Dear Tahara,
When I first saw you I was instantly tickled by the excitement that you might be the sort of person that I would like to get to know better. I had been told next to nothing about you, which put you in a different boat to everyone else because I had some interest in exploring who you were. You were unchartered territory for me to discover.
The first thing that struck me about you was not your exquisite beauty. Beauty by itself is not such a special quality. It reveals almost nothing about the depth of the soul, speaks little to the imagination, and some of the worst people I know are also the most beautiful. That isn’t to say that the slender contours of your body, the sparkle of your blue eyes, and the innocent confusion of your smile didn’t catch my breath; they did, but their significance melted away in the space between the beat of your lashes when a more interesting quality of yours came up to greet me. Your quiet shyness clutched at my heart with gorgeous sincerity and would not let go until I solved the mystery that the momentary white flash of teeth in your fleeting smile appeared to pose. As sweet confusion clouded my judgement I realised I would be happy spending the rest of my life in the vanity of your smile’s deduction.
The truth about the richness of how you left me enraptured lies in the oddness of your being. Oddness not to denote strangeness (it is obvious that that particular misnomer should be a prerequisite for interest), rather oddness in the sense of being the opposite of even—it seemed the sum of your parts added to discord with the thrilling enigmatic whole that is you. Most others blessed (or cursed) with your seraphic golden hair and captivating gaze would find no discomfort in meeting me in the eyes. Conversely, according to the basic principles of social confusion it would usually be someone who looked like you that would be causing me discomfort for having to look into your eyes. The space between the invisible down of your cheekbone and the serenity of your pupil as it bobs in the blue ocean of the iris is a space where I lost myself. It is a space that since meeting you I have never really left.
You darted in, out and across my vision without moving a muscle and in that manner have since darted in, out and across my imagination a millions times, leaving with you the fantasial dust of which you are composed. I’ve dreamt entire lives for us together. Thousands of years have passed in the confines of my mind where we are held captive, compelled to fulfil my imagined duet of togetherness and being—actors on the stage of my longing.
I want you to be here with me. I want to be confused by you and I want to confuse you. I want to have the opportunity to tell you I love you because I love what it is that is you and not what I imagine of you. I want at the very least to hold you, to touch your trembling skin and hold the magnetism of your pulse against my lips.
With every beat of your heart my soul quakes, drawn closer to you with every breath. I await the moment we may meet again.
Love Michael
Dear Michael,
Thank you for the lovely letter. You really do have a way with words.
This is kind of embarrassing, I’ve never received a letter in the mail before (especially not a love letter ☺) and I wasn’t really sure how to send something back in the post (how old school are stamps!!) so I hope you don’t mind me replying by facebook :-D. LOL I’m such a ditz….but what’s a girl to do?
I think you’re such a nice person. It’s so sweet of you to say those things about me. When I read your note it made me feel so good, like unwrapping presents on Christmas!
I’m trying to look past the awkwardness here but I guess I should just come out and say it. I wasn’t too shy to look you in the eyes; I have this condition called exotropia. It means my eyeballs deviate outwards….umm….”lazy eye”. ☹
I have glasses which sort of help but they make me look like such a nerd so I never wear them! Apparently you can get laser eye-surgery but I’m way too much of a pussy to go under the knife and anyway its meant to be really, really, really expensive.
About the whole love thing, I’m sort of seeing somebody right now so I don’t think it will really work out. Ben is amazing. He’s smart like you but really funny as well. Actually come to think of it I met him at that party where you and I met. You would have seen him; he was wearing this really cool leather jacket and a pair of white Cheap Mondays. Things are going quite well (going on our third date tonight) and fingers crossed he’s going to take me to his parents’ beach house in Jurien Bay next weekend! You guys should be friends, he just kind of gets people, you know?
Aww, I’m sorry. Your letter was really cute and it was lots of fun meeting you. I’m sure you’ll find the right girl for you some day.
