Thursday, June 20, 2013
Mistakes
I made a mistake,
I chose the wrong girl
I looked at her face
and I saw beauty of the world.
But before I realized
Our fates were not alined,
Instead of using my eyes
I should've looked with my mind.
You see,
Beauty's just the cover,
You gotta read the book,
You can't claim your lover
Based on how they look.
We had nothing in common,
And we had nothing to gain,
And now that we're separate
Im truly ashamed.
I can see myself now,
Running from the sin,
Hiding from the mistakes
I never should've commit.
And as the morning breaks,
And I'm alone in my pain,
I wonder if she wakes
And feels the same shame.
I can't trust my eyes,
Because they only deceive,
They only feed the lies
My heart wants to perceive.
And now as I'm writing,
I interpret my emotions,
Because instead of crying,
Instead of heartbreak...
I just think, it was all a mistake.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
The Apartment (another revised addition. Also a plot change)
The apartment is where he wrote. Inspired by the white walls and yellow stains running down the corner of the walls. He had ripped out the carpet and rolled it up, placing it in the corner of his living room. Now, the apartment, empty, cold hard floor, rusted pipes, boarded up windows. the man was happy.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name, was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say, "hello Leonardo, how are you?", and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given. Those people would begin accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
CHAPTER ONE:
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it at different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it. After placing the board on the ground in the corner of his living room. He took a nail and held the point against the board. But before striking it with his hammer he kissed the nail and muttered hopefully.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The cracking sound that Leonardo so hoped for was
replaced with three dull thuds. The nail's point had been bent and flattened, and where the nail was pushed into the board bore a small dent that Leonardo had to squint to see.
It's hard to tell whether it was a case of perfectionist, or just a need to destroy. For Leonardo, perfection is in the essence of destruction. Something that can be broken down and shattered into perfection might as well be. So begins this story, it all started when Leonardo wanted to purchase a chainsaw.
"One chainsaw please"
The lady looked at Leonardo, puzzled in her uniform, "Well did you find one you fancied or do you just expect me to know?"
With a nod, "Yes"
"okay then..." She smiled at a passing customer. "Go on now, the store's not going to hurt you."
Leonardo looked openly at the aisles brimmed with power tools and two-by-fours, and promptly left. The door made a ringing sound as he left, much like the one he faintly remembered sounding as he had previously entered. Leonardo thought it to be a rather odd ring.
He then went to the store to buy some biscuits. As he bagged it and started off to leave a stranger who seemed apt to converse approached him.
"Hello good sir, what might your name be?" before Leonardo had time to reply the stranger continued, "M'name is Claire, though most people call me Stuffy, no idear why. What did you say your name was?
"I see you have got yourself some biscuits, now this has been irking me. Does a fine man like yourself have a preference with your biscuits to drink Tea? Or do you consume a glass of milk."
"Why, I drink milk."
"like-wise, though I enjoy a good cup of tea it just doesn't blend as well as milk. I appreciate your time sir but I should be off and hoppin'. Farewell!" Leonardo headed home. Thinking what a strange encounter that definitely was.
Leonardo had a sort of face that people just felt comfortable with. It was acceptable you might say. He once said to the mailman at his previous flat, 'Mailman, I hate my face. When I want it to tell people to go away they do just the opposite, I can only assume my face is disobeying me. I hate it.' That same day Leonardo moved out.
There was a recent infestation of mice in Leonardos apartment, and while the owner pondered over the cheapest and quickest way to rid them of the pests, Leonardo was getting used to the furry little friends. In his apartment there were two little fuzzy home destroyers. He called one of them Chippy, and the other one Cracker. Chippy was white. Cracker was a dark brown.
When Leonardo returned home. He could see their little red eyes gazing at him from under a pile of plywood. He rushed to the kitchen, kicking rubble as he walked, and opened up his biscuits. Taking the first one and breaking it in half, he gave the two halves to the mice. He then took a second one for himself. The three of them ate the dry biscuits biscuits together.
The mice dashed away, making slight scuffling noises as they both tried to squeeze through the same crack in the wall. It never occurred to Leonardo how odd it was to have two mice living together in the same place. He did happen to say to himself, "they really do make a good couple... Of brothers, two lovely mice gentlemen."
