Slacko checks in ...

Ok, my bad. I have been MIA, but I have a good excuse ... truly. My year 12s had their final exam last Thursday, so we ( my beautiful students and I) have been preparing like crazy. Essay and essay after never-ending essay. We find out final results on December the 15th, so it's fingers crossed until then.

Secondly, I am just wrapping up hell month. AKA 6 weeks of toddler birthday parties. At least one party every weekend for the past 6 weeks, sometimes two - aaaaahhhhhhh. It ends on the 21st with my darling little girl's party, but tomorrow is her actual birthday. She turns three. Like any dutiful, modern-day, Generation X parent I have created a photo montage for her, and will share it with you (please keep comments suitably sucky, of course she is gorgeous, wonderful, the smartest kid out etc, etc).

I am currently drafting a poem for her. The poem focuses on the close bond that we have, and I hope for it to be a poem that she can look to forever and ever and then a little bit more. Meanwhile, I would like to remind you all about the poem I wrote for her many months ago. This poem describes the impact she was had on my life. She is a true gift and I am so happy to have been allowed into her life.

Lastly, I would like to thank Steph Damore for nominating me for a Kreativ Blogger award. I am so very glad that you like my musings, and hope to be back in action very soon, so that disappointment no longer abounds.

Let she who is without sin, cast the first stone.

re⋅cid⋅i⋅vism /rɪˈsɪdəˌvɪzəm [ri-sid-uh-viz-uhm] –noun
1.
repeated or habitual relapse, as into crime.
2.
Psychiatry. the chronic tendency toward repetition of criminal or antisocial behavior patterns.

Decades have gone by, all the while we keep looking at that mirror. Snow White's step mother asked, 'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is fairest of them all?' Desperate to beautiful, she preened the savagery that came from the all-consuming obsession.

The mirror never lies. It always tells you what you want to hear. We ask it to tell us that we are ugly, too fat, scarred, mutilated, not worth loving. We commit this crime each and every day. We tend to the needs of the mirror, ensuring that it is clean enough to reflect our sins. We look for evidence of imperfection. We hate, we loathe, we constantly remind ourselves of the repulsive nature of our souls.

We wonder why children are sad. We don't understand why little girls don't want to grow up. We cry when children tell us that they are not worth loving. The answers should be clear.

It is a cyclical crime; its recurring nature realised too late - when the damage has been done.

Flowers for Algernon.

Today I wish that I wasn't like Algernon. I don't want to be aware of how the world works. I don't want to have to listen to people's inane banter and pretend that I think it is worthwhile discussion. And then, I wish I could be like Algernon, slowly decaying; going back to a place oblivious to the world around.

The only problem is that Algernon dies in the end (and I don't particularly want to die) and that in order to slowly decay, one has to be aware of the decay. No Thanks.

I am left with no choice. I must sit, listen and pretend that I do not understand how the world works. How I wish that intelligence did not bring with it an acute understanding of how different one is to others.

This is my whinge, my selfish little rant for the day. It's because the tears don't come. They never do. *sigh*

Recidivism

Hands mould, abuse, shame and control

A marred psyche plagued by cheloid scarring.

Mirror, mirror in my eye

Surely you will tell no lie.

Repulsion; truthful observations of the temple.

Distorted perceptions provoking metamorphosis.

A scalpel to flesh, needle and thread.

Stitch.

One stitch, two stitch, guilt stitch, filth stitch.

Mercury tainted window - quicksilver reflecting a cumbersome vow.

The looking glass lined with sin,

Casting aspersions forth with flippant disregard.

Polishing cloth recoils with each stroke,

Collecting the shards of mercurial dust that have accumulated over time.

Desperate cleaning, searching for echoes of the past.

A patient history waiting ominously to be revealed -

A hoped for barrage of self-loathing

Each attempt to define the tarnished image trapped in the mirror

Erodes the meticulously applied silvering.

The dust shifts, the cloth sloughing away the surface,

Revealing the true nature of the crime.

No longer a mirror, the glass exposes an innocent child,

Who, wide-eyed, learns how she too must behave.

Return of the Prodigal Poet

Hmmmm, nice name for a poem (maybe - sounds a bit too 'Star Wars', but it was catchy). Apologies to all. I hope that my hiatus hasn't put you off long term, but I am back :)

I have bought LAND in beautiful Emerald and look forward to living a more sustainable and environmentally friendly life.

