Writing Rant

Despite my previously mentioned ambition to post writing-related progress on my Twitter account, I can't help but drop by here and proudly say I just submitted my three-paged essay to the essay contest arranged by Vulkan. First prize is 10,000 SEK and an Iphone 4, but more importantly, the top contributors get to be published in an anthology with their essays. Sometime in August I will know how it went, meanwhile I'll be crossing all my fingers, arms and toes for luck. To be perfectly blunt and honest, I would rather go far in a contest of short stories than in one of essays, but they're all writing contests after all, and I've decided you've got to start somewhere. Remaining for the time being are three more short story contests and one contest for a play, which might be a challenge since it's entirely new to me to write plays. No matter how it goes in the contests, I'll be developing in the process, and writing challenging things will develop me twicely so!


I also had an idea to myself that if I shouldn't go far in any of these contests I will publish my own anthology with the stories and make them available that way. But now, I believe I'm going to continue re-reading Ophelia's Photograph and dwell in the sad yet beautifully worn world that is Cade's and Ophelia's.
POET IN THE JAR

Treasure Hill

What interest have you in my thoughts, my wishes
Of how I daydream or how I dream at night
What does it matter to you what I read,
What I write, what I make, what I create
If it isn't aligned with yours it's insignificant
If it isn't already in your thoughts,
in your wishes,
it's invisible

You're too attached to daily appointments
To promises that you made to yourself
That the world follows with gaping eyes
Like they'd never think to follow mine
My wishes was always too abstract
For anyone to even consider as real

I miss even the darkest times of living
Then at least I felt I fought for something
Then there was something more than illusions
at the edge of the treasure hill
And there was something more than just dread
To kill

Couldn't you just once open this wine with me
Finish it while speaking of unspeakable things
And what you think of when you dare to think
Couldn't you just once stop, and listen,
and find my words meaningful

What interest do you have in what I value
What interest do you have in any of my visions
Since visions never fed anyone or paid their days
They're rendered useless, aren't they
Useless in your eyes

You could stretch to agreeing they were beautiful
but soon enough you'd be lost again in fleeting errands
Soon enough you'd have forgotten it all
What we might have shared over bottles of wine
What you might have found meaningful
beneath the starry sky
would be useless, wouldn't it
Useless in your eyes

Warden

You can't break glass with silence, trust me, I've tried

And you can't put out fires with tear drops

You can only gather them in vials

For when they should stop

You can fling them open again

When you've run dry

Automated eyes

Automated life

What am I to do with these faint images

They are bleaker every second

What did you leave them for

Maybe you believed they were dead

I could keep an eye on them

but they are only dying slowly

You didn't make me a gravedigger,

You made me a reluctant warden

And I'll never be awarded

You can't chase shadows in the night, trust me, I've tried

And you can't drown sorrow on desert plains

You can only carry it inside

Carry the pain

You can release it again

When it can fly

Automated wings

The conditions you left me with are unfair and desperate

You never spared a thought for what would come

Once you had secured your own escape

You weren't even brave enough to face me

You didn't have what it would take to stay

Forgive me if I won't guard your institution

Your well preserved memories

I scattered my copies

Left it to them to survive

You stopped yours in flight

Then imprisoned them

And turned your back on them in denial

I can't bear to be your warden

I can't bear to see the memories die

You weren't the only one who created them

The other creator's hand was mine

I'll spread them with the others in the memorial grove

Spread them with the others across the sea

They were meant to fly over it, one day, with me

But they never got to see the day

So I'll set them in flight before they die

Maybe that can keep damnation at bay

You can't break glass with silence, trust me, I've tried

And silence is all that is left after us, after we died

Maybe it was for the better, after all,

no more glass will break

And there'll be no more lies

Without Sound

After years and years I never thought I'd see this day
When I'm wide awake and can't even remember your voice
So seemingly brief and unimportant, so seemingly silly
To reminisce about these things that are better left forgotten
And still having forgot is what bothers me
Pierces straight through my heart
I thought these old wounds were quiet
Woven into scars the way they were
Woven into old images without sound
I was mistaken, deceived by myself
To ever think there was a stop to hell

And hell it is when you torture yourself with what was
You had the realization about mortality and shortage of time
It doesn't help, you can't make the minutes obey you
And sometimes during insomnia they rebel
They showcase what's really there under the surface
What you always run from, the monsters under the bed
The monsters in the darkness