A week passed and he saw them on occasion, but they spend most their time in the wall, even when he fed them. The time came then, that three things changed upon this day. One, the apartment owner bought five cats. Two, Leonardo ran out of biscuits. And lastly, upon the dawn of this new day, leonardo found his two mice with seven pink younglings.
It was the crying of these mice that woke him and brought him to find a letter at his door addressing the five new cats. Which brought him back to reality on the noise. The squeaking was in such magnitude that he felt sure there was some 50 score mice behind his wall all moaning about great pain in their hind quarters. But looking behind he counted only nine. He fed them the last crumbs from his biscuit supply, and then made his way to the store to buy another batch.
Stuffy was at the store, waiting for him. He suspected she had been previously aware of his schedule and knew exactly when he would be back, he suspicions were confirmed:
"Hello again! I knew you would be here, judging on the fact that you come here the same day every week, it was easy for me to be previously aware of your schedule for today."
"Hullo stuffy, I suppose you want to hear about my week?"
"Well that would be grand!"
"Yes I suppose so. Here it is, my two pet mice whom I shared a daily biscuit with have mated with each other and produced 7 more pets for me to look after. I'm quite worried you know, I only have so many pounds for so many biscuits. What do you propose I do?"
"Why buy them cheese of course! Mice love cheese." That particular stereotype never occurred to him and Stuffy's advice proved indisputably true. They said their farewells and went their ways.
When Leonardo returned home and had his biscuits with milk he had bought, he saw to it that the mice had their cheese. Then, he went back to what he had been doing since he bought his flat. He returned to his destruction, as he was almost finished.
When at last the apartment was perfectly destroyed, he fetched his typewriter from a box of his possessions he had, and he began to write.
CHAPTER TWO:
When Leonardo was a boy he wrote often and many people thought it peculiar. It wasn't that he was a particularly fantastic writer. In fact he started out with the simplest things and showed anyone who could read what he had written. It was on one cold afternoon that Leonardo was really inspired. He sat on a bench and stared at a tree like a painter would; measuring it, calculating diameter.
He wrote, whilst sitting on that bench, his first published quote at the age of 12. The quote goes "I like that tree. (an arrow was drawn pointing, from his perspective, at the tree) It does not try to be better then any of the other trees even though it is small and probably won't get any bigger than it is now, it still produces as much as it can to help others survive." This work was published in the school newspaper, read by a professor who analyzed it and the quote was then proclaimed "Profound" and was published in the London News.
Leonardo left his apartment on Tuesday. The mail ran regularly on Wednesday and even though Leonardo checked his mail daily he never expected anything to receive anything on Tuesday, and he didn't on this day. He walked up with a key and unlocked his mailbox and looked inside to see an empty box as he expected. But he turned around to see to his utmost surprise, Stuffy! Standing with her back to him. She wore a green turtleneck and her hair was done quite fantastically.
He was so caught by this that eyebrows almost met his hairline. She wasn't leaving, but standing there reading a letter, with one hand on the door out of the post office. The letter she held was stained with age and embroidered with lace. The writing was sheer calligraphy! So of course Leonardo could read it clear as day.
Stuffy turned around. "Leonardo! You scared me, dear man, I cannot read a word of this letter. It wasnt sent to me through mail, since the mail runs tomorrow and I checked my mail last week. Do you have any clue as to what it is about and how it got in my box?"
"Well it is addressed to a Clair Pertwee."
"That's my name."
"Ah, then let me see it here..."
Dear Clair Perwee,
We have never really met. I lived once directly below your flat. Could never quite work myself up to introducing myself. I would like to make my feelings know though, I love you Clair Pertwee, many times I could see you walk past me and you would no notice me. But for you my heart burns.
Sincerely,
Micheal
"Did it give a last name?"
"It just says Micheal."
"That's odd... How could he live a flat below me, I currently live on the first floor directly above the lobby."
Leonardo widened his eyes and looked down in concentration, then, "I got it!"
"Well out with it! Who is the man?"
"That is just it my dear Stuffy, the man is not a man. For the man is a mouse living under the floor boards!"
"Well bugger if you have an idea."
"What? I'm dead straight Ma'am."
"What is this to you, a Bon mot? Sakes." Stuffy folds up the letter and hobbles away with it sticking from her hand bag. Leonardo shrugs and moves on.
