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Literature Text
You'd be surprised how much time you can waste staring at glass. Having said that, the view from my bedroom window is lovely sometimes. When the sunset came through red this evening, it was spectacular, outlining the crests of the hills around the house I live in, every tree perfectly silhouetted, like you'd expect in some expensive, finely detailed painting hanging on someone else's wall somewhere.
Perhaps such a view would be better suited there.
After I graduated, I learned there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Beyond the world of spoon fed, mandatory academia – which makes addicts of us all – nothing was going to be given to me any more. Not money, not purpose, not fulfilment. That world had built a perfectly formed, invisible glass wall around me. It had given me shelter and security. It was a wall I didn't even know I was looking through until it shattered. Now the pieces were falling, and I realised that it was now my place to find money, purpose and fulfilment. And any reward for my work – any time of rest – was also going to have to be administered by myself. Problematic revelations abounded as the pieces fell.
Time started passing. I learned that you can waste thirty seconds of time by pouring yourself a glass of water between trips to the laptop screen, indulgent with its fake fantasies of employment and happiness through Facebook threads, Youtube videos, and other menial, semi interactive leisure activities.
I'd take a deep long draught at the sink, draining all the water in large, gag-inducing gulps, before re-filling the glass completely, knowing it'd last me for the rest of the evening. The glass I always chose was marked with a crown: the number '2043' written beneath and the capitalised word 'PINT' printed over it. I imagine it probably found its way into the kitchen cupboard from the local pub. Quite a journey, all things considered. It was slightly opaque. If I held it up to my line of sight to look through, the view of the garden beyond the kitchen window would become blurred, and the basil plant I bought two months ago growing on the side would become a Picasso. The smell was divine - a fresh, herby smell - but it probably needed watering again. It could wait until later.
Unfortunately for me, life is not nice sunset views from a bedroom window and drinks of water from stolen pint glasses. But that is what I choose to look at.
A bad replacement for what once was.
Perhaps such a view would be better suited there.
After I graduated, I learned there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Beyond the world of spoon fed, mandatory academia – which makes addicts of us all – nothing was going to be given to me any more. Not money, not purpose, not fulfilment. That world had built a perfectly formed, invisible glass wall around me. It had given me shelter and security. It was a wall I didn't even know I was looking through until it shattered. Now the pieces were falling, and I realised that it was now my place to find money, purpose and fulfilment. And any reward for my work – any time of rest – was also going to have to be administered by myself. Problematic revelations abounded as the pieces fell.
Time started passing. I learned that you can waste thirty seconds of time by pouring yourself a glass of water between trips to the laptop screen, indulgent with its fake fantasies of employment and happiness through Facebook threads, Youtube videos, and other menial, semi interactive leisure activities.
I'd take a deep long draught at the sink, draining all the water in large, gag-inducing gulps, before re-filling the glass completely, knowing it'd last me for the rest of the evening. The glass I always chose was marked with a crown: the number '2043' written beneath and the capitalised word 'PINT' printed over it. I imagine it probably found its way into the kitchen cupboard from the local pub. Quite a journey, all things considered. It was slightly opaque. If I held it up to my line of sight to look through, the view of the garden beyond the kitchen window would become blurred, and the basil plant I bought two months ago growing on the side would become a Picasso. The smell was divine - a fresh, herby smell - but it probably needed watering again. It could wait until later.
Unfortunately for me, life is not nice sunset views from a bedroom window and drinks of water from stolen pint glasses. But that is what I choose to look at.
A bad replacement for what once was.
Literature
love letters to introverts
i.
To the boy who prefers spending Friday nights at home:
the world does not understand how beautiful silence sounds
sometimes.
As you crack open that book you've been waiting to read,
or plug in your computer,
or listen to music,
or,
or,
or,
or maybe just stare at the night sky from your bedroom window-
(please) remember what everyone else seems to forget;
that being alone does not always equal lonely--
and that sometimes no company is the best company there is.
ii.
To the girl who does not speak up in class:
I was once you.
You are not deficient, I promise, despite everyone telling you otherwise.
Literature
Introvert.
No.
I am not angry.
I am not sad.
Nothing happened at school.
Or at home.
It's not attitude.
Nor is it a phase.
I just can't deal with talking to you right now, alright?
Or anybody for that matter.
Yes.
It is going to annoy me.
I will get mad.
At friends.
At family.
And it will be attitude.
If you keep asking me whats wrong.
When I quickly answer I'm fine.
Up in a tree.
Hidden in my closet.
Behind the couch.
Lying on my bed.
Under a bush.
With no one around to ask questions.
Silence Alone.
I can think.
I can day dream.
I can just lay there.
Be amazed by the smallest things.
Or nothing at all.
It's not so strange I
Literature
Changes
He turned her blizzards into breezes.
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This is my small contribution to #LitGuildUK's prompt called 'Through the Glass'. Early days for the group, but it looks extremely well organised, and it was a pleasure to be invited a few weeks ago!
Disclaimer: Slightly autobiographical content above. Well... meh. You know. Sometimes these things just come. I thought I'd be honest.
Disclaimer: Slightly autobiographical content above. Well... meh. You know. Sometimes these things just come. I thought I'd be honest.
© 2013 - 2024 Ja-mes
Comments11
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There's no need for the "Disclaimer" imo, because what you wrote already sounded a bit autobiographical.
I like the many ways you use glass to either encase you or not. The views you show are most interesting.
Thank you.
I like the many ways you use glass to either encase you or not. The views you show are most interesting.
Thank you.