You claim that the effects wore off eventually
And that you've done what you can to be finally be free
But your hollow lies don't impress or fool me
I know you for what you are and for what you've been
In the end, aren't you just human with all your flaws
Feeding on your own fear to build your life around
Old images that have lost their sound

And I can't even remember your voice

Buzzy Bee

Leaving tomorrow for a mini-trip until sometime this weekend. I plan to take lots of pictures, go for walks on the beach and generally enjoy my free time. Until then, my head is buzzing with different dates for the many different writing contests I've pledged to participate in throughout the year. I've had one short story down and sent in, currently working on the second one which is also soon completed and about to be submitted. That will leave me with another two short stories, one essay about stereotypes, and a screenplay to write, all before September 30th on varying deadlines. Come to think of it, it might be a good idea if I brought a notepad with me during the next few days, just in case I should spark up any ideas. I'm pretty empty at the moment.


So, basically, I've had no real time to breathe here, I arrived back just yesterday and unpacked only to pack again. What happens after this week is pretty much up for grabs (I'm hoping as little as possible). I might work some more if I need the money but overall, I'm going to avoid it. If anyone could use some time off, it is definitely me.


Also, I think I'll go buy myself an egg timer in order to make word wars much simpler.
See you in a bit, whenever I return again from the road,
POET IN THE JAR

Cocoon Rant

I feel reluctant to leave here and return home again. This place is so timeless and peaceful, like a cocoon of time where all your worries simply fly away. It's heaven for a writer, a real muse for inspiration, and there's so much left to create, so much more that I could DO here, if I only had the allotted time. I don't miss home that much, most people have left for the summer anyway. Surely if I wasn't working I could really do wonders by staying here, even in the company of the Ants, who'll be arriving home in around an hour... It's sad that I can't, at least not for the time being. I'll be leaving on Sunday and I'll miss it. But on the other hand, I have like five or six weeks to spare after next week that I can spend however I like, and I might just use that time to come here again. There are no limitations, only the ones I make for myself. Yeah, I might do that, I'll see how I feel later and maybe I'll resort here back again soon enough.


Short post for this time around.
POET IN THE JAR

Straws Of Grass

It amazes me how dependent you are on worldly things
How truly you can't breathe without your daily dose of trivial
How can you stand yourself, being so blunt and blind
Losing pace, you actually froze in time

You couldn't tell a straw of grass from your bills
You can't remember your latest thrill
You'll always cower behind crosswords
And hide from anything that might hurt

Your meaningful discussions, I reduce them to nothing
Since nothing is exactly what they are
How can you not see that
How can you not see what you are

You've always been good at keeping yourself busy
Your way of protection against late night thinking
You fall asleep and leave the real issues awake
That way you bought yourself another day
You avoid the notion that being saved
will eventually take its toll
It will eventually have a price

Listen to your laughter, it's so hollow
I can see through it, it's so transparent
Like your dreams of tomorrow
Those are just your automatic reply
To my inquiries about ambitions

It doesn't matter if you claim to be happy now
It doesn't matter how you feel about your life
You still created it out of your own contempt
And gave it your holy bliss and consent
Isn't that hypocritical, how can you deny
You've become a reflection of everyone else
And still you make time to mock them all
As if you were better than them

But you're not, you're just like them
You're just someone who gave up on their beliefs
For the benefit of the most conventional kind of life
And without any interest in me
Without any effort for me

You wouldn't even be alive without me

Castle Of Paper & House Of Cards

You made yourself a castle of paper
Folded out of hopes and thoughts
Every tower impossibly delicate
Every door closing at your command
A swirling castle
Made of paper
By your hand

I made myself a house of cards
That sways unsteadily in the wind
And sometimes falls
I rebuild it every time
I built it out of wishes and stars
For every wish I fail to fulfill
The cards fall down
And I restart

There's hills and valleys between us
They are made of papercuts and stamps
I can see them when I balance carefully
On the highest cards of my deck
And sometimes the knight lends me binoculars
Sometimes when the mist clears
I can see the writing on your pages
Sometimes

The ink hadn't dried when you built your fortress
You built it on sore print that became indistinguishable
You built it fast so that no one would be able to read the letters
And you built it high so that no one would be able to climb
You were careless and blind
Your paper doesn't obey you
It secretly rebels
To overthrow you

I never said I was more loyal to my cards
Than you were with your typewriter pages
I never said they speak to me
Anymore than yours speak to you
But I hear the whispers of your house
I hear it carried on the wind
Like a paper plane