Today he went to the Author House; a small business of writers. Any one who wanted to make a career in writing and publishing had to go through the author house at one time or another. Leonardo wrote articles for a London monthly periodical "Analogies for the Inquiring Mind." It wasn't the most favorable of Monthlies but it did help Leonardo go along. However the simplicity that his life demands, Leonardo gets by.
The Author House was hidden in the back of a small corner store that sold primarily books that were Pre-owned. Upon entering the store one would go to the back and open the green door. This door Leeds to a hallway where on the left at the end of a hallway one would find another door leading into the Author House. There is a certain lonely ambiance Leonardo feels when he makes the trip, that reminds him of a secret organization you might read of in a book. When in all actuality the passage to and from the destination goes entirely without issue. Were you a trespasser no one would stop you.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name, was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say, "hello Leonardo, how are you?", and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given. Those people would begin accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
CHAPTER ONE:
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it at different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it. After placing the board on the ground in the corner of his living room. He took a nail and held the point against the board. But before striking it with his hammer he kissed the nail and muttered hopefully.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The cracking sound that Leonardo so hoped for was
replaced with three dull thuds. The nail's point had been bent and flattened, and where the nail was pushed into the board bore a small dent that Leonardo had to squint to see.
It's hard to tell whether it was a case of perfectionist, or just a need to destroy. For Leonardo, perfection is in the essence of destruction. Something that can be broken down and shattered into perfection might as well be. So begins this story, it all started when Leonardo wanted to purchase a chainsaw.
"One chainsaw please"
The lady looked at Leonardo, puzzled in her uniform, "Well did you find one you fancied or do you just expect me to know?"
With a nod, "Yes"
"okay then..." She smiled at a passing customer. "Go on now, the store's not going to hurt you."
Leonardo looked openly at the aisles brimmed with power tools and two-by-fours, and promptly left. The door made a ringing sound as he left, much like the one he faintly remembered sounding as he had previously entered. Leonardo thought it to be a rather odd ring.
He then went to the store to buy some biscuits. As he bagged it and started off to leave a stranger who seemed apt to converse approached him.
"Hello good sir, what might your name be?" before Leonardo had time to reply the stranger continued, "M'name is Claire, though most people call me Stuffy, no idear why. What did you say your name was?
"I see you have got yourself some biscuits, now this has been irking me. Does a fine man like yourself have a preference with your biscuits to drink Tea? Or do you consume a glass of milk."
"Why, I drink milk."
"like-wise, though I enjoy a good cup of tea it just doesn't blend as well as milk. I appreciate your time sir but I should be off and hoppin'. Farewell!" Leonardo headed home. Thinking what a strange encounter that definitely was.
Leonardo had a sort of face that people just felt comfortable with. It was acceptable you might say. He once said to the mailman at his previous flat, 'Mailman, I hate my face. When I want it to tell people to go away they do just the opposite, I can only assume my face is disobeying me. I hate it.' That same day Leonardo moved out.
There was a recent infestation of mice in Leonardos apartment, and while the owner pondered over the cheapest and quickest way to rid them of the pests, Leonardo was getting used to the furry little friends. In his apartment there were two little fuzzy home destroyers. He called one of them Chippy, and the other one Cracker. Chippy was white. Cracker was a dark brown.
When Leonardo returned home. He could see their little red eyes gazing at him from under a pile of plywood. He rushed to the kitchen, kicking rubble as he walked, and opened up his biscuits. Taking the first one and breaking it in half, he gave the two halves to the mice. He then took a second one for himself. The three of them ate the dry biscuits biscuits together.
The mice dashed away, making slight scuffling noises as they both tried to squeeze through the same crack in the wall. It never occurred to Leonardo how odd it was to have two mice living together in the same place. He did happen to say to himself, "they really do make a good couple... Of brothers, two lovely mice gentlemen."
A week passed and he saw them on occasion, but they spend most their time in the wall, even when he fed them. The time came then, that three things changed upon this day. One, the apartment owner bought five cats. Two, Leonardo ran out of biscuits. And lastly, upon the dawn of this new day, leonardo found his two mice with seven pink younglings.
It was the crying of these mice that woke him and brought him to find a letter at his door addressing the five new cats. Which brought him back to reality on the noise. The squeaking was in such magnitude that he felt sure there was some 50 score mice behind his wall all moaning about great pain in their hind quarters. But looking behind he counted only nine. He fed them the last crumbs from his biscuit supply, and then made his way to the store to buy another batch.
