Junkie's Hands

constructive criticism always welcome

They must be dead. Their black shapes must have cropped out a piece of the picture as they flew down out of tune, out of time, flawlessly floating in the midst of a faster soundtrack, without hope and without anybody to rescue them. Ink drops of an angry writer (his dishevelled hair, trembling hand, empty coffee cup).

They must be dead. Millions and millions of them, black beads on a canvas, falling off the balcony of the old panel block, around: the sky, the mountain, the solid chunk of car noise,the big birch. I can see them flying down, their feet moving in every direction.Apocaliptic trajectory and the sound of their Munch's mouths sucked out. Some of them hit the branches of the tree and their bodies break into quadratic shapes. Most of them must have splashed on the ground as drops of Dali paint, buttoning up the ground with their bodies and not letting it breath. They must be dead. Millions and millions of them. Their lives not mattering, their bodies all the same. Black.

  When I was five years old, I used to rescue the ants that moved up and down our balcony. I had attached little parachute to a match box and evacuated them in families and groups and sent them down from the fifth floor of our block, to a ground that should have been safer. I had saved a whole generation of them, and was responsible for the future generations that I didn’t save. These future generations must be dead. All of them. The match box with a parachute lies somewhere under a tree with flowers and dog s**t around it, and a piece of children toy next to it which has drowned in the shades of earth. The parachute is all torn, the match box is with a lost shape. Autumn junkie’s hands had once had held it and dropped it without passion, without remorse. The ants I had saved belonged to a different world. The four open windows of a car equaled freedom, my mother was a god and life was still only a horizon: untouchable, and unlived. The next generations had died. No little hands to save them. No-prospect world, no prospect panel block as the only peak you climb, no-prospect child that had lost its no-prospect empathy for a no-prospect life.

They fly. Down. Little drops of blackness. Millions and millions of them. Around the sky, the mountain, the solid chunk of car noise and the big birch.

Reviews

[Steven]

I appreciate the deep, distant allegories of this piece. But this line: "The four open windows of a car equaled freedom, my mother was a god and life was still only a horizon: untouchable, and unlived." shows me something very beautiful. And I think you could quite capably write a real and impacting story. Would love to see it.

[Marri]

And I appreciate your comment! I am terrified of short stories ( and it shows ) but I will roll my sleeves up and give it another go :) Thank you

[Circe]

the little drops of blackness multiplying to millions and millions... that is does seem like apocalyptic imagery.. I feel completely submerged in your imagery... really like a submarine exploring the deepness of a mysterious sea... that sea being all these images of remembrance... so detailed the way you wrote about the match box and generations of ants.. my own eyes narrowed to concentrate on the picture of the match box.. how it passes into the ground and is discarded so dispassionately... and a childhood is not a childhood with your mother as a god... beautiful imagery there.... and a kind of despair that I want to envelope me as well.. that big birch.. solitary and atmospheric. I feel very moved by this piece.

[Marri]

And the critigue out-smarted the piece! I feel very insecure in prose, I think I over-do things and the writing looks heavy and un-readable. But as always you bring hope! Must be a wonderful thing to be the one who brings hope...

[Circe]

well I actually like heavy and unreadable.... it blows my mind because you had such unusual impressions that stimulate the subconscious..... this kind of stimulation is what I live for, better than any direct chemical substance!

[Marri]

I agree fully about brain-heart-stimulation! I find it in good books, good movies (some of them were borrowed from your list before you deleted it!), theatre, opera, exhibitions...and spoiling the senses with eclectic hedonism: from the simplest, like lying under a tree and watching up as its leaves dance, to the most complex idea of enriching the soul with things hard to assimilate on first glance and needing sportive brain cells to decipher them....

[Circe]

hahaha absolutely love the sportive brain cells! I think you will love the vengeance trilogy by chan-wook park, the south korean film maker.. I still get shudders in my body thinking about it at random.. eclectic hedonism.. so very eloquent! I think our brain starts to eat itself without that kind of world on world effusion!

[Marri]

hah, unbeliavable! Old Boy is one of my top five movies, I have seen the trilogy years ago...such creepy brilliance! I like to alternate the brilliant dark movies with brilliant light ones: like Harold and Maude of the old movies, or Mr. Nobody of the newer, I guess there is a right movie for every mood, so I stop recommending in case I mistake the mood and ruin the perception of the movies... But Old Boy is right up there.

[Circe]

ohhh woooow, I love harold and maude too! in fact, I was watching a few of its memorable scenes on youtube the other day, think the whole movie is probably on there. now you've recommended a new one to me, mr nobody. have to look for it next time!!

[Marri]

I wouldn't say it's a masterpiece over the other movies, but it has a few good concepts and beautiful capturing of little things, so I would claim is a must-watch. And it leaves you with a light feeling....if you are in dark mode, I would recmmend Blue Velvet, La Vita e Bella, Rope, The Dead Girl....for funny: Feminin-Masculin and Jarmush' The Idiots, Black Cat White Cat, and of course Before Night Falls, all great movies, feel like I have to return the favour after being absolutely inspired by Magnolia...

[Circe]

wow... so many titles... I'm excited to see this! haven't seen blue velvet, rope, or any of the funnies. missing out on a lot! I'll write these down for next time I'm at the store (I like getting them in stores feels like searching for books since I never read books hehehe). Isn't Magnolia just amazing? I get emotional swells whenever I see that movie... paul thomas anderson says he won't ever top that movie, he must know what he's talking about!

[Acropolix]

It took me a second read to properly understand the story, though that doesn't mean anything negatively. The imagery in the first paragraph is very well composed, with many elements returning later on in the story. Though it seems difficult to interpretate these lines and leaves the reader confused of what is meant here. But you make this up with the second parapgraph in which you explain the above mentioned imagery, which clearifies everything immediately. All in all, a a very creative story. Well done.

Keep writing!

[Marri]

Thank you! I know that I tend to digress and the chaos in my head doesn't always make comprehensive sound (although in my head, it all sounds so clear...) but I am taking your comment on board and will try to be more reader-friendly