Ciao XOXO
From Tahara
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Rooftop
Katan looked down at the world below him. He had never been up this high before. His mother never let him climb trees let alone sit on the roof of 23-storey buildings. His feet wagged in the empty air like a dog’s tail, happy and free. From up here, it did not appear as though everyone and everything else was tiny, as occurred to most children, but rather that he was enormous. He was a benevolent giant that sat watching and protecting the people from harm. He could see for miles, as far as the Mediterranean Sea in fact, and could warn the police commissioner of any possible surprise attacks from Godzillas or other freakishly enlarged monsters. He imagined that he and Gever were a duo, working together to ward off evil and protect the values of honour and justice. He looked over at Gever and saw him, legs apart and head bent low, aiming spit at the people passing below. It was Gever’s building so he could do whatever he wanted.
“Has anyone ever fallen off?” Katan asked, looking back down at the sub-universe.
“Ooooh just missed! What?”
“Has anyone ever come up here and fallen off?” repeated Katan, more curious than concerned.
“I don’t know. Probably. Can you imagine what it would feel like though, floating through the air like a drop of spit? Or more like gliding down like one of those black pigeons? You probably wouldn’t feel anything as you landed, your neck would snap and you’d die on impact. It would be like you’d be really scared at first and then after a second you begin to have the most amazing feeling and you realise that you can fly, that all humans can fly, then just before you work out how to fly up—you’re dead. Kind of like in a dream, you know? Where you know you can fly but you just can’t work out how to do it properly and then you wake up. I reckon that’s what this would be like, you know, except you don’t wake up--you die.”
Katan thought about flying. The idea wasn’t new to him. Lying in bed every night, he imagined himself speeding freely in all dimensions, propelling himself through the atmosphere like water. He floated and glided and performed magnificent tricks. Usually he travelled to all the places where he was forbidden entry. He soared above the girls’ change room at the swimming pool; he glided into the staff-room at school to see all the “wanted” posters of himself stuck to the walls. Sometimes he went to fight alongside his brother in the army, bringing him special deliveries of weapons and new bullet-proof armour that he had designed especially. It was the only way he could get to sleep. He would shut his eyes and launch directly into space from his bed before descending at breakneck speed back into the Earth’s atmosphere to explore and discover. If he felt really brave he tried to visit his father. He would fly up and up and up but he as soon as he glimpsed the ocean in the sky, the perfect blue expanse which he knew led to the coast of the world to come, he turned around, speeding away as fast as possible.
“I’ll be right back.”
Katan looked around and watched Gever pull open the heavy roof access door and disappear. Moments later the door swung slowly open again. Katan could see one of Gever’s sneakers sneaking past the doorway, his foot holding the door open for the rest of his body which was struggling with a big yellow bucket. As Gever made it past the threshold Katan could see water sloshing back and forth and spilling out of the bucket and on to Gever’s shorts. With an air of triumph and self-satisfaction like a cat that’s caught a bird in its jaws, he plonked the bucket down next to where Katan was sitting.
“Now we have some serious fun.”
Katan looked into the bucket and saw balloons floating, pregnant, swollen with water. Blobs of rubber of blue and yellow and pink wallowing in the water like pigs in a sty.
“Come on,” said Gever as he plunged a hand into the bucket and reeled it back gripping a pulsating red balloon.
“Ten-points if you hit a black-hat!”
Katan watched Gever as he threw the balloon off the side and followed its trajectory with the breathless anticipation of a mother learning the gender of her child. There was no splash but he leapt up and down, cheering and whooping at the top of his lungs. Katan was afraid that he would give away their position and his mother would be called to come pick him up.
“I think I got a cat! You should have seen it jump.” Hearing no congratulation or rival claim, Gever turned to look at Katan in surprise. He was breathing heavily and there was a glimmer in his eye, possibly from the low angle of the setting sun.
“What’s wrong with you? Have a go, it’s loads of fun.” And saying so, he plucked another ripe balloon from the bucket and launched it over the parapet.
“Woooooohoooooooooooooooooooo!”