Stuffy was at the store, waiting for him. He suspected she had been previously aware of his schedule and knew exactly when he would be back, he suspicions were confirmed:
"Hello again! I knew you would be here, judging on the fact that you come here the same day every week, it was easy for me to be previously aware of your schedule for today."
"Hullo stuffy, I suppose you want to hear about my week?"
"Well that would be grand!"
"Yes I suppose so. Here it is, my two pet mice whom I shared a daily biscuit with have mated with each other and produced 7 more pets for me to look after. I'm quite worried you know, I only have so many pounds for so many biscuits. What do you propose I do?"
"Why buy them cheese of course! Mice love cheese." That particular stereotype never occurred to him and Stuffy's advice proved indisputably true. They said their farewells and went their ways.
When Leonardo returned home and had his biscuits with milk he had bought, he saw to it that the mice had their cheese. Then, he went back to what he had been doing since he bought his flat. He returned to his destruction, as he was almost finished.
When at last the apartment was perfectly destroyed, he fetched his typewriter from a box of his possessions he had, and he began to write.
CHAPTER TWO:
When Leonardo was a boy he wrote often and many people thought it peculiar. It wasn't that he was a particularly fantastic writer. In fact he started out with the simplest things and showed anyone who could read what he had written. It was on one cold afternoon that Leonardo was really inspired. He sat on a bench and stared at a tree like a painter would; measuring it, calculating diameter.
He wrote, whilst sitting on that bench, his first published quote at the age of 12. The quote goes "I like that tree. (an arrow was drawn pointing, from his perspective, at the tree) It does not try to be better then any of the other trees even though it is small and probably won't get any bigger than it is now, it still produces as much as it can to help others survive." This work was published in the school newspaper, read by a professor who analyzed it and the quote was then proclaimed "Profound" and was published in the London News.
Leonardo left his apartment on Tuesday. The mail ran regularly on Wednesday and even though Leonardo checked his mail daily he never expected anything to receive anything on Tuesday, and he didn't on this day. He walked up with a key and unlocked his mailbox and looked inside to see an empty box as he expected. But he turned around to see to his utmost surprise, Stuffy! Standing with her back to him. She wore a green turtleneck and her hair was done quite fantastically.
He was so caught by this that eyebrows almost met his hairline. She wasn't leaving, but standing there reading a letter, with one hand on the door out of the post office. The letter she held was stained with age and embroidered with lace. The writing was sheer calligraphy! So of course Leonardo could read it clear as day.
Stuffy turned around. "Leonardo! You scared me, dear man, I cannot read a word of this letter. It wasnt sent to me through mail, since the mail runs tomorrow and I checked my mail last week. Do you have any clue as to what it is about and how it got in my box?"
"Well it is addressed to a Clair Pertwee."
"That's my name."
"Ah, then let me see it here..."
Dear Clair Perwee,
We have never really met. I lived once directly below your flat. Could never quite work myself up to introducing myself. I would like to make my feelings know though, I love you Clair Pertwee, many times I could see you walk past me and you would no notice me. But for you my heart burns.
Sincerely,
Micheal
"Did it give a last name?"
"It just says Micheal."
"That's odd... How could he live a flat below me, I currently live on the first floor directly above the lobby."
Leonardo widened his eyes and looked down in concentration, then, "I got it!"
"Well out with it! Who is the man?"
"That is just it my dear Stuffy, the man is not a man. For the man is a mouse living under the floor boards!"
"Well bugger if you have an idea."
"What? I'm dead straight Ma'am."
"What is this to you, a Bon mot? Sakes." Stuffy folds up the letter and hobbles away with it sticking from her hand bag. Leonardo shrugs and moves on.
Today he went to the Author House; a small business of writers. Any one who wanted to make a career in writing and publishing had to go through the author house at one time or another. Leonardo wrote articles for a London monthly periodical "Analogies for the Inquiring Mind." It wasn't the most favorable of Monthlies but it did help Leonardo go along. However the simplicity that his life demands, Leonardo gets by.
