Friday, April 11, 2008
A writing I did in the past XD... Here for archiving
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I am.
And I find myself taking the thread again, for what was I but a tailor? I thread the miniscule thread into the similarly minute hole of the needle I hold. I plunge the needle through a fabric, wildly and with vehement passion. I take the conjoined silk dress and offer it, ecstatic and flushed with excitement. Yes… take it! Take it and wear it! YES! Wear it! This is a gift from me to you! Take it! Please?
Tailor I may be, and a good one at that, but I cannot force it upon her. Oh… if I do, the fabric just tears that much more easily. That I realized. And she looks at me with wary but oh so gentle eyes. Oh! I feel the acceptance resounding within my body. Yes… I am a tailor – a ghastly tailor. And I take the threaded needle once again and sink it into the parts where the silk separated. I drive it in and pull it out… over and over and over again. Over so many times that they form a web around the torn pieces.
And then I feel the fabric pulling away, pulling hard. And I am so scared. Scared as the threads that hold them together starts to shake, unravel and break into two. And I am crying, crying because the threads are broken, crying because she is running away from me. And I am pulling at the ball of thread, pulling so that more will come out. I am pulling it and tying it over her so that she cannot run away. But she is struggling. She is struggling and she is breaking the tiny threads again. But I am pulling, and I am tying. Tying so tight that she cannot move! Tying so very tightly that it is almost breaking apart!
But now I am mad. Mad because she keeps trying to run away! She won’t stay STILL! I keep shouting at her to stay still but she does not understand! WHY? So I tie the thread even tighter. I am tying it harder and harder and harder, till it is cutting her skin. Blood is coming out and my thread is even redder than before. Maroon! And I am tying again but there is no more thread… and I am madder and madder because she is just standing there and looking weird. She is not screaming anymore! She is not making that weird disgusting face anymore! She likes me! But I am madder now! Because she likes me but she is not kissing me! And I am screaming. Screaming again and again, screaming… screaming. Screaming so loudly but she is not kissing me.
I am so mad. But she does not move! And there’s that bit of canvas there! I am a tailor; I never really wanted to touch that canvas. But today is special. I am so mad that I am going to put something on that canvas. And I'm taking a brush and mixing it with colors. I am super mad, super mad. And the brush is raping the canvas, hard and swift, crackling into the sheet. And I'm swiping, back and forth, back and forth and my eyes are tiny and my breath is going fast.
And I am crying now; because it is all ugly and I am snapping at it. I am so mad because it is Not Good. But I am taking the canvas again. I am taking it and I am dipping it in paint. This time, I am only dipping it with my favourite color. And ah… it is so beautiful now - so very beautiful and very red.
And I am feeling so much elation… so much euphoria! I ask her to see it and she likes it! I am painting it red even more! To make it even more beautiful! But there is no more paint! No more paint! And I am mad again! Mad because there is no more paint! Then I take her hand and she is giving me paint. She wants to paint as well! I break her thumb, because the thumb is so useless and so different. And I am smashing her thumb against the canvas, smashing it because I want to make it even more beautiful.
And I am taking even more! I am breaking her fingers, her wrist, her toes, her feet and I am painting the canvas! And she likes it! Ah… she likes me. And then I got a crazy idea… YES! Indeed! I shall paint her! And not just paint ON her, but paint USING her! And I take her thumb, her fingers, her toes and her wrist and I am framing them up. I am framing them up and I am putting them on my wall. And I cut her body; I cut them using the saw because they are so hard, like an ice. I cut them so they fit into a frame. I cut them and I hang them on the wall, along with the fingers and toes.
But then I am crying! I run out of the house and I shout, “Someone! Save her!” And I am bleeding, bleeding because I smash the door.
“Save her! Save her! Oh god! Save her! Please!”
But no one is there.
And I am crying out… crying out, “Save my painting! Forget me! Please! Save my painting!”
And I find I am not a tailor anymore. Why did I become a painter? Why did I stop being a tailor? And then I find that I did not want to become a tailor at first. Why did I become a tailor? And then I find that I don’t like her. Why did I want her? Why? Why? And I am crying.
And I am no tailor anymore. I am no painter anymore. No. No.