Katan peered over the edge and could see, way down below, several people looking up, holding their hats, searching for the source of the splash. Could it be rain on such a clear day? Or something more malicious. Suddenly he withdrew and hid behind a low wall protecting an electrical box. One of the victims had looked like his mother. Gever turned around to see him cowering on his haunches but returned immediately to his game. Apparently, he had given up on trying to share the secret pleasures of the roof with Katan. He would enjoy them on his own. Some people never knew how to have fun anyway. It was a mistake inviting him over. And so he proceeded to fire round after round at the ground, splashing water all over himself and the surrounding rooftop as he emptied the bucket.
“Have you ever hit anyone before?” Katan enquired, feigning interest so as not to be an impolite guest.
“Pfft, loads of times,” Gever responded without turning around or ceasing his sport even for a second.
“Do you ever get in trouble?”
“No. Who’s going to get me in trouble?” replied Gever defiantly and slightly mockingly. “You?” he laughed derisively.
Katan crept his way back to the edge and peered gingerly over the side. This time there were no people, just a confetti board of exploded pieces of brightly coloured rubber. By now, Gever had expended his entire arsenal. With a disgruntled humph, he tossed the bucket and the remaining water off the wall and both he and Katan winced as a crack and a splash announced the landing. Gever sat down, out of breath and contented, and looked over at Katan with more boredom than contempt.
“I got one black-hat. That’s ten points, you know.”
It occurred to Katan that Black-Hats should be worth less, not more points because they are easier to spot. Besides, Black-Hats are God’s soldiers. Surely they wouldn’t be bothered by a couple of water filled rubber balloons if they were battling demons and the evil inclination on a day-to-day basis. Katan wondered why such elite soldiers, with special uniforms and everything, didn’t fight in the regular army. They would be able to protect his brother from all harm. Maybe they could have saved his father. Maybe in secret his father was one of them, an elite warrior of God clad in black hat and coat. Katan suspected that he had died fighting in the fields of heaven and not, as his mother had told him, in a field in Southern Lebanon. It’s understandable that such operations need to be kept top-secret. It was for the good of the people.
And then Katan wasn’t sad, just proud.
“Has anyone ever fallen off?” Katan asked, looking back down at the sub-universe.
“Ooooh just missed! What?”
“Has anyone ever come up here and fallen off?” repeated Katan, more curious than concerned.
“I don’t know. Probably. Can you imagine what it would feel like though, floating through the air like a drop of spit? Or more like gliding down like one of those black pigeons? You probably wouldn’t feel anything as you landed, your neck would snap and you’d die on impact. It would be like you’d be really scared at first and then after a second you begin to have the most amazing feeling and you realise that you can fly, that all humans can fly, then just before you work out how to fly up—you’re dead. Kind of like in a dream, you know? Where you know you can fly but you just can’t work out how to do it properly and then you wake up. I reckon that’s what this would be like, you know, except you don’t wake up--you die.”
Katan thought about flying. The idea wasn’t new to him. Lying in bed every night, he imagined himself speeding freely in all dimensions, propelling himself through the atmosphere like water. He floated and glided and performed magnificent tricks. Usually he travelled to all the places where he was forbidden entry. He soared above the girls’ change room at the swimming pool; he glided into the staff-room at school to see all the “wanted” posters of himself stuck to the walls. Sometimes he went to fight alongside his brother in the army, bringing him special deliveries of weapons and new bullet-proof armour that he had designed especially. It was the only way he could get to sleep. He would shut his eyes and launch directly into space from his bed before descending at breakneck speed back into the Earth’s atmosphere to explore and discover. If he felt really brave he tried to visit his father. He would fly up and up and up but he as soon as he glimpsed the ocean in the sky, the perfect blue expanse which he knew led to the coast of the world to come, he turned around, speeding away as fast as possible.
“I’ll be right back.”
Katan looked around and watched Gever pull open the heavy roof access door and disappear. Moments later the door swung slowly open again. Katan could see one of Gever’s sneakers sneaking past the doorway, his foot holding the door open for the rest of his body which was struggling with a big yellow bucket. As Gever made it past the threshold Katan could see water sloshing back and forth and spilling out of the bucket and on to Gever’s shorts. With an air of triumph and self-satisfaction like a cat that’s caught a bird in its jaws, he plonked the bucket down next to where Katan was sitting.
