Sunday, 9 September 2012

Automatic Writing #4

'It’s making me think of those days in the garden when I felt like everything would stay the same, that the people there would stay frozen, mid conversation and that I was safe. But safety is a golden coated illusion, it’s never quite tangible and I was fooled into believing that the sky would always be cloudy, that the sky had always been cloudy and how strange of me to wonder how it had come to be. 
They gave me a coat coloured with madness and it dripped a trail down the garden path. I wanted so much for it to rain so then I could see the droplets with my own eyes and feel them run down my face, but they would have just told me I was making things up. They could have stood in that rain and been soaked to the skin, feeling it wind its way through their pores and they would have denied me - or maybe it would never touch a fine hair on their heads for fear of being ignored.
Too quiet. If quiet was a colour it would be blue, a light blue with white words written on it spelling out a sleeping spell and all that read it would sit and fold away like paper into a white powdered sleep. Maybe they would dream of my garden, in black and white, and see me walking between the silent statues, shaking them slowly, repeating over and over that the rains are coming, that the gates will open and the walls will overflow.'

Memories fascinate me. I think this is the main theme of this piece of automatic writing. I am intrigued as to how memories fade and decay. The older I get the more I am realising things about my childhood and how, as a child, you remember every detail, you know every nook and cranny of where you live, you can remember conversations and people's faces clearly (I hope that's not just me! lol). The belief as a child that everything will stay the same, that innocent trust that everything is as it should be and nothing will change. It's a thought that keeps haunting me now, that places I knew intimately as a child, aren't there anymore. I suppose I am just noticing the passing of time, but it's strange how the little things can show this all the more bluntly. 

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