My last post featured an abstract something that I wrote. I don't really know what it is. Maybe it's a poem? I don't normally write poetry, but more surprising things have happened.
For those of you who read it, to refresh your memories here appears the poem-piece-work-thing again. For those who who have not read it, here now is a chance to read it for the first time:
Twin faces look out from the wall, one above the other.
Their eyes are both fixated to the same point.
They share a look of fright. A look of worry.
As if something's coming after them.
A relentless pursuit.
Each countenance is frozen.
The upper's eyes are wider than the lower's.
The lower seems to feel more dread, like there's a finality about this chase that the other doesn't see.
With both mouths agape, neither of them appear to like what's coming.
The terror is close.
It will catch them any second.
They could run, only they can't.
They're in the wall.
Immobilized.
Incapable of fleeing what is sure to strike...now.
Seconds pass.
The faces are unchanged.
The terror has not overcome.
It just looms.
Like a rain cloud neither approaching nor departing.
In these faces is mirrored my own.
Frightened.
Unmoving.
Never overcome, never overcoming.
There's a real smile-bringer, eh?
Before I continue, I'd be grateful if you would entertain a small digression on creative interpretation. This could mean and/or represent any number of things (although I doubt any of them would be very happy). One of the gifts of the human mind is interpretation. As someone who internally interprets things from the outside then releases them back into the world with her own fingerprint added, the last thing I want to do is stifle that same privilege in others by saying that what I thought when writing is the only valid meaning to be discerned from my creations.
In that spirit, I would like and intend to share here what I was thinking when writing the above unnamed work, but I do so free from the attitude that "what I say goes."
Back to the business at hand, this was inspired by a thoughtful look at my bedroom wall. The "twin faces" were found in an electrical outlet (an American one, of course), that I spied from the side. The vertical slits formed each pair of eyes, the round holes made to accommodate the third prong on three-pronged plugs served as mouths. I was feeling particularly melancholy in this moment, and as it's melancholy and mirth that spawn the majority of artistic endeavors, I guess it's no surprise that I was overwhelmed with an urge to find a pen.
The brand of melancholy darkening my mood was spawned in part by frustrations of feeling almost incarcerated in circumstances, unable to get out of them to do what it is that I want most. As soon as I saw the faces, I thought it was significant that they were unable to move. I also found significance in the fact that not only is their spatial position fixed, their expressions are never allowed to change. If their expressions can't change, maybe what's bothering them is unchanging. The good news of that is, it will never get any worse. The bad news is, it will never get any better. I've felt that.
Though I've felt that, however, I don't believe it. Not eternally. But my eternal beliefs would not shine with so much hope if melancholy didn't take me to such dark places.
For those of you who read it, to refresh your memories here appears the poem-piece-work-thing again. For those who who have not read it, here now is a chance to read it for the first time:
Twin faces look out from the wall, one above the other.
Their eyes are both fixated to the same point.
They share a look of fright. A look of worry.
As if something's coming after them.
A relentless pursuit.
Each countenance is frozen.
The upper's eyes are wider than the lower's.
The lower seems to feel more dread, like there's a finality about this chase that the other doesn't see.
With both mouths agape, neither of them appear to like what's coming.
The terror is close.
It will catch them any second.
They could run, only they can't.
They're in the wall.
Immobilized.
Incapable of fleeing what is sure to strike...now.
Seconds pass.
The faces are unchanged.
The terror has not overcome.
It just looms.
Like a rain cloud neither approaching nor departing.
In these faces is mirrored my own.
Frightened.
Unmoving.
Never overcome, never overcoming.
There's a real smile-bringer, eh?
Before I continue, I'd be grateful if you would entertain a small digression on creative interpretation. This could mean and/or represent any number of things (although I doubt any of them would be very happy). One of the gifts of the human mind is interpretation. As someone who internally interprets things from the outside then releases them back into the world with her own fingerprint added, the last thing I want to do is stifle that same privilege in others by saying that what I thought when writing is the only valid meaning to be discerned from my creations.
In that spirit, I would like and intend to share here what I was thinking when writing the above unnamed work, but I do so free from the attitude that "what I say goes."
Back to the business at hand, this was inspired by a thoughtful look at my bedroom wall. The "twin faces" were found in an electrical outlet (an American one, of course), that I spied from the side. The vertical slits formed each pair of eyes, the round holes made to accommodate the third prong on three-pronged plugs served as mouths. I was feeling particularly melancholy in this moment, and as it's melancholy and mirth that spawn the majority of artistic endeavors, I guess it's no surprise that I was overwhelmed with an urge to find a pen.
The brand of melancholy darkening my mood was spawned in part by frustrations of feeling almost incarcerated in circumstances, unable to get out of them to do what it is that I want most. As soon as I saw the faces, I thought it was significant that they were unable to move. I also found significance in the fact that not only is their spatial position fixed, their expressions are never allowed to change. If their expressions can't change, maybe what's bothering them is unchanging. The good news of that is, it will never get any worse. The bad news is, it will never get any better. I've felt that.
Though I've felt that, however, I don't believe it. Not eternally. But my eternal beliefs would not shine with so much hope if melancholy didn't take me to such dark places.
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I like conversation. Your comments promote conversation. You know what to do. Vielen Dank.