dimanche 25 janvier 2009
Describe a barn from the perspective of someone experiencing something emotionally intense.
____The light coming from the front door was totally blinding. The kind of light one could only see at the threshold of paradise. A blend of small particles of straw and of dry flowers were dancing gaily in the rays of sun penetrating the barn by the lateral windows. It was Spring. Everywhere I could see the little animals suddenly freed from the torpor of winter, playing furiously behind the hay-bundles. I had been observing a couple of little shrews in their loving games for one hour now. The two tiny animals had whirled in a joyful parade: they were a single swirl of somersaults. Sometimes one of them pretended to try to escape, scurrying away with a small shriek of pleasure. But very soon, the chaser jumped on the back of the other and nibbled the long and graceful ears of its companion. The thin drops of sweat accumulating around my eyes, blurring my vision, forced me to look away, behind his hair regularly coming and going in a swinging movement. Above his head I could see the roof structure of the barn, these impressive wood beams overlapped, joined without any nails. All of a second I imagined this roof falling on us, this shelter betraying our close intimacy. I could feel the sweet pain of the wood piercing my flesh, I imagined the intensity of the explosion of the structure on our two bodies. More and more drops of sweat were falling on the ground. A small heap of ants had gathered around these small pools, attracted by the acidity and the saltiness of the concoction.
____My eyes were jumping from a bale of hay to the other. I wanted to remember every element this day, to carve in my brain, in my memory, this moment for ever. The dryness of the straw, the wetness of the concrete ground, the warmth of the sun. And suddenly, an explosion of light.
____From the top of the roof, an old owl was watching the scene : the girl lain among the golden hay, the young man resting on her. Both panting, both surprised by the intensity of each other’s body. It was the beginning of Spring.
____My eyes were jumping from a bale of hay to the other. I wanted to remember every element this day, to carve in my brain, in my memory, this moment for ever. The dryness of the straw, the wetness of the concrete ground, the warmth of the sun. And suddenly, an explosion of light.
____From the top of the roof, an old owl was watching the scene : the girl lain among the golden hay, the young man resting on her. Both panting, both surprised by the intensity of each other’s body. It was the beginning of Spring.
A boy talking to a girl about his mother....
___“Listen, I hope this is the last time we have this kind of discussion: I love my mother and she will be able to live in this house as long as she wants.” I was determined and very angry, but not as much as Jill. Her eyes were blazing with anger.
___“Of course you love your mother and you think you can impose her to everybody. I know her, she’s gonna stick her disgusting turned-up nose in our lives. You know that I love you and that I would do anything possible to please you”, her voice was very soft now. I could see that she tried to seduce, to wheedle me but I would be stronger this time. And brutally, in a second, her traits became harder, almost cruel : “But she will not come to live here.”
___“Please Jill”, I was now supplicating, “you know that she is old, that she needs me, she needs us.” With this final sentence I hoped she would be at least moved, softened.
___“She hates me and you know it very well. And please, please, do not say that she needs you. You need her. But for God sake! When will you grow up? I don’t want a kid sniveling and whimpering all the time. I want a husband, Jack. A husband!”
I felt my cheeks becoming more and more red. I wanted to cry. She was right.
___“You know, she stays for one week and the children love her. How will we explain to the children that their granny cannot stay at home with them, read them stories, spend some time with them.” This reference to the children was undoubtedly a proof of my weakness but I was desperate. And of course her reaction came immediately, violent:
___“Do not involve the children in that. Your mother is an old witch and I don’t want my children to be too close to this woman. Look what she did to you: feeding you like a pig until you explode, overprotecting her little precious son. And what have you become? A WIMP! I don’t want my children to be wimps. She will not come here.” She knew I had lost. I could feel the tears on my cheeks, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. She added with her most charming smile: “Of course you know I still love you my little darling.”
___“I think I know a good hotel very close.” She had won.
___“Of course you love your mother and you think you can impose her to everybody. I know her, she’s gonna stick her disgusting turned-up nose in our lives. You know that I love you and that I would do anything possible to please you”, her voice was very soft now. I could see that she tried to seduce, to wheedle me but I would be stronger this time. And brutally, in a second, her traits became harder, almost cruel : “But she will not come to live here.”
___“Please Jill”, I was now supplicating, “you know that she is old, that she needs me, she needs us.” With this final sentence I hoped she would be at least moved, softened.
___“She hates me and you know it very well. And please, please, do not say that she needs you. You need her. But for God sake! When will you grow up? I don’t want a kid sniveling and whimpering all the time. I want a husband, Jack. A husband!”
I felt my cheeks becoming more and more red. I wanted to cry. She was right.
___“You know, she stays for one week and the children love her. How will we explain to the children that their granny cannot stay at home with them, read them stories, spend some time with them.” This reference to the children was undoubtedly a proof of my weakness but I was desperate. And of course her reaction came immediately, violent:
___“Do not involve the children in that. Your mother is an old witch and I don’t want my children to be too close to this woman. Look what she did to you: feeding you like a pig until you explode, overprotecting her little precious son. And what have you become? A WIMP! I don’t want my children to be wimps. She will not come here.” She knew I had lost. I could feel the tears on my cheeks, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. She added with her most charming smile: “Of course you know I still love you my little darling.”
___“I think I know a good hotel very close.” She had won.
Write about something you hate from the perspective of someone who loves it....
(Industrial) Coconut ice-cream.
____Have you ever felt this deep disappointment when you open your freezer, desperately wanting your favorite ice-cream flavor and… Horror ! your little brother, or your old mother, your gardener or your maid has greedily finished the last drops in the last tub. This frustration is particularly intense for me in the specific case of coconut ice-cream. Some killjoys always target coconut ice-cream as the holy-mother of every vice of the twenty-first century : “it is completely chemical ! and have you seen this color ? Coconut is not white like that ! And the taste is a catastrophe. I am sure there is not a single molecule of coconut inside !”. But honestly, who cares? Yes, it is chemical ; no, there is probably no real coconut inside ; yes, the list of components looks like the perfect recipe for an atomic bomb… but it is so good ! This very sweet taste, this white color, here are the inimitable qualities of a good-cheap-chemical-industrial coconut ice-cream. The power of coconut ice-cream is in its ability to make me dream, to make me travel. No need to go in a lost paradise on the middle of the Pacific Ocean: Paradise is in the fridge, it smells like an exotic cruise, it looks like a naked belly dancer. Better than a touristic brochure ! No need to go skiing : the purity of whiteness, the softness of snowflakes is in your bowl. Your longing for purity will be totally fulfilled. Do not listen to these bored and boring leftist intellectuals who will invariably say : “this is a means of alienation, coconut ice-cream is the drug that makes people forget their every-day stinking life”. True ! But still, I love it. Just speaking about it I drool over a big portion of this softness, of this milky, jelly texture, of this inimitably chemical flavor. I can easily imagine my tongue sensuously welcoming the coldness in my mouth, the liquid flowing along my throat, the feeling of intense pleasure diffusing in my entire body. My limbs are tensed, a small drop of sweat has just appeared on my forehead : “CRAP ! WHO DID FINISH THE ICE-CREAM ?”
New class, New projects
This is now the (bad / awful / unacceptable) result of my Writing Fiction class. I know, it is revolting ! Enjoy...
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