Mal Kiely - Friday 13 September 2013
Creative Writing
“I'll tell you why I'm
not writing.”
“It's been done.”
“What...?”
“That's been done
before... in a book... a book you've read, you know?”
“What...? Where...?”
“Numbnuts, that's
exactly how George Johnson started his 'Clean Straw For Nothing'
novel...”
“... umm... I wondered
why it felt so familiar. Dagnammit.”
“Well, considering you
have a copy of almost every-single-one of his bloody books, too...”
“Oh... shut up...”
“I know I'm not crazy,
but the voice in my head may be.”
“That's been done as
well. Remember?”
“Yeah, but...”
“You even wrote a bloody
song about it!”
“I know that! I just enjoy the thought...”
“I know that! I just enjoy the thought...”
“Getting a bit... repetitive, isn't it,
all of this? Is this the best way to start writing?”
“Shit, who asked
you, anyway?
“Ummm... you
did, remember?
“Oh shit, yes I did...”
[slaps palm of hand against forehead].
----------------------------
"What does it sound like?"
"What? What... ?"
"The blackness, in your head. What does it sound like, when it strikes, when it swamps you?"
"Yeah, it does swamp me, like a heavy moss-coated blanket that sucks the happiness out of your soul..."
"But, the sound...? The sound of...?"
"Sound? What does depression sound like? Hmmm... well... I guess it sounds something like the hiss of dead air, like a radio not tuned-in properly, like things are just not focused at all clearly... Jesus, I don't know, you know? How do you describe the indescribable? There's no words in our - or any - language, that..."
"OK, OK, I'm sorry... I know that part of your psyche is about how things sound to you, that's all..."
"Yeah, I know, it's just... it's not something you can capture, or record, like trying to catch the wind in your hands or something..."
"Oh yes, very poetic... and that's been done as well, too."
"Huh? What has?"
"You know, the whole Donovan thing?"
"Oh shit, will you just stop being so hyper-critical over every little fucking thing that pops into my head, you cynical bastard?"
"That's what I do, you know..."
"Oh, shut the fuck up! You make me so tired all the time, on and on, broken record..."
"You tired now?"
"[sigh] Yup, always tired. Never feeling as bright as I should be. Only she makes me feel like I'm supposed to feel."
"She's good for you, isn't she?"
"I'd be nothing... nowhere, without her. How do I... explain what debt I owe her unconditional love and acceptance of me, and who I am, and..."
"And...?"
"And... I know I'm flawed, crusted, soiled... I'm no saint, and she still accepts me all the same. It's... it's soul-refreshing."
"That's it... breathe... breathe her in, then."
"I will. I do... what I owe her is... not calculatable... in any terms, except my love for her..."
"You love her just because she loves yo-"
"No! I loved her from the first time we talked... it's the whole soul-bonding thing, like we are soul twins, just different parents... it's like she's the Ying to my Yang, the balance, those delicacies for my own unbalanced selfishness..."
"Christ, you're laying it on a bit thick now, aint ya?"
"And so? What I am and who I feel when I am with her is again, beyond description. A word may suffice - joy? How's that, you black bastard?"
"I like that word. A lot."
"Joy?"
"Yeah... you should use it more often."
"She is my joy, my delight, my summer breeze..."
"Oh man... bring on the Jasmine!"
"Shut up!"
"Just saying..."
"And I'm just saying... will you be quiet long enough to let me listen to the sounds of joy just thinking of being with her?"
"Hmmm... that's better!"
--------------------------------------------
"Gawd, I hate the way my black dog just barks and barks in my head, until I can't hear anything...!"
"This is turning into a real belly-button selfie again, huh?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake... I'm just trying to put things down... trying to say what I don't know how to say."
------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------
"What does it sound like?"
"What? What... ?"
"The blackness, in your head. What does it sound like, when it strikes, when it swamps you?"
"Yeah, it does swamp me, like a heavy moss-coated blanket that sucks the happiness out of your soul..."
"But, the sound...? The sound of...?"
"Sound? What does depression sound like? Hmmm... well... I guess it sounds something like the hiss of dead air, like a radio not tuned-in properly, like things are just not focused at all clearly... Jesus, I don't know, you know? How do you describe the indescribable? There's no words in our - or any - language, that..."
"OK, OK, I'm sorry... I know that part of your psyche is about how things sound to you, that's all..."
"Yeah, I know, it's just... it's not something you can capture, or record, like trying to catch the wind in your hands or something..."
"Oh yes, very poetic... and that's been done as well, too."
"Huh? What has?"
"You know, the whole Donovan thing?"
"Oh shit, will you just stop being so hyper-critical over every little fucking thing that pops into my head, you cynical bastard?"
"That's what I do, you know..."
"Oh, shut the fuck up! You make me so tired all the time, on and on, broken record..."
"You tired now?"
"[sigh] Yup, always tired. Never feeling as bright as I should be. Only she makes me feel like I'm supposed to feel."
"She's good for you, isn't she?"
"I'd be nothing... nowhere, without her. How do I... explain what debt I owe her unconditional love and acceptance of me, and who I am, and..."
"And...?"
"And... I know I'm flawed, crusted, soiled... I'm no saint, and she still accepts me all the same. It's... it's soul-refreshing."
"That's it... breathe... breathe her in, then."
"I will. I do... what I owe her is... not calculatable... in any terms, except my love for her..."
"You love her just because she loves yo-"
"No! I loved her from the first time we talked... it's the whole soul-bonding thing, like we are soul twins, just different parents... it's like she's the Ying to my Yang, the balance, those delicacies for my own unbalanced selfishness..."
"Christ, you're laying it on a bit thick now, aint ya?"
"And so? What I am and who I feel when I am with her is again, beyond description. A word may suffice - joy? How's that, you black bastard?"
"I like that word. A lot."
"Joy?"
"Yeah... you should use it more often."
"She is my joy, my delight, my summer breeze..."
"Oh man... bring on the Jasmine!"
"Shut up!"
"Just saying..."
"And I'm just saying... will you be quiet long enough to let me listen to the sounds of joy just thinking of being with her?"
"Hmmm... that's better!"
--------------------------------------------
"Gawd, I hate the way my black dog just barks and barks in my head, until I can't hear anything...!"
"This is turning into a real belly-button selfie again, huh?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake... I'm just trying to put things down... trying to say what I don't know how to say."
------------------------------------------------------------