The Author House was hidden in the back of a small corner store that sold primarily books that were Pre-owned. Upon entering the store one would go to the back and open the green door. This door Leeds to a hallway where on the left at the end of a hallway one would find another door leading into the Author House. There is a certain lonely ambiance Leonardo feels when he makes the trip, that reminds him of a secret organization you might read of in a book. When in all actuality the passage to and from the destination goes entirely without issue. Were you a trespasser no one would stop you.
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Apartment (newly revised and recent additions)
The apartment is where he wrote. Inspired by the white walls and yellow stains running down the corner of the walls. He had ripped out the carpet and rolled it up, placing it in the corner of his living room. Now, the apartment, empty, cold hard floor, rusted pipes, boarded up windows. the man was happy.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name, was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say, "hello Leonardo, how are you?", and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given. Those people would begin accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
CHAPTER ONE:
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it at different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it. After placing the board on the ground in the corner of his living room. He took a nail and held the point against the board. But before striking it with his hammer he kissed the nail and muttered hopefully.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The cracking sound that Leonardo so hoped for was
replaced with three dull thuds. The nail's point had been bent and flattened, and where the nail was pushed into the board bore a small dent that Leonardo had to squint to see.
It's hard to tell whether it was a case of perfectionist, or just a need to destroy. For Leonardo, perfection is in the essence of destruction. Something that can be broken down and shattered into perfection might as well be. So begins this story, it all started when Leonardo wanted to purchase a chainsaw.
"One chainsaw please"
The lady looked at Leonardo, puzzled in her uniform, "Well did you find one you fancied or do you just expect me to know?"
With a nod, "Yes"
"okay then..." She smiled at a passing customer. "Go on now, the store's not going to hurt you."
Leonardo looked openly at the aisles brimmed with power tools and two-by-fours, and promptly left. The door made a ringing sound as he left, much like the one he faintly remembered sounding as he had previously entered. Leonardo thought it to be a rather odd ring.
He then went to the store to buy some biscuits. As he bagged it and started off to leave a stranger who seemed apt to converse approached him.
"Hello good sir, what might your name be?" before Leonardo had time to reply the stranger continued, "M'name is Claire, though most people call me Stuffy, no idear why. What did you say your name was?
"I see you have got yourself some biscuits, now this has been irking me. Does a fine man like yourself have a preference with your biscuits to drink Tea? Or do you consume a glass of milk."
"Why, I drink milk."
"like-wise, though I enjoy a good cup of tea it just doesn't blend as well as milk. I appreciate your time sir but I should be off and hoppin'. Farewell!" Leonardo headed home. Thinking what a strange encounter that definitely was.
Leonardo had a sort of face that people just felt comfortable with. It was acceptable you might say. He once said to the mailman at his previous flat, 'Mailman, I hate my face. When I want it to tell people to go away they do just the opposite, I can only assume my face is disobeying me. I hate it.' That same day Leonardo moved out.
There was a recent infestation of mice in Leonardos apartment, and while the owner pondered over the cheapest and quickest way to rid them of the pests, Leonardo was getting used to the furry little friends. In his apartment there were two little fuzzy home destroyers. He called one of them Chippy, and the other one Cracker. Chippy was white. Cracker was a dark brown.
When Leonardo returned home. He could see their little red eyes gazing at him from under a pile of plywood. He rushed to the kitchen, kicking rubble as he walked, and opened up his biscuits. Taking the first one and breaking it in half, he gave the two halves to the mice. He then took a second one for himself. The three of them ate the dry biscuits biscuits together.
The mice dashed away, making slight scuffling noises as they both tried to squeeze through the same crack in the wall. It never occurred to Leonardo how odd it was to have two mice living together in the same place. He did happen to say to himself, "they really do make a good couple... Of brothers, two lovely mice gentlemen."
A week passed and he saw them on occasion, but they spend most their time in the wall, even when he fed them. The time came then, that three things changed upon this day. One, the apartment owner bought five cats. Two, Leonardo ran out of biscuits. And lastly, upon the dawn of this new day, leonardo found his two mice with seven pink younglings.
It was the crying of these mice that woke him and brought him to find a letter at his door addressing the five new cats. Which brought him back to reality on the noise. The squeaking was in such magnitude that he felt sure there was sum 50 score mice behind his wall all moaning about great pain in their hind quarters. But looking behind he counted only nine. He fed them the last crumbs from his biscuit supply, and then made his way to the store to buy another batch.
