Bookshelf

The books on my shelf are my tattoos. The covers are comforts and windows to my mind. They are a display of my thoughts. Thoughts that run rampant in a dizzying spiral suddenly have points in space and time. My thoughts have buckets in these books. My questions have answers and the answers create more questions. 

The shelf in my mind is messy indeed. The ideas and memories and ambitions are scattered like papers shoved into random spaces. One day I retrieve a piece of paper with a verse in my curse. I don’t remember writing it, but it’s honest and true. Sometimes, it’s just a to-do. 

These walls. These walls confine. These white walls box me in. I’m trapped. I can’t breathe. I can’t get out a sentence. One single line. 

Time! 

Oh! How easy art would be if time I could not see! 

How beautiful it is to follow dreams without the sting of death within. 

How hard it is to work towards a goal so hidden, if indeed it exists at all. 

Pay the bills, flush it down, eat your lunch and it’s dinner now. The night is quiet, but not my mind. 

I pace and pace and cannot find. 

I can’t decide. 

Throw art away to survive, or kill the thought and slowly die.

***

Thanks for reading. Be sure to sign up below to read my first book!

I’m back.

Hello my friends! It has been along time.

I’ve revamping this blog to hold myself accountable. Well, really I’m hoping you all will be commenting and asking for updates on certain things, but I’m not even sure people blog anymore.

I have a question for you: What are your thoughts on having an alias when publishing work? In todays political climate and social media pile-ons, I worry that somehow the art itself will be thrown to the side because of political biases people cling to. Is this a worry for any of you?
Perhaps you’re thinking, “Ew, what political mumbo jumbo does this no-name ascribe to?”

I guess that thought is natural. But also, who cares? Since it’s on my mind, perhaps I’ll test it by putting it out in the open. I think both the left and the right are arguing over who should control the decisions in your life. I believe that the decisions of you life should be, well, your decisions.

That’s enough of that. Let’s get to the writing!

Since I’ve been gone, I’ve written 59 000 words of my first novel. It’s still at a draft stage with a lot of work et to be done on it. I’ll post little sections now and then to mark my progress, but so far I’m happy. Well, by happy I mean frustrated, exhausted, self-loathing and stupid. Yeah, that sums it up.


But nevertheless, it’s going. All I can do is keep writing.

There is a great quote I heard the other day, it was at the end of the audiobook ‘grit’, so I won’t write it word for word. Basically, the author said writing is seeing how terrible you are every day, but going back daily to refine it.

I’m still a terrible writer, but i’m giving it my best. My best is most people worst, but hey, childhood trauma or something… No, I shouldn’t give myself excuses. I’m excited to share my work with you all soon.

I’m also excited to read more of your stuff and jump back into the world of blogging! It’s been ages!

Anyway, it’s good to be back.








I’m Getting Married!

I’m not quite sure where to start.

I never thought that I would actually get married. I knew it was a possibility, but it was never really a foreseeable future. It was always in a realm beyond my vision.

They say when you know you know, which I always thought was stupid, you know? It was a situation where I found the perfect woman and I had to rapidly shape myself into the man I was always supposed to be; responsible, reliable and ready for the next stage in life.

The first time we met was like walking out of a dark house when you’ve been sleeping all day. The bright light of sunset shocked my system and I became confused in my surroundings. How is it possible that the world is this bright?

She ordered whisky at 9:30 ….IN THE MORNING! Ok, so she was sick and apparently it’s good for the throat. Sounds like some real tomfoolery to me…

I knew straight away. I just felt it. A glimpse of the future. Like strolling into a patch of warm sunlight on a spring morning as the dew upon the grass is beginning to melt.

That’s all I’ll say for now. There’s love and fulfilment in my heart and I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else.



Nightmare – The Tree

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A dead tree alone in a dessert. Burnt, it’s branches claw at the sky. Slowly, the scene tilts. The sky now below, the dessert above. The tree hangs like a gothic chandelier.

The man holds tight, but his grip is failing. White knuckled on the branches as he slides closer and closer to the sky below. Just let go!

The tree begins to bleed. The dark blood rains down on the man. He has no hope. He has nothing.

Useless!

He falls.

A soft surface. Yet, not a landing… He slides gracefully down for miles on a deep red satin dress. The satin wraps him up. It belongs to a beautiful woman. She cradles the man and hums a lullaby.

A nice lullaby.

A haunting lullaby.

A grotesque song.

Nobody wants you!

