Even More Personal

Now we are up to the nineteenth story in Aberrant, entitled, Likewise Curious. This story is in my top five personal favourites of all my writings, and the premise that begins the story actually happened to me. In the story, Luisa is a homeless young lass who is so bored that she decides to create something, anything, just to relieve the incredibly immense boredom and mundanity of having nothing to do in her squat. In fact, Luisa is so bored that not once does she think the task an unreasonable objective.
     Luisa, without knowing how, creates this something, a bird. She did so by vaguely staring at a chimney across they way, a part of the squat she was in, watching a pigeon roosted there, vaguely wondering how to create something out of nothing. And then another pigeon, with spiky wet feathers, appeared out of nowhere beside the original pigeon Luisa had been staring at.
     Like I said, Luisa's experience in creating something is exactly what happened to me, but I have absolutely no proof of it ever happening. I always thought that a great shame and eventually realised I could write a story about the experience. That's some sort of evidence. I am also willing to undertake a polygraph test in relation to the improbable events above described. Anyway, this story is one of my personal favourites because it relates a special moment of magick in a life that had been otherwise dark. I also like having proof, albeit anecdotal, that I created the Universe that came with the pigeon I created. Makes life even more personal.

Powerful Thoughts

Well, everybody, now we are up the eighteenth story in Aberrant Selected, entitled, Her Most Earnest Wish. This story is the result of a persistent delusion I had during the full blown stages of my schizophrenia, wandering around homeless in the inner city of Sydney. Essentially, I had become convinced that I could blow up a single thought, anyone's particular thought that I chose to explode for any reason that I chose. The only trouble with this power is that it can easily turn on itself. Thus, I was reluctant to blow up the passing thoughts of strangers on the street because it could well be one of my thoughts exploded unintentionally. And dying from an exploded thought is particularly disgusting, even though I saw no-one passing away after, on the rare occasion, I had exploded one of their thoughts.
     Writing the story was fun because I enjoyed seeing just how far I have come from having crazy thoughts and erratic behaviour. I should also mention while I'm here that since the early days of my writing, thirty years ago, I have chosen to to have mainly female main characters, as most main characters, my senior high school teacher told me, are male. Thus, upon learning this, I have been practicing positive discrimination in favour of creating female main characters. The main character of the story in hand is accordingly female, and she is the only person I know who has successfully exploded a thought. She has a great power.

Freakin' Birds

G'day, everybody. Sorry I missed you all last week but I was a tad under the weather. It took me about a week to recover too. But I'm back to my usual chipper self, ready too to tell you about why I wrote the seventeenth story in Aberrant Selected. The story is entitled, Probably Dishonest, and is the tale of a delusional obsession that I had, back when I was homeless for five years. Basically, back then, I had become convinced that the pigeons, Myna birds, crows, and other such birds one sees hanging around the city had become my particular enemies. The were all, in fact, each one of them, my dreadful nemesis. Why I became convinced of this obvious falsity is unknown. Maybe I was jealous of the fact that the birds got food and shelter so easily. They didn't have to work, didn't have to apply for welfare. They always had someone to chirp with. All in all, those birds were having such a fantastic time just to spite me in my homelessness. Typical.
     The story was very fun to write, one the the best to write from the collection, and I was bemused at myself while creating the tale that I had taken such an irrational dislike to these birds for irrational reasons. Writing the tale also highlighted the fact that where I am now, in safe housing, with a full pantry, clean water, and cleaning facilities, is very precious. This has further reinforced the fact that I will never choose again, either completely or partially, to return to that destitution. You too, I hope, will enjoy the story's irony.