Stuffy was at the store, waiting for him. He suspected she had been previously aware of his schedule and knew exactly when he would be back, he suspicions were confirmed:
"Hello again! I knew you would be here, judging on the fact that you come here the same day every week, it was easy for me to be previously aware of your schedule for today."
"Hullo stuffy, I suppose you want to hear about my week?"
"Well that would be grand!"
"Yes I suppose so. Here it is, my two pet mice whom I shared a daily biscuit with have mated with each other and produced 7 more pets for me to look after. I'm quite worried you know, I only have so many pounds for so many biscuits. What do you propose I do?"
"Why buy them cheese of course! Mice love cheese." That particular stereotype never occurred to him and Stuffy's advice proved indisputably true. They said their farewells and went their ways.
When Leonardo returned home and had his biscuits with milk he had bought, he saw to it that the mice had their cheese. Then, he went back to what he had been doing since he bought his flat. He returned to his destruction, as he was almost finished.
When at last the apartment was perfectly destroyed, he fetched his typewriter from a box of his possessions he had, and he began to write.
CHAPTER TWO:
When Leonardo was a boy he wrote often and many people thought it peculiar. It wasn't that he was a particularly fantastic writer. In fact he started out with the simplest things and showed anyone who could read what he had written. It was on one cold afternoon that Leonardo was really inspired. He sat on a bench and stared at a tree like a painter would; measuring it, calculating diameter.
He wrote whilst sitting on that bench, the sentence: "What if a tree suddenly fell and I was not here to see it, yet from a distance I could hear it, and in that time of me coming back to investigate the noise a by-passer hoisted the tree back into position? Would the tree have fallen?" he wrote this statement at the age of 12. The day he wrote that was the day that he was asked George Berkeley's popular question that we all know and love.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name, was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say, "hello Leonardo, how are you?", and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given. Those people would begin accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
CHAPTER ONE:
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it at different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it. After placing the board on the ground in the corner of his living room. He took a nail and held the point against the board. But before striking it with his hammer he kissed the nail and muttered hopefully.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The cracking sound that Leonardo so hoped for was
replaced with three dull thuds. The nail's point had been bent and flattened, and where the nail was pushed into the board bore a small dent that Leonardo had to squint to see.
It's hard to tell whether it was a case of perfectionist, or just a need to destroy. For Leonardo, perfection is in the essence of destruction. Something that can be broken down and shattered into perfection might as well be. So begins this story, it all started when Leonardo wanted to purchase a chainsaw.
"One chainsaw please"
The lady looked at Leonardo, puzzled in her uniform, "Well did you find one you fancied or do you just expect me to know?"
With a nod, "Yes"
"okay then..." She smiled at a passing customer. "Go on now, the store's not going to hurt you."
Leonardo looked openly at the aisles brimmed with power tools and two-by-fours, and promptly left. The door made a ringing sound as he left, much like the one he faintly remembered sounding as he had previously entered. Leonardo thought it to be a rather odd ring.
He then went to the store to buy some biscuits. As he bagged it and started off to leave a stranger who seemed apt to converse approached him.
"Hello good sir, what might your name be?" before Leonardo had time to reply the stranger continued, "M'name is Claire, though most people call me Stuffy, no idear why. What did you say your name was?
"I see you have got yourself some biscuits, now this has been irking me. Does a fine man like yourself have a preference with your biscuits to drink Tea? Or do you consume a glass of milk."
"Why, I drink milk."
"like-wise, though I enjoy a good cup of tea it just doesn't blend as well as milk. I appreciate your time sir but I should be off and hoppin'. Farewell!" Leonardo headed home. Thinking what a strange encounter that definitely was.
Leonardo had a sort of face that people just felt comfortable with. It was acceptable you might say. He once said to the mailman at his previous flat, 'Mailman, I hate my face. When I want it to tell people to go away they do just the opposite, I can only assume my face is disobeying me. I hate it.' That same day Leonardo moved out.
There was a recent infestation of mice in Leonardos apartment, and while the owner pondered over the cheapest and quickest way to rid them of the pests, Leonardo was getting used to the furry little friends. In his apartment there were two little fuzzy home destroyers. He called one of them Chippy, and the other one Cracker. Chippy was white. Cracker was a dark brown.