The satin melts away into an ocean. A rough sea that throws the man under the surface. The liquid fills his lungs. He can’t breathe.

Hopeless.

He falls out from tears that flow from his wife’s eyes as she stares at a tree. A tree that’s been in their yard since they first moved in. Everything is silent. Everything except the tight sound of a rope.

He stands and looks up at the lifeless body. It’s him.

His tortured soul watches his painless body being carried down by his broken wife.

His eyes open and he wakes up in a pool of sweat.

He rolls over and places a soft kiss on back of his wife’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

– By Randall Evans.

Written for The Daily Post prompt – Nightmare

 

Invisible Pain

Invisible pain is rarely invisible. It comes in the form of slammed doors, raised voices or the sounds of a speeding engine traveling far away.

The thought may surface that making logic of emotional hurt is what does the most damage. For if we had no mind, we wouldn’t mind. It’s the process of attempting to make sense of a situation that has no solution that drives the knives deeper into the chest. It’s these logical pathways that plants the seeds of frustration.

The never ending search for an answer to illogical situations drives one insane. Every internal  argument starting with the phrase, “I just don’t get it!”

Solutions to this blackhole of despair is what should interest us, but it doesn’t. Depression and anger, anger most of all, is addictive. Exhausting, yes, but addictive. As I write this with the tone of a pretensions upperclass professor who has never experienced real pain, my fingers shake with uncontrollable ferocity that results from uncontrolable emotion. I like it.

Your blood boils. You feel like riping up everything in your life and bringing it all back to zero. If anyone dare look at me, their blood with pave the streets beneath me!

Pause.

Press the pause button for fuck’s sake.

Solutions is what we should be interested in. The logical solution is that there is no solution.

Indeed, back to professor tone.

To make logic of emotional pain is illogical, but the logic that it’s illogical is logical. Does this open up new ways of coping with the situation? How do we act?

I guess we are forgetting the main problem; Humans are illogical creatures. Illogical creatures must make illogical decisions and experience illogical pain and pass that pain off to others.

Where does this leave us? Do we have any choice in our reactions? Are we snowflakes? Unique from each other in appearance only, but doomed to freeze and fall without any say in the matter? I’d rather melt.

Sometimes I wish to react on instinct and go out in a blaze of glory, but I (think) I know better. I know the boring way.

Put as much time ahead of your reaction as possible. As you can see, this time sparked the initial question. Does creating logic around an emotional pain do more harm than good?

Perhaps internalising creates self pain, externalising creates pain in others. Either way, the pain must be felt somehow.

Did you feel it through this post? I wonder…

– By Randall Evans.

Pluto

_MG_0727 copy

Did you know that there’s a mysterious place far beyond our reach? A place we once knew, but that keeps us, (and itself) in the dark.

It was once defined, but then forgotten. Who were we to demote a planet? Insignificant specks on earth pointing our fingers outward.

But it was waiting. Suspended in the dark.

Suppression.

You though you were in control. But now she rises! In plain sight she destroys everything you though you knew, everything you though you were.

Pluto is emotion.

It’s the undefined emotional current that streams through us all. It hides away until we forget it exists. It hides away, alone.

We once dismissed her, we called her small and insignificant.

But, now we know.

It’s what we have always known. The deepest voice inside ourself. The deepest breath that was once so audible, only a whisper amongst white noise, is now screaming.

Screaming.

What does your pluto scream?

– By Randall Evans.

The Train

“Be careful, it’s quite slippery.”

“I will. You taking photos?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Nah, i’m hoping to see a ghost.”

Helensburgh--station--train--haunted--nature--cool--photography--locations--sydney--nsw
Old Helensburgh Railway Station – Original Vile Mint Photo

The man’s camera flash echoed through the tunnel.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve been here before, but didn’t see anything. How long have you been in here?”

“I only just arrived.”

The abandoned train line was still and quiet.  It was beautiful in the day and ominous at night. People often came to take photos or go on guided ghost tours.

“Why do you want to see a ghost?”

“Because I’ve never seen one before.”

The flash echoes down the tunnel.

“What will you do when you find one?

“Probably run away.”

“Ah, so you are just thrill seeking.”

“Maybe…”

The flash echoes.

The woman slips on some mud and grabs the strangers shoulder to prevent herself falling down.

“I’m sorry, it’s so slippery.”

“It’s okay. How far down are you going to go?”

The darkness was thickening around them as they walked.

“As far as I have to to see a ghost.”

The man stopped in his tracks.

“Well, you had better stop walking.”

