Ariera

I find myself lying still in this lattice of thorns, the prickly tethers of what feels like worn rope press into my thick skin. I cannot feel my limbs, only the mass of my torso – I feel taller than before, as if some magical sculptor has stretched me thin, elongating my spine and flesh. The sky flickers – golden yellow fireworks! Oh, but they fail to melt back into the prior gloom, silent and comforting with its masking grimace of unknowingness. This 'Sun' shifts about tentatively, like a glowing ball on a rope swing, suspended above a jungle of apes, threateningly swiping with their great arms. The tapping of faraway footsteps pulses through me and my spiny bed. Perhaps it is some god, coming to rescue me from this dark doom? I shall call out to them – never have I felt more relieved to be in so light a presence when in this crushing black cave of disorientated souls.

My words seem to be muffled by a doughy matter smothering my mouth and airways.

Oh god, what is happening? My sad life will end prematurely after all. Yet, I can still follow my scattered thoughts, disturbed by this awful happening. Perhaps, if I endure my suffering and retain my mind, I can find a way of esca--

My thoughts, ubiquitous and brimming with fear are cut short by the instant dimming of the bright Sun above – a shadow of ill-fate steals my worst notions of terror from my screaming psyche and clasps its dark, deathly fingers (surprisingly fat and fleshy) around my soft frame. My curved chest tightens, my innards twist in the compression, but still am I unable to emit a scream of ashen agony from this inexplicable torture!

‘Ariera*! I have been looking forward to devouring your feathery flesh all day!’ booms a voice, piercing and peeling the air of silence.

Even before panic can diffuse into my veiny body, I immediately feel a sharp stinging on the crown of my head; the shadow’s claws have sunken into my case, like a farmer digging his spade into the hard ground during winter’s defiant months of chill. My head, rife with pain, throbs with heat. The stinging persists and stretches further down my body, my skin, peeling away, leaving my newly exposed flesh raw, white and burning.

I have no teeth to clench together, no eyes to squeeze shut, no hope to desperately cling to. Yet my external senses remain intact, and pulse the excruciating soreness through my nerves which glow threateningly from the sickening pain of this affliction.

Just after a thousand pinpricks stab at my mutilated exterior, inverted and bare, a foul feeling of moist ensnarement rasps through me; doughy bile in my spongy stomach arises; it pulps inside me, for it is unable to surface. Sharp knives rip into my flesh, scraping at my neck, my chest, my pelvis, until I feel a sudden lightness in the midst of this chilling disfigurement of my shredded body. My top half, now mashed into puréed carnage, has been ripped from me by the jaws of a monster!

I cannot resist, I cannot refute. All I can do is lie here, rolling away from the blood-thirsty chambers of an atrocious demon.







…and so is the fate of a banana.

* Ariera is the Latin name for the English word banana (a long, crescent shaped fruit that grows in bunches and has a soft, pulpy texture and yellow external skin when ripe)

Copyright © JRFB 2012

What are you afraid of?

Demons and monsters? Dark secrets from the corners of your mind leaking out into deathly exposure? Judgement?

Writing is almost too sacred for me to work on regularly. I mean, I adore exhaling my thoughts and imaginations through words with infinite interpretations, I really do, but when it comes down to the actual willingness to do it, I often find myself apprehensive. I think it has something to do with the trepidation of coming out with something horrifying, in the sense that I am ashamed to have written such crap and that if read by other human eyes they are sure to reach desperately for the holy water.

I want to develop my writing skills. Unfortunately, I am prone to start with promising ideas and then give up after only a few lines of creativity, not allowing enough time for the ol’ steam train to get moving. This is probably due to laziness and lack of concentration, so I will need to find a way to stick with things, I guess.

Also, a common feature of my writing style is abstract thoughts and first person narrative, but not generally containing a plot. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as the deity Virginia Woolf disagrees with the idea that ‘to provide a plot, to provide comedy, tragedy, love interest’[1] is required to create a story, depicted exquisitely in her masterpiece Mrs Dalloway.

Indeed, I intend to use my knowledge of describing and bringing to life the emotions of the speaker (or should I say my own emotions, as I have lazily not bothered to create characters) and devise a plot in a free indirect narrative for my own satisfaction. I will just write whatever drifts in and out of my mind, reflecting this narrative style and hope for the best. I can always edit and remove the ‘fat’ of globular nonsense when I finally lose steam and force myself to come to an abrupt and exasperated finish to my story.


Wish me luck!



Jaguar

---

[1] V Woolf 'The Common Reader' via http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91c/chapter1.html#chapter1

Skydark

The clouds painted with hints of heaven cast deep, sinister shadows on the beating surf below, slapping at the rocks with the aquatic wrath of a god. The soft arms of nirvana, where glinting gates of gold peep out, allow the Sky god to offer himself as a host, and to dramatize the celestial love from above. The ridges of the nebulae turn from blue to pink as the Sun closes her weary eyes and drifts along to the edge of darkness, shepherding oranges and reds into her sacred field of sleep.