When Leonardo returned home. He could see their little red eyes gazing at him from under a pile of plywood. He rushed to the kitchen, kicking rubble as he walked, and opened up his biscuits. Taking the first one and breaking it in half, he gave the two halves to the mice. He then took a second one for himself. The three of them ate the dry biscuits biscuits together.
The mice dashed away, making slight scuffling noises as they both tried to squeeze through the same crack in the wall. It never occurred to Leonardo how odd it was to have two mice living together in the same place. He did happen to say to himself, "they really do make a good couple... Of brothers, two lovely mice gentlemen."
A week passed and he saw them on occasion, but they spend most their time in the wall, even when he fed them. The time came then, that three things changed upon this day. One, the apartment owner bought five cats. Two, Leonardo ran out of biscuits. And lastly, upon the dawn of this new day, leonardo found his two mice with seven pink younglings.
It was the crying of these mice that woke him and brought him to find a letter at his door addressing the five new cats. Which brought him back to reality on the noise. The squeaking was in such magnitude that he felt sure there was sum 50 score mice behind his wall all moaning about great pain in their hind quarters. But looking behind he counted only nine. He fed them the last crumbs from his biscuit supply, and then made his way to the store to buy another batch.
Stuffy was at the store, waiting for him. He suspected she had been previously aware of his schedule and knew exactly when he would be back, he suspicions were confirmed:
"Hello again! I knew you would be here, judging on the fact that you come here the same day every week, it was easy for me to be previously aware of your schedule for today."
"Hullo stuffy, I suppose you want to hear about my week?"
"Well that would be grand!"
"Yes I suppose so. Here it is, my two pet mice whom I shared a daily biscuit with have mated with each other and produced 7 more pets for me to look after. I'm quite worried you know, I only have so many pounds for so many biscuits. What do you propose I do?"
"Why buy them cheese of course! Mice love cheese." That particular stereotype never occurred to him and Stuffy's advice proved indisputably true. They said their farewells and went their ways.
When Leonardo returned home and had his biscuits with milk he had bought, he saw to it that the mice had their cheese. Then, he went back to what he had been doing since he bought his flat. He returned to his destruction, as he was almost finished.
When at last the apartment was perfectly destroyed, he fetched his typewriter from a box of his possessions he had, and he began to write.
CHAPTER TWO:
When Leonardo was a boy he wrote often and many people thought it peculiar. It wasn't that he was a particularly fantastic writer. In fact he started out with the simplest things and showed anyone who could read what he had written. It was on one cold afternoon that Leonardo was really inspired. He sat on a bench and stared at a tree like a painter would; measuring it, calculating diameter.
He wrote whilst sitting on that bench, the sentence: "What if a tree suddenly fell and I was not here to see it, yet from a distance I could hear it, and in that time of me coming back to investigate the noise a by-passer hoisted the tree back into position? Would the tree have fallen?" he wrote this statement at the age of 12. The day he wrote that was the day that he was asked George Berkeley's popular question that we all know and love.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The Apartment
The apartment is where he wrote. Inspired by the white walls and yellow stains running down the corner of the walls. He had ripped out the carpet and rolled it up, placing it in the corner of his living room. Now, the apartment, empty, cold hard floor, rusted pipes, boarded up windows, the man was happy.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say "hello Leonardo, how are you?" and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given, those people would too accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it an different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say "hello Leonardo, how are you?" and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given, those people would too accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly tearing apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it an different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it.
The Apartment
The apartment is where he wrote. Inspired by the white walls and yellow stains running down the corner of the walls. He had ripped out the carpet and rolled it up, placing it in the corner of his living room. Now, the apartment, empty, cold hard floor, rusted pipes, boarded up windows, the man was happy.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say "hello Leonardo, how are you?" and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given, those people would too accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly taring apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it an different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it.
This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say "hello Leonardo, how are you?" and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given, those people would too accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.
One day after a long day of perfectly taring apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.
This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it an different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.
Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it.
Apologies
Sorry being inactive and not consistent with my blog. I do hope by now you have read most, if not all of my posts on here but I am planning on posting more.
I am currently working on a book which I have posted a few excerpts to on here, but I also started a short story I have titled "The Apartment". Now I call it a short story though it is unfinished because I will expect that the finished work will be formidable to be read in one sitting but I will be posting all updates to that and the first 4 or 5 paragraphs should appear above this message.