Helensburgh--station--train--haunted
Old Helensburgh Railway Station – Original Vile Mint Photo

The tunnel was silent but for a few drips of water. The mancontinued:

“This tunnel used to have trains passing through every hour full of different people. People in the rat race on the way to work, old men on their way to see their granddaughters and young children on their way to school.”

Darkness.

“For a time they were all together in the same carriage passing through the same tunnel. On late mornings they would have to run to make their train and on late evenings they would rest their heads agains the glass window and stare out into the darkness of this tunnel.”

The man turns his camera off.

“We are the only ghosts in this tunnel.”

– By Randall Evans.

Joshologue #2

There are too many elephants in my room.

I’m talking to myself again. The fact that we have two ears and one mouth means that what we say about ourselves is amplified exponentially until it explodes in our minds. The feedback of actualization.

Part of the reason I talk to myself is to hear my own voice. I know that must sound strange, but that’s how our voices sound when we hear them; Strange. Haven’t you ever heard your voice on a recording and asked, ‘Is that what I sound like?’

I bet you can’t even remember the last time you heard your own voice when no one else could.

After listening to myself I realized that my voice doesn’t belong to me.

The voices are coming from the elephants.

The speak on my behalf as I rush to cover them with hay. The more I hide them, the bigger they become.

When I try to hide things about myself I become like a drunk man trying to present himself sober to enter a bar. What I’m hiding becomes obvious.

But then the people watching ask the most important question of all:

“Why does he want to be in the bar so desperately?”

– By Randall Evans.

The Little Man And I

Drip… Drip… Drip…

“What is it now?” A shadow passed across the face of a tiny man. He lifted his head to see a demon perched by the window.

“A lying tongue, my good man.” The demon smiled it’s sharp, stained teeth. It smiled because of the little man’s face. He pulled the face of one who was suppressing an unannounced internal pain. Oh, how beautiful it was.

_MG_1418

The little man picked up his sharp little quill and started to write onto the soft, warm surface.

“Work’s been busy?” Asked the man, trying his best to hide any emotion from his voice.

The demon opened his wings to reveal another mouth protruding from his stomach.

It spoke.

“Don’t you want to know what he said?”

The man was only half way through carving ‘lying’ when the bleeding started.

“Or are you running out of space? I know another little man who ran out of space only yesterday.”

“Oh?” The little man’s poker face took up valuable vocabulary space. He finished off his second word, pulled a little handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his bloody hand.

The demon closed his wings and spoke from his sharp teeth.

“Work is easy. I hardly have to do anything. It’s almost like delegating without delegating. They are all under his employ now.

The words reflected on the little man’s eyes as he shut the doors of reaction.

“Oh?”

The demon smiled.

“At least it keeps you in a job. I’ll se ya.”

And with that, the demon departed. The little man breathed a sigh of relief. He sat down, wiped his hands free from blood stared at the bleeding heart in front of him. A giant heart, stained and scared with evil.

It was afternoon now and the light from the window was passing along the floor as the day came closer to an end. The light never reached the heart.

The man sat alone in the dark and began to cry.

– By Randall Evans.

Reflection Distorts Desired Delusions

I lay awake as the silence takes hold.
It gets louder and louder.
I beg for a distraction.
Reflection distorts desired delusions.

Reflections

What time is is? I’ll check my phone. I’ll check my notifications. I’ll check my newsfeed. I’ll check my email.

I’ll check out.

My mind is a rapid when it should be a lake.

If I let the waters settle… They might begin to boil… They have to keep flowing…

Reflection distorts desired delusions.

How many years has it been since I left school?

Why haven’t I achieved what I thought I would.

I remember saying that I would have a family by 23… At 25 I can pass that one off as naïvety.

What time is it?

Things will get better… I know they will… I just know it…

My mind is an ocean when it should be rain.

Every drop that hits the ground is acceptance of reality.

Every drop that falls fills the bucket labeled ‘Failure’.

I’ll staple my eyes shut if I have to.

Reflection distorts desired delusions.

It’s about travel… that’s it… And… Experience! Sadness is an experience none of these people can fathom! They don’t know pain! They don’t know suffering! They are just sheep! Sheep living in their digital playgrounds! Never thinking! Never feeling!

What time is it ?

What time?

What’s the time?

The silence is loud. My mind is sleepwalking when it should be in asleep.

It’s all ok. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. I’m going to live for me and be free.

Reflection distorts desired delusions.

 

This is The Vile Mint.