I will not take part of or fuel what's there
You already laid out the perfect foundation yourself
It saddens me to see, from my red and black tree
It saddens me to watch your descent
Into denial and addiction
Into fire
Into fire

I wonder if it looks the same to you
If you glance my way on a clear day
If you ever wear those old binoculars
Do you see the same deceit in store for me
Do you see my house of cards
Overthrowing me

I believe you are the one who will fall
After all I have fallen many times before
And I have taught myself how to land
And pick myself up from the ground
You on the other hand never really fell
You spent all your life living on the ground
Until you left, to aim for the stars

I hope you find what you're looking for
That they'll reel down a ladder from the sky
And reward you for all your thoughts and hopes
While I'll fade away in my house of cards
Waving off unfulfilled wishes
As they disappear
Into the mist

Little Twitter Bird

I wanted to have a place to post my writing progress and some overall thoughts about writing - in more specific posts than you'd find here, and I was a bit too lazy to start a whole new blog just for this purpose; so I decided to start tweeting instead. It might also be handy for those of you who are more frequently on Twitter than you are on Blogger (if there are any of those among you).

See you there!

rebeccaferm@twitter

Backwards Storm Chaser

When did everything grow insignificant

Everything that used to touch and stir me

When did I lose my edge against the world

And become this thinker without soul

With only shadows of my former pain

Stinging inside

I'm left only with the thoughts, the ideas, the abstractions

Thinking them all over, pondering them, in my head

It seems I've lost track of all my emotions

Everything I was, everything I believed

Of what mattered in life

How come everything is so pure and beautiful

Until you realize you're going to die some day

You realize, and it stains your every thought,

your every amazement, with a coat of sadness

With a coat of darkness

And the realization is old

You've had it before

You just forced it quiet

I remember when my mirage was to feel, at least once,

every feeling there was to be felt in life and in death

When my presence in the present was the only thing vital

And now I've become a backwards storm chaser,

avoiding everything that might connect me to that time

avoiding everything that might make me tick

and send me back

But who am I fooling, have I ever fooled anyone except myself

Numerous times, thousands of times

Who would buy that trickery of loss of soul

Loss of emotion of all kinds and in all ways

That has never been me

That has never been me

See I was always fucking made of emotions

I was always fucking dependent on them

I've tried to hide them, lose them, sell them, kill them

Tried to shield them, seal them, lock them up, throw them away

Nothing ever works; these fragments always stay

Deep down in the mists of your mind

Where nothing's ever consciously stored

How can I pretend to myself, pretend to anyone

That everything's changed, that I'm different now

That I've become some fucking soldier of steel

That isn't me, that isn't real

But I almost actually bought it this time

I almost actually believed it

I thought I could always live off old diplomas

Dust-gathering in their frames

That it made a difference, that it meant progress

That if I became successful it would be like pointing a finger

at everything and everyone I left behind

but that isn't the case, is it

I'm meant to have these old demons - so are you

It's got nothing to do with fate

It's just the way it works for us

The world was made that way

And so, a moment that seemed completely insignificant at the time

Can be imprinted eternally inside your mind, inside your eyes

Imprinted so well and true that you can still feel your tears burning

Feel your fingers throw your work across the room

Feel the embarrassment rise high on your cheeks

Feel your inability to help it

Then feel your feet against the cold concrete floor

Feel the smell of smoke and oil and gas

Hear the words of attempted but inefficient comfort

Feel the pat on your shoulder

Feel the cold water on your face

Trying to wash it off, to look proper again

To be presentable for the big audience

To be passed down as normal

As if everything's normal

When your life has just been shattered to pieces

There were many moments that were worse, sharper, than this

And still this is what's going to haunt you

We don't get to pick what does

or when it will appear

I admit, shard, you caught me out of the blue

When I thought I had almost forgotten you

I admit that you got the drop on me

And that you managed to rip up my old cuts

But I am going to do the same to you

Until you realize what you put me through

Can't we let be what fucking was

Why so eager to stir up the past

I thought it all had been put to rest

My bad, my bad

My sorrow

The pain is not insignificant

I'm still capable of lies

Although the physical pain has subsided

And only resurfaces at few, given times

It's still there

And the mental pain hasn't faded

It has been blended with confusion

And countless conversations

That never really took place

But in my head

Suddenly it's understandable

Why I traded in my tired, sleepless mind

For a mercifully simple pain

That drove every angst silently away

How come everything isn't pure and beautiful

Until you realize you're going to die some day