No.
________________________________________________________________
I am.
And I find myself taking the thread again, for what was I but a tailor? I thread the miniscule thread into the similarly minute hole of the needle I hold. I plunge the needle through a fabric, wildly and with vehement passion. I take the conjoined silk dress and offer it, ecstatic and flushed with excitement. Yes… take it! Take it and wear it! YES! Wear it! This is a gift from me to you! Take it! Please?
Tailor I may be, and a good one at that, but I cannot force it upon her. Oh… if I do, the fabric just tears that much more easily. That I realized. And she looks at me with wary but oh so gentle eyes. Oh! I feel the acceptance resounding within my body. Yes… I am a tailor – a ghastly tailor. And I take the threaded needle once again and sink it into the parts where the silk separated. I drive it in and pull it out… over and over and over again. Over so many times that they form a web around the torn pieces.
And then I feel the fabric pulling away, pulling hard. And I am so scared. Scared as the threads that hold them together starts to shake, unravel and break into two. And I am crying, crying because the threads are broken, crying because she is running away from me. And I am pulling at the ball of thread, pulling so that more will come out. I am pulling it and tying it over her so that she cannot run away. But she is struggling. She is struggling and she is breaking the tiny threads again. But I am pulling, and I am tying. Tying so tight that she cannot move! Tying so very tightly that it is almost breaking apart!
But now I am mad. Mad because she keeps trying to run away! She won’t stay STILL! I keep shouting at her to stay still but she does not understand! WHY? So I tie the thread even tighter. I am tying it harder and harder and harder, till it is cutting her skin. Blood is coming out and my thread is even redder than before. Maroon! And I am tying again but there is no more thread… and I am madder and madder because she is just standing there and looking weird. She is not screaming anymore! She is not making that weird disgusting face anymore! She likes me! But I am madder now! Because she likes me but she is not kissing me! And I am screaming. Screaming again and again, screaming… screaming. Screaming so loudly but she is not kissing me.
I am so mad. But she does not move! And there’s that bit of canvas there! I am a tailor; I never really wanted to touch that canvas. But today is special. I am so mad that I am going to put something on that canvas. And I'm taking a brush and mixing it with colors. I am super mad, super mad. And the brush is raping the canvas, hard and swift, crackling into the sheet. And I'm swiping, back and forth, back and forth and my eyes are tiny and my breath is going fast.
And I am crying now; because it is all ugly and I am snapping at it. I am so mad because it is Not Good. But I am taking the canvas again. I am taking it and I am dipping it in paint. This time, I am only dipping it with my favourite color. And ah… it is so beautiful now - so very beautiful and very red.
And I am feeling so much elation… so much euphoria! I ask her to see it and she likes it! I am painting it red even more! To make it even more beautiful! But there is no more paint! No more paint! And I am mad again! Mad because there is no more paint! Then I take her hand and she is giving me paint. She wants to paint as well! I break her thumb, because the thumb is so useless and so different. And I am smashing her thumb against the canvas, smashing it because I want to make it even more beautiful.
And I am taking even more! I am breaking her fingers, her wrist, her toes, her feet and I am painting the canvas! And she likes it! Ah… she likes me. And then I got a crazy idea… YES! Indeed! I shall paint her! And not just paint ON her, but paint USING her! And I take her thumb, her fingers, her toes and her wrist and I am framing them up. I am framing them up and I am putting them on my wall. And I cut her body; I cut them using the saw because they are so hard, like an ice. I cut them so they fit into a frame. I cut them and I hang them on the wall, along with the fingers and toes.
But then I am crying! I run out of the house and I shout, “Someone! Save her!” And I am bleeding, bleeding because I smash the door.
“Save her! Save her! Oh god! Save her! Please!”
But no one is there.
And I am crying out… crying out, “Save my painting! Forget me! Please! Save my painting!”
And I find I am not a tailor anymore. Why did I become a painter? Why did I stop being a tailor? And then I find that I did not want to become a tailor at first. Why did I become a tailor? And then I find that I don’t like her. Why did I want her? Why? Why? And I am crying.
And I am no tailor anymore. I am no painter anymore. No. No.
No.
what we could have been, 7:54 PM.
