won't sleep much tonight anyway.
"Are you still awake?""Uh, yeah. Why?""Can I sleep with you? The couch-thing is a lot less comfortable than it looks.""... That's fine, yeah." Oh. I don't know what to do. I'm as dumbfounded as Kyle right now.  "Do you need another blanket?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you though." Her body is so warm.  I can feel her heart beat through the mattress. Last time I slept even in the same room as a woman was with my sister when we were kids. Her presence, her right next to me is the most comforting thing I've experienced. I don't-- I don't even know her name.
"What's your name?""I go by Ellie." After she said this, she rolled over and put her head in the space under mine; pushed her hand across my chest, and fell asleep. Her breathing became very steady, her body stayed just as warm. I sat there for a couple minutes, and matched my breathing to hers. In and out. In and out. She smelled earthy, but clean. Like if you stay up all night to catch the sunrise. That's what it reminded me of. I hope it's stuck in my nose now.

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Ovis

Not anymore an untamed mouflonwool burst and tamed
helicoid proteins 


lead me to new pastures
i will gather close
and press into the cluster


flocking in pasturage
flee from lupis
cluster together
i will crimp my fur

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8

A Video.

Fool's Gold - "Surprise Hotel" from Paul Tao on Vimeo.

Oh, how golden!

Whilst I was making my Wyatt a housewarming present, I took the liberty of painting a pair of old vans.

VIEW THEM!

And a nice marco shot.
Look at those babies glitter in the sun...

Great Job.

So yeah. The picture doesn't really do the gold any justice, but these things are pretty solid.

I'm happy with it. :)

The Power of Language-- a short.

Here is a quick opinion of mine:

So, It's another month farther into the year. It is... May now?
Yes. And what I'm about to share, is something I've been known to preach if you've known me for a while.
About three or four years ago I've discovered something that I think is one of the worst things that Americans have done to the English Language. Americans are known quite well for throwing certain words into their speech as if they were an endless supply of rainbow sprinkles. You know, all the "naughty words." Yes, the wonderful list of Words Not to Be Uttered. Now, I am going to mention just one of the Sacred Seven...

Anyone who has gone into seventh grade can assure you that starting the first day, everyone thinks they are entitled to use the Word "Fuck" as if it were a conjunction, which it is most certainly not. And throughout the past four decades or so, the word Fuck has become more and more apart of our everyday life. People are so immune to the word, that nobody takes it seriously anymore. What the fuck? That is the naughty word. Well, rather is was.

Looking back, and at all the naughty words in use, it used to be at the top, and for good reasons. The word Fuck conveys (or is supposed to) the most explicit sexual acts, and it used to have the potential to get across so much emotion and it had such power behind it. When someone said it, you knew some nasty shit was going down. But Americans have demolished this once great being into almost nothing. It has become as useless as the word The. It seems like it's in at least every other sentence sputtered out into the air. We have brought it down, and crushed it into nothing. We have bastardise it into  a sorry pile of profanity that is getting closer and closer to becoming uncensored on the telly. We are still ways from that, but a big step closer than it used to be. Can you imagine such a day when they lift their fingers from the big red button when the F-Bomb is in sight? I can. We have let Bitch and Ass and Shit, and even Cock in some cases, pass through most gates. It won't be long, I'll tell you that now.

It's just the saddest thing to me. America took down a once beautiful colossus.
I am going to try to bring it back.
Please use Fuck sparingly.

Confused? Take a read through this:

(1) You've tripped up the stairs at work, and successfully sprayed coffee onto everyone in front of you.
DO NOT use Fuck here. Instead use a more suitable substitute, such as Shit!

(2) You are walking down the street, and unbeknownst to you, a car is about to go through the crosswalk the same time you do.
DO use fuck here. You've been hit by car. That's an appropriate situation.

(3) You come home to find your cat has torn up all the furniture, peed on the remains of it, and helped itself to whatever was left out in the kitchen.
DO use Fuck here. This is a ridiculous situation. You should probably get rid of the cat too. It's an asshole.

(4) You're out of Yoo-Hoo.
It depends on how much you like Yoo-Hoo.

 Hm, so yes. A short. By me.

Inspired by:
This!
You can't not love Mark Frauenfelder.
Clever bastard.

Who Are You and What Are You Doing in My Kitchen? Part III

Where am I? Where are you?
Well, long story short, we are on Earth, but anybody could tell you that. I'm going to tell you where you actually are...

So, science has deduced that we live in some random spot in the Universe, which is big. Really big. You just can't imagine how big it really is. It has in it, everything that has ever existed ever. Well, at least since the beginning of it. Who knows what was there, if anything, before the universe. But that's a different story. Our Universe, where "Earth" is, is, well, where "Earth" is. It's where everything is. If you want something, I can assure you you'll find it in the Universe. Any kind of matter, all the time, cats, everything! Including us. But, where exactly is the Universe? As far as I know, It's everywhere! It's so big, it takes up 93 billion light years in space. That's enormous. Don't even ask me how enormous that is, because I'm no astronomer, I'm a person. I just know that this makes everybody and everything extremely insignificant. It really makes everything quite pointless.

So, we live on Earth. Yes. And the Earth is somewhere in the universe. Yes. And the Universe takes up a space in Space that is nearly incomprehensible. Yes. So, where is Space? ...Yes?

Who Are You and What Are You Doing in My Kitchen? Part II

What am I doing here? What is my purpose?

Well, as far as I see it, there is no rhyme or reason to why anything is anything. We as a society accept things as they are, and forget about it. If the grass was orange instead of green, or cats evolved to be three feet tall, that's just they way it would be, and we would write a wikipedia page about it, and move on with our lives. So, whether or not you die happy, in some sexy accident, or just as miserable as the rest of the world has no affect on the future, the present, or the past; anything you, or anyone else does now won't change the outcome of anything. So, I ask again, What am I doing here? And the simple answer is Living. You are "alive", and just what are you supposed to do with your life? Whatever makes you happy.

Happiness feels good, and I bet that you would rather spend your life feeling good than feeling bad.

Look what I did.

So, I tried my hand at stitching, but with the lack of a

good textile to use,

I went ahead and sacrificed a canvas that

I've had laying around for a while. This is it.

The picture doesn't do it justice;

it's a tish more green than that, but yes.

I went ahead and did some macro too, 

because, well, who doesn't like a good macro shot?