An Experimental Note

Good morning, everybody, it's good to be back again, whilst also the Sydney winter seems to have ended, allowing of more play. This week we are up to the sixteenth story in Aberrant, entitled, A New Home. This story was a bit difficult for me to write, and is a good example to show you all how I come up with a story. After all, this story was written just to fill in the scheduled hours of writing, on a certain day. 
     This story began with an idle note in my Moleskine pocket notebook: 'An aqua coloured leaf, obviously spray painted, was the only thing disturbing the pristine pool.' Thus, one day during writing hours, whilst going through my Moleskine, I decided to use this note as an opening line. I then outlined its introduction a bit more, outlined a middle, and outlined the end. Then I got out my laptop and just wrote out the first draft of the story, using the outlines as a guide. Yet I was just filling in the hours scheduled for writing, so the tale felt a bit unnatural in the telling. I then, like all my stories, put it away for two weeks, after which I began editing it, at two hours per day over three days. Any more editing than that tends to drive me somewhat balmy.
     Practically all of my stories over the past several years have begun from a note in my Moleskine notebook, which I always, whilst awake, have on my person. Each writing session begins with taking out this notebook, and then writing random sentences, or old memories, or conjectures, or something experimental. Once I have something that intrigues me, I begin expounding upon it. This week's story's genesis was from an experimental note.
     Anyway, these days, after many years of practice, I have got writing short stories down to practically an automated routine. Sometimes I even think that it's too sinfully easy. But still, it's good when things come easy.
     

A Good Time

Well, hello again, everybody. I think winter has once more left Sydney. Thank God! Anyway, now we are up to the fifteenth story in Aberrant, entitled, Luna's Grace. This story I wrote as both something very fun to write, like last week's story, as well as something very serious. Let me explain.
     One day, several years ago, as a result of sharing some wine with friends, I thought it would be fun to write a story where a man had a torrid, and tactile, relationship with Luna, the Moon. In fact, I thought, wouldn't it be fun if we wrote it to be pornography for women. It certainly seemed like fun.
     I also wanted to write this story to briefly reflect a brief, intense, and tactile, romantic relationship that I myself had with Luna. This relationship was another of the weird things that I experienced when I was homeless, and I feel that I have accurately described in the story the intensity of my passion with Luna. She's all woman.
     I still fondly recall Luna sometimes, and those times we had, and I am glad to be able to share the tale with others. After all, crazy or not, I had a good time.

A Funny Thing

Change continues apace. Now we are up to the fourteenth story, on another typically cold, Sydney winter day. At least it's bright. Anyway, the fourteenth story is entitled, A Momentous Epiphany, and I wrote it simply to give an unexpected wrench, not a twist, to a common saying. In this case, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
     As is common with my more romantic stories, this story draws on real life experiences with my desired belle, Elizabeth, and as a result all of my romances tend to be very similar. But I make no apologies for this as I write largely for therapeutic purposes. Writing about Elizabeth helps a lot.
     To the story at hand, though. When I was teasing out this saying, unwinding it in order to recast it anew, I was greatly surprised at how logical the whole thing was to reshape. How rational. For this reason, I suggest you not try the logic at home. Even I'm wary of it. The story though is just meant to be a bit of  fun, and I have been told that the very last line is very funny and piquant.
     There are a few such stories in Aberrant, stories written just for fun, and I still have fond memories of writing them. I love being a writer.
   

A Great Magick

Now, everybody we are up to the thirteenth story in the Aberrant Selected, entitled, Thus Encapsulated. This story is a bit of a horror story and I wrote it to deal with some powerful magick that I still possess. Let me explain.

     About twenty years ago I was shown a jar of vitamin C tablets, by a friend, from Soul Pattinson chemist with the label 'Souls' on it, and the price. At the time the significance of the label didn't impact me. But one night, around a year later, laying back on a filthy foam mattress, under the floor of a squat, munching on some of the tablets from said jar sold by Soul Pattinson, I realised that I held the jar of souls. Which was funny because I used to have voices in my head saying that they knew how to make a soul gibber eternally, specifically mine, if the voices commands weren't strictly carried out. All the voices had to do was to take my soul and to seal it in a jar. Thus, I realised that I held everyone's souls in my hand, to do with as I pleased.

     Now you may think that having such power would be a tremendous boon, but in fact the opposite was true. What was I to do with the jar of souls? Did I have to hold onto it for life, to protect? At the time I was not capable of looking after myself and terribly resented now being made responsible for everyone's souls. My response was to damn everyone, except me, my family, and my friends. It was the easier solution, and let me carry on with my precarious life.

     To this day I still have the jar of souls, but no-one, except paedophiles, are damned. I keep the jar safe and I have stipulated in my will that the jar of souls, with other decoy jars, are to be buried with me. I am no longer bothered by this immense power and I think I am doing a good job of looking after everyone. I also enjoy occasionally looking at them.