I look forward to chatting with you all again.

Classroom writing

I'm still house hunting and it's taking up an enormous amount of time. It is so stressful; interest rates, needs for the future, school zones … aaaaggghhhh. I've neglected my writing, and need to get back on track. However, I have written two 15 minutes pieces, both during my year 11 English. We are working on creative writing, so I wrote a couple of small pieces when they were working so that they could understand what I was asking. I thought I might share them with you (remember that they are only quick 15 minute writing pieces with no drafting), and you can critique them too.

The first piece is the 'no e' writing (again – I'm a great recycler of ideas), but I changed the topic to 'Deforestation'

A monstrous wail is cast forth across a dark woodland. Birds wings grasp airy flight; lofty boughs no match for his chainsaw. An ill-advising authority allowing for total annihilation of flora and fauna; disdainful chaos and lacking any form of discrimination. This is tantamount to a mythological slaying, an assassination of our air - humankind can not do without. You want a utopian world, but punish our world's lungs; brimming with chlorophyll and of much import, you simply gnaw away its ability to purify our lands. It is you who is at fault, you who will allow our kind to diminish. Your calm and rational pitch was no match for our ruling administration's wily plans.

The second piece was a part of a theme 'Future Worlds'. The idea is to watch Gattaca (a film by Andrew Nicholl) and use the text to inspire a piece of writing. The text cannot be copied as such, but literary devices, uses of symbolism etc can be used. The students had an idea they were expected to explore, which was, 'Humankind will ultimately become a prisoner of technology'. A few of them were struggling to create a piece that highlighted an opinion (portrayed through a character, narrative, plot line or similar) about the particular idea. Over my lunch break I quickly drafted this piece, so that the students could see a basic example. My writing form is a letter from one scientist to another. It is clearly not finished, but my protagonist is concerned that the use of technology is going too far. I quickly whipped up a minor link to 'Gattaca' in that the corporation in my piece was named using the letters G, C, T, A, just as GATTACA was.

My dear friend,

I write to you in the hope that you'll stop the experiments in time to stop the destruction of mankind. Society is moving too fast, becoming too reliant on technological advances. Please don't fall into the trap that has been set by the Atagt Corporation. Those imbeciles of nature; purveyors of desecration only serve themselves. Our search for the easy way out has led to our ultimate demise; our minds have become inactive, and we have been trapped within the prison we have created ourselves.

I am not long for this world, but my soul bleeds with the knowledge that the Atagt Corporation will have control of the very food on which we depend. Please, I beg of you, stop this nonsense now, before it's too late. You say that the technology will help our world, will alleviate poverty. It has done nothing of the sort. In thinking of present concerns, all we have done is ruin the future. The next generation of children will have no skills, no knowledge of food production. Everything we, as a society, rely upon so much has been genetically modified. When will this stop? Too soon, we will be the ancestors of genetically modified humans. Too often, humans lack the will and motivation to do anything difficult. We have volunteered to let technology take over and have orchestrated our own downfall. You have the power to stop this. Step in now and act.

Hope you liked the little detour in writing, and hopefully I will be back soon (commenting and blogging – thanks Laura for commenting on my last post J)

Adolescence

I have a confession. I am looking to buy a house, and because of this I am on the Internet every night scouring pages upon pages of potential properties in the hope that I will find one that has everything I want.

It has stopped me from writing, blogging, commenting and all things I usually like to do on the Internet.

I even have a half drafted poem, but clearly have not pushed myself to complete it.

However - I thought it might be interesting to post two poems I wrote when I was 14. To be honest I was two months off being 15, but it is the truth when I say I was 14 when I wrote these. I thought it might be interesting for you all to see how I have evolved as a writer, even if some of the subject matter is similar. Enjoy!

You see the shadow in the rain.
Moving slowly - trying to hide.
You will never catch it.
It is a state of mind.
A shadow is never understood,
Never heard, never remembered.
I am a shadow - but no-one knows


In the distance,
You can see laughter,
You can see joy.
But you feel only pain.
You know the pain.
It is a memory.
Pain is a memory of your past.
Joy is a dream of your future.
Living in your dream, you see your dream,
Your joy.
Some say dreams come true.
For you, dreams are still far away.