“Now we have some serious fun.”
Katan looked into the bucket and saw balloons floating, pregnant, swollen with water. Blobs of rubber of blue and yellow and pink wallowing in the water like pigs in a sty.
“Come on,” said Gever as he plunged a hand into the bucket and reeled it back gripping a pulsating red balloon.
“Ten-points if you hit a black-hat!”
Katan watched Gever as he threw the balloon off the side and followed its trajectory with the breathless anticipation of a mother learning the gender of her child. There was no splash but he leapt up and down, cheering and whooping at the top of his lungs. Katan was afraid that he would give away their position and his mother would be called to come pick him up.
“I think I got a cat! You should have seen it jump.” Hearing no congratulation or rival claim, Gever turned to look at Katan in surprise. He was breathing heavily and there was a glimmer in his eye, possibly from the low angle of the setting sun.
“What’s wrong with you? Have a go, it’s loads of fun.” And saying so, he plucked another ripe balloon from the bucket and launched it over the parapet.
“Woooooohoooooooooooooooooooo!”
Katan peered over the edge and could see, way down below, several people looking up, holding their hats, searching for the source of the splash. Could it be rain on such a clear day? Or something more malicious. Suddenly he withdrew and hid behind a low wall protecting an electrical box. One of the victims had looked like his mother. Gever turned around to see him cowering on his haunches but returned immediately to his game. Apparently, he had given up on trying to share the secret pleasures of the roof with Katan. He would enjoy them on his own. Some people never knew how to have fun anyway. It was a mistake inviting him over. And so he proceeded to fire round after round at the ground, splashing water all over himself and the surrounding rooftop as he emptied the bucket.
“Have you ever hit anyone before?” Katan enquired, feigning interest so as not to be an impolite guest.
“Pfft, loads of times,” Gever responded without turning around or ceasing his sport even for a second.
“Do you ever get in trouble?”
“No. Who’s going to get me in trouble?” replied Gever defiantly and slightly mockingly. “You?” he laughed derisively.
Katan crept his way back to the edge and peered gingerly over the side. This time there were no people, just a confetti board of exploded pieces of brightly coloured rubber. By now, Gever had expended his entire arsenal. With a disgruntled humph, he tossed the bucket and the remaining water off the wall and both he and Katan winced as a crack and a splash announced the landing. Gever sat down, out of breath and contented, and looked over at Katan with more boredom than contempt.
“I got one black-hat. That’s ten points, you know.”
It occurred to Katan that Black-Hats should be worth less, not more points because they are easier to spot. Besides, Black-Hats are God’s soldiers. Surely they wouldn’t be bothered by a couple of water filled rubber balloons if they were battling demons and the evil inclination on a day-to-day basis. Katan wondered why such elite soldiers, with special uniforms and everything, didn’t fight in the regular army. They would be able to protect his brother from all harm. Maybe they could have saved his father. Maybe in secret his father was one of them, an elite warrior of God clad in black hat and coat. Katan suspected that he had died fighting in the fields of heaven and not, as his mother had told him, in a field in Southern Lebanon. It’s understandable that such operations need to be kept top-secret. It was for the good of the people.
And then Katan wasn’t sad, just proud.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Beginning
So begin the urban prophecies. Here are words of a new generation destined to seek truth and beauty like all those before it and all to come.
In some small way here we write our short chapter of the human experience. Here we record our efforts in the endeavour to find the soul of the Earth and the heart of its people.
I hope that these pages will host stories, articles, opinions and everything good to read that might say something about something.
This is a place for all to speak.
Enjoy, and submit.
In some small way here we write our short chapter of the human experience. Here we record our efforts in the endeavour to find the soul of the Earth and the heart of its people.
I hope that these pages will host stories, articles, opinions and everything good to read that might say something about something.
This is a place for all to speak.
Enjoy, and submit.
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