I do hope you continue following my updates, I will every so often post a poem and I am considering writing a few book reviews (if you like this idea then give your Opinions in the comments below).
Anyways, Faithful Few, keep reading and I will keep writing!
Auf Weidersehen!
I am currently working on a book which I have posted a few excerpts to on here, but I also started a short story I have titled "The Apartment". Now I call it a short story though it is unfinished because I will expect that the finished work will be formidable to be read in one sitting but I will be posting all updates to that and the first 4 or 5 paragraphs should appear above this message.
I do hope you continue following my updates, I will every so often post a poem and I am considering writing a few book reviews (if you like this idea then give your Opinions in the comments below).
Anyways, Faithful Few, keep reading and I will keep writing!
Auf Weidersehen!
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Mad Happenings
**original and unrevised piece**
There was a strange woman and a strange man. The woman, on all fours, barked incoherently, and people obediently kept their distance.
I walked up. "what is wrong with her?" I asked the man.
He raised his nose in his reply, "simply stick out your hand boy, she doesn't bite."
I slowly extended my trembling fingers towards her. To my surprise, after the woman was through with her barking and had noticed my feeble act, she stuck her nose forward, sniffed, and then gingerly licked my hand.
I yanked my hand back and instantly wiped the grime onto my pant leg, disgusted at what was taking place, but the man stopped me. "do not be startled!" he sounded desperate, "she likes you."
The woman crouched lower to the ground, promptly sticking out her tongue as she backed her rear next to me and looks up expectingly.
"well," said the man as he briskly departed, "she's all yours."
TO BE CONTINUED AND REVISED
There was a strange woman and a strange man. The woman, on all fours, barked incoherently, and people obediently kept their distance.
I walked up. "what is wrong with her?" I asked the man.
He raised his nose in his reply, "simply stick out your hand boy, she doesn't bite."
I slowly extended my trembling fingers towards her. To my surprise, after the woman was through with her barking and had noticed my feeble act, she stuck her nose forward, sniffed, and then gingerly licked my hand.
I yanked my hand back and instantly wiped the grime onto my pant leg, disgusted at what was taking place, but the man stopped me. "do not be startled!" he sounded desperate, "she likes you."
The woman crouched lower to the ground, promptly sticking out her tongue as she backed her rear next to me and looks up expectingly.
"well," said the man as he briskly departed, "she's all yours."
TO BE CONTINUED AND REVISED
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Bound by silence
BOUND BY SILENCE
All in all I am bound by silence,
It is that that truly defines me.
To keep out what I can,
To let in what ever wills it,
But this silent presence,
Is not truly marked by glee.
It is not the wings of the mind,
The birth of ideas,
No, it is the unspoken truths
that take this time to haunt me.
I have been chosen,
But to be the only one chosen,
Does not make me special,
But merely lonely.
I have no hope of a simple understanding,
A knowledge or determination of learning what others find mandatory.
But this is all bound just by my silence,
It does not enhance my perfection,
It does not slow my progression.
But silence inspires each word I speak.
Silence is my link, the key to my poetry.
I am determined of one thing,
That this shall be a statement,
No questioning or demanding or retorting.
And this statement is fact,
That I am bound by my silence,
I am blessed by yours,
And It is vital to my stimulation.
I can't speak,
I am bound by silence,
Even if I did, I would be unheard,
Because I am marked by my insignificance.
All in all I am bound by silence,
It is that that truly defines me.
To keep out what I can,
To let in what ever wills it,
But this silent presence,
Is not truly marked by glee.
It is not the wings of the mind,
The birth of ideas,
No, it is the unspoken truths
that take this time to haunt me.
I have been chosen,
But to be the only one chosen,
Does not make me special,
But merely lonely.
I have no hope of a simple understanding,
A knowledge or determination of learning what others find mandatory.
But this is all bound just by my silence,
It does not enhance my perfection,
It does not slow my progression.
But silence inspires each word I speak.
Silence is my link, the key to my poetry.
I am determined of one thing,
That this shall be a statement,
No questioning or demanding or retorting.
And this statement is fact,
That I am bound by my silence,
I am blessed by yours,
And It is vital to my stimulation.
I can't speak,
I am bound by silence,
Even if I did, I would be unheard,
Because I am marked by my insignificance.