Well, everyone, the Sydney autumn is proving changeable, but is still warmer than usual. Although, thank God, the evenings are nice and cool. And speaking of cool, the story under discussion today has some very hip and cool characters, set in bohemian Newtown, inner city Sydney. The tale is entitled, Throwing Poses, and is the thirty-first story in Aberrant Selected. Like the previous story, this one is also a chronicle of true events, which I partially turned into fiction. Let me explain.
One cool spring night, high on LSD and walking along the main street of Newton during my previous years of homelessness, I was suddenly attracted by bright lights on my right, seemingly just having turned on. Like a moth I was attracted to the lights, and stumbled into the beginning of a photo shoot in a shop. The photographer looked very disappointed at my entrance, and I likewise felt guilty about causing trouble. Needless to say I left the shop immediately, but my high was a bit damaged.
Throughout the years after this incident I sometimes thought of it, and the feeling of guilt remained there. I eventually wrote a story about it, starting off with the bright lights, and then fictionalising the rest. I no longer feel that guilt since writing the story, and for some reason remember the bright lights fondly now. Probably because it was my first taste of fame.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Puzzling
G'day again, everyone, hopefully the new season is treating you all well. Here in Oz the autumn is proving to be very warm. Very warm also is the thirtieth story in Aberrant Selected, entitled, Puzzled at Himself. This story I wrote purely for fun. Usually when I write I have some theme, or motif, to convey. This story though was written just to tell a funny story, one that happened to me. Let me explain.
Around six months after I turned fifteen years of age, one morning, washing my hands and looking at myself in my father's shaving mirror in the bathroom, I noticed a black hair sticking out of my chin. With much consternation then, I realised I had to fully lather my face, and give myself a manly shave. Sure it was only one hair, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
The next morning, again washing my hands in the bathroom and idly looking at myself in my father's shaving mirror, I was annoyed to see my cheeks, mouth area, and under my chin were covered in hairy stubble. Since I shaved yesterday, I decided not to shave that morning. My mother had other ideas. At the breakfast table she told me to shave before eating, despite my protest that I shaved yesterday. She then informed me that since I was now obviously a man I would have to shave every day. And I still shave every day.
So Puzzled at Himself was written just to describe the above incident, but the rest of the tale is the product of fancy. I am still surprised, at the age of forty-five, that my facial hair grew so incredibly quickly, and so very abundantly, and I still choose to see it as a good sign. Who knows?
Around six months after I turned fifteen years of age, one morning, washing my hands and looking at myself in my father's shaving mirror in the bathroom, I noticed a black hair sticking out of my chin. With much consternation then, I realised I had to fully lather my face, and give myself a manly shave. Sure it was only one hair, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
The next morning, again washing my hands in the bathroom and idly looking at myself in my father's shaving mirror, I was annoyed to see my cheeks, mouth area, and under my chin were covered in hairy stubble. Since I shaved yesterday, I decided not to shave that morning. My mother had other ideas. At the breakfast table she told me to shave before eating, despite my protest that I shaved yesterday. She then informed me that since I was now obviously a man I would have to shave every day. And I still shave every day.
So Puzzled at Himself was written just to describe the above incident, but the rest of the tale is the product of fancy. I am still surprised, at the age of forty-five, that my facial hair grew so incredibly quickly, and so very abundantly, and I still choose to see it as a good sign. Who knows?
Saturday, March 3, 2018
An Unbelievable Lady
Thus time moves on, moves inexorably on. I only realised this morning that we are now in autumn, here in Sydney. So let's get ready for the cold with a warm story from Aberrant Selected. This post I will tell you why I wrote the twenty-ninth story in the collection, entitled, Despite Her Reasoning.
Like some of the other stories in the collection, this tale I wrote to chronicle a magickal event that I had witnessed. Essentially, I was at an illegal rave one night in Sydney Park, in an abandoned warehouse. I started off in the evening in a mildly psychotic state, but eventually improved as the evening progressed. Anyway, at the start of festivities, I was sitting with some friends, feeling persecuted, and trying to ignore the hostile voices in my head. In doing so I noticed a young lady a few feet from me, and crouching down while apparently studying something in her cupped palms. She swung around while crouching, looking on either side for someone or something, and also clearly sobbing. She then noticed me, and, still sobbing, offered to me what looked like a little faerie, a little, delicate lady with a trailing gown. The crouching lass could see it, I could see it, and the faerie could see us. The lass was waiting for me to confirm the miracle.
I turned away, then got up and moved off.
The reason I chose not to confirm this magickal event was because if I had indeed done so it would have fundamentally changed Reality. And I was in no state at all, at all to take responsibility for that.
These days I am still happy with my decision, at least, most of the time. This tale is only time that I have told the story of that faerie, but I hope it does make you all think that magick happens. You just have to keep an eye out.
Like some of the other stories in the collection, this tale I wrote to chronicle a magickal event that I had witnessed. Essentially, I was at an illegal rave one night in Sydney Park, in an abandoned warehouse. I started off in the evening in a mildly psychotic state, but eventually improved as the evening progressed. Anyway, at the start of festivities, I was sitting with some friends, feeling persecuted, and trying to ignore the hostile voices in my head. In doing so I noticed a young lady a few feet from me, and crouching down while apparently studying something in her cupped palms. She swung around while crouching, looking on either side for someone or something, and also clearly sobbing. She then noticed me, and, still sobbing, offered to me what looked like a little faerie, a little, delicate lady with a trailing gown. The crouching lass could see it, I could see it, and the faerie could see us. The lass was waiting for me to confirm the miracle.
I turned away, then got up and moved off.
The reason I chose not to confirm this magickal event was because if I had indeed done so it would have fundamentally changed Reality. And I was in no state at all, at all to take responsibility for that.
These days I am still happy with my decision, at least, most of the time. This tale is only time that I have told the story of that faerie, but I hope it does make you all think that magick happens. You just have to keep an eye out.
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