 As my dark pools are torn from the fantastic realm above, I see fields of rusted fronds fluttering in the wind. Strands of cobwebbed hair determined to distract my vision cannot mar this delight: the silver spray from the waves; the pink bonfire of beaming divinity; the teasing light from across the bay. The latter entices my interests with its bitter brightness – a sparkling jewel amongst the lurid colours of sunset. My heart urges me to edge nearer to this furtive radiance and so my legs amble over rocks encrusted with crackling salt crystals, and spiked grasses bleached blue by the Earth’s malice, until the night engulfs my clouded mind and the swirls hanging above.

Chills lace my body as dribbles of icy water seep into my sink; the light draws me closer still. I find myself at the end of the shore.

Before me – nothing but the dark perils of a wintry sea, behind me – the echoes of rusted tufts of deathly shrubs, melting and fragmenting into the curling wind. Below, the hungry waves kiss my feet, waiting for the final plunge; above, the light screams for me, bellowing my name.

The yellow glare penetrates my shivering bones, extracting my soul, my will. So brilliant, so intense – I must join you at the core. My essence, slipped from my hollow shell skips from the shore onto each swirling wave, like the gold flecks from the fountain above, dancing in the bubbling sea.

*

Closer and closer our hearts collide. I release a howl, you discharge a sigh. The rain ceases; the wind croaks; our spirit surges; we are one.

Copyright © JRFB 2012 

'I love you according to my bond'

It kills me when I think like this, but the only reason you're still in my life is because you have to be. Over the past few years you've been slipping away from my heart, and the cord of familiarity is shrinking and shriveling.
After you rouse my boiling frustrations, my heart is heated, aggravated by the flames of searing guilt as I know that such thoughts are against my bonds. But why are you so purposefully spiteful to me?
Do you care? Do you want to help?
We are one, in a sense - I am you and you are me - so have some respect for a part of yourself. Despite my precautions, you still push me further and further away and soon I won't come back. It's exhausting knowing you. Stop wounding me. But each time I prolong our meetings, I prolong confrontation; one last stand is in order - but will I ever come to face it?

Fear overshadows my vexation; fear devours my bleeding heart.

Let me breathe. Let me heal.



Copyright © JRFB 2012 

Loving Through Lies

"What use is there in saying 'I love you' when almost instantly preceding this I think,      'I despise you. Burn'?

For you and I, there is no distinction. Whatever is conjured within my torn soul - shredded by your malice - punctures my enflamed heart, now swollen from your toxins. It is no use resisting, for you return, uninvited - a phantasm gently reaching for my spine, splicing my soul from within.

Freezing fires kill me; revive me; hold me.
Screaming with echoes of euphoric horror as I 
watch your scythe draw near.

My lungs, drowning in your cruelty, draw no air,
My breath evaporates - my blood dies - 
Eyes remain - petrified, molten:

'I mean no harm, I have come to love you'.

Every    
             word    
                           scolds      
each twisted hair on my corpse
scratching deep into my soul.

Air abandons me;
- I do not blame you -
now the fires steam as they
die
All that remains is my broken soul
                                                        - it reeks of death
scathed, black, putrid 

                                     by your simple touch -



Let me out. Don't come back to me, you keep me from my dreams. I do not want you; Love does not want you.

 But love cannot simply be brushed onto empty pages".








Copyright © JRFB 2012 

Words I wish I could speak

I am writing this for you because I am tired of not being able to express how grateful I am. These words are the best I can come up with for now, but still don't do you justice...


Before I knew you, my life was epitomised by a vacant nothingness, an ill-fitting vision of trying to be like everybody else. I felt misunderstood and oppressed; depressed; like nothing I did was good enough, like my whole life was a mistake - frightened, outcasted, alone.

But my soul became blazed with illuminated passions when your influence stole into my heart, when perpetual flames of elation ignited in my veins. You made me realise that I am not just 'weird', a 'misfit', an 'alien' - I am merely myself, Jaguar, and my thoughts and actions are what comprise me, make me special.

Your tender love and ardent cares for humanity astonish me; I can honestly say that I have never felt more comfortable and ready to accept myself than when I think of your valiant and admirable outlook on life. Your words, your aura, are so pure; a light in a once dark world, where phantoms chased me, now soothes away the pain of being different and encourages innovativeness and self-expression.

This has never happened to me before, and at times, it overwhelms me; but know this: your soul - celestial, radiant, opalescent - is the most beautiful presence I have ever felt. You are everything I could ever hope for. I can only thank the Fates for leading me to you.

You really have changed my life.

Now I am much more poised and content with my inner-self, and I owe it all to you; your Phoenix love, burning incandescent over me gives me strength, honour, elation.

Jessica to me, you are truly exquisite. I hope that one day I can meet you and experience your ethereal beauty first hand.


Jaguar



Copyright © JRFB 2012 

The Storm

Your words unspoken have drained
me - soaked me
with remorse and hatred of
those things left to melt away;
fade; drip; through a meaningless
pool of regret.

Seeing into your soul so clearly -a tumultuous river
relentlessly blaming its watery veins - striving to be understood -
appreciated - loved -

My heart quakes. My petrified soul allegedly withstood the pain;
now
the sharp pangs of Chaos pulsate through my mind
torn, ripping,
extracting
every detail - into the maelstrom unleashed.

Distress is my companion -
Anarchy, my aid -

You, however remain
a dull cave
                   of guilt:
Strangely, the artery proceeding

my dying    soul is here; etched,  carved in
lies
within You, my Saviour.



Copyright © JRFB 2012