Dancing with Me
Sculpter
However long it takes, that is exactly how long it takes.
I can't tell you how long it took, but I can tell you how it feels, how it smells, how a lot of things, but time slips away from me.
Time is not an issue, perfection cannot be rushed. There is no deadline, the medium is already dead. They don't feel a thing, I do all the feeling for them. They taste nothing, I do that for them. They hear, see, smell nothing, I do that for them. They will always be dead, but I will live for as long as I can, and through me they will be given a new type of life.
I consider myself an artist of the finest art. For I work in the finest medium. Scupting with remains, perfecting the dead, and giving them life through artistic crafting of their bodies. Perhaps there are a few out there that do not consider what I do to be art, but who are they to say. I may not get acolades from any gallery or art society, but my work continues to bring comfort to many of the living that view my artful creations.
Now I know what you are thinking, the grieving don't care about my art, but they do. I have watched them and they most certainly do. They feel so much for their dead relatives, and I have watched them cry, at the mastery of my work.
Oh I could have been a motician, or even a anthropoligist, but those careers gave me no access to my medium. No I needed to have closer relationship to my medium. That is why I chose to become a priest. They come to me for comfort, and I provide them with the ultimate in forgiveness. No one has ever left my chambers complaining. In fact no one has ever left my chambers, they remain, artful reminders of how beautiful people can be when scupted in the artful hands of a master.
Just a pretty little tale, for a moment in time.
Forget-me-Not
"Try to remember what happened" the voice said.
"I am trying, I am" I am sure I shouted.
"Just try to remember, the last thing that you remember, before you woke up here." the voice went on.
"I am trying, but I don't remember anything" I thought I said.
"You must remember, think back, now, remember" the voice droned on.
"You're not listening to me, I can't remember anything, I don't even remember being born, or who I am, or what I am, I can't remember anything at all." I shouted, raging and racing, trying to get through.
"Okay, maybe we'll try later, rest for now, and we'll try later." the voice said.
"Later" I screamed, "what is later, what is now, why won't you listen to me, why won't listen, where are you, I can't see anything, please listen." I couldn't feel air, but somehow I knew I must be breathing. I could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, it was just darkness, empty space, void, with no measure. I was frozen in place, in time, in my head, or somewhere, I could not tell even if I was alive.
There continued to be a hum, somewhere, something was humming, like a machine, that's what it was a machine, what was a machine. The concept just sat there, a machine, what is a machine. Am I a machine, do machines live, and what was living. It hummed, rhythmic rise and fall, over and over, but nothing else, just that hum. No more voice, no more words floating in ether, from somewhere I could not see, or even know.
I had said my head, what is that, a head, is it something, did I have a head, I must have.
Nothing, but nothing was normal, I was used to nothing.
An over arching brow forhead, with too bushy of an eyebrow, and fingers that were to long, to slender, to many. Slender wrist that continued on to long, that raised to far to a to heavy shoulder. And then white heat, burning, searing, and tense. Back to nothing.
"The snow isn't stopping any time soon, why don't you stay here tonight" she said.
"Yea sure, why not, what with the weather, I could not make any time on the roads any way, and I could see much better by day light." I cahjoled.
"Would you like some more tea, or should I just make up a bed for you now?" she asked.
"I am quite tired now that you mention it, perhaps sleep would be best, maybe." I retorted.
"Yes, sleep, that is exactly what I was thinking" she said.
An hour or so later words had ceased to be adequate, and we lay in some bed somewhere in her house, wet from sweat, and still I had nothing more to say.
"Sleep really would be good right now" I said.
"Of course" she said.
I rolled over and in seconds I was asleep, peaceful, restful, dreamless sleep.
Dawn comes early on late nights. When I woke up the sun had already gotten fully into the sky. The bed was empty now, except for my frame. I arose rested, without the usual care and concern for my health. I found a robe, and a distinct absence of my clothing. One thought, I hope thye will be dry soon, I haven't much time to get back on the road.
I walked down stairs and headed for the kitchen, being the most likely place to find some coffee, and maybe even my host. Why couldn't I remember her name. Oh yea, that's because she never told me her name. Well that won't matter in a few minutes any ways. I will be on my way, and she will go about hers, uninterupted.
On the kitchen table I found my clothes neatly folded, and a cup. The coffee was fresh, and hot, I didn't look aaround for cream or sugar, I preferred it balck. After a quick cup of coffee, I changed inot my clothes and headed for the door. I had seen nothing of my gracious host, or any note, so I just left the robe on the kitchen chair, and found the door. I was to my car and pulling out of the driveway within fifteen minutes of waking up.
The plows had been through already so the driving was easy. Now all I wanted was to get to my house and pick up my wife before twelve. It was 10:45, I had pleanty of time, so I didn't hurry. I hit the main highway by 11:00 and in a half hour I would be turning into my driveway. It was done, I will barely remember it in another two of three weeks, and hopefully she won't cancel the sale either.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard, 11:25, I was making excellent time. I took the off ramp and headed down the main road into town, ten more minutes maybe, and I would be home.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Emptiness, where once there was something. I don't know what, but there was something. Now nothing.
Nothing and some humming sound, like an engine. Like the engine of a car. It was a car, I was driving a car. That's it I was driving a car. A machine is a car. I was driving a car, that's what I was doing before the nothing.
"I have never seen anything like it before in my life." the doctor told the woman standing with him.
It is as if he just stopped living." the doctor said. We have tried everything, and although we can get some signs of basic life, a pulse, all that, there's no life, like a coma, but more profound. Even in a coma you find some type of life, some spark, we can't explain it." he went on.
"Will he recover, ever" asked the woman?
"We don't know, all we know is that he is catatonic, profoundly catatonic, no eye movement, nothing but basic life signs, pulse, breathing, blod preasure, all normal, but nothing else, no outward signs of life as we know it" the doctor said.
"I will wait with him then" the woman said. She left the doctor and went in side the darkened room. There she sat waiting, wondering, would he ever know the truth. She did not know the spell would have worked this way, it was supposed to make him regrett, to repent, to bind him, what had gone wrong. The other woman had said that if he was unfaithful with her, she would make sure he could never be agian. This is not exactly what she had hoped for, had wanted. Her tears were only slight, but she knew it was as much her fault as his, she had not specified enough, had not asked the right questions, not realized how much it would hurt her too.
Just a little story about love, and love gone cold.
More to come...
Sleep well...
-James-
Sculpter
However long it takes, that is exactly how long it takes.
I can't tell you how long it took, but I can tell you how it feels, how it smells, how a lot of things, but time slips away from me.
Time is not an issue, perfection cannot be rushed. There is no deadline, the medium is already dead. They don't feel a thing, I do all the feeling for them. They taste nothing, I do that for them. They hear, see, smell nothing, I do that for them. They will always be dead, but I will live for as long as I can, and through me they will be given a new type of life.
I consider myself an artist of the finest art. For I work in the finest medium. Scupting with remains, perfecting the dead, and giving them life through artistic crafting of their bodies. Perhaps there are a few out there that do not consider what I do to be art, but who are they to say. I may not get acolades from any gallery or art society, but my work continues to bring comfort to many of the living that view my artful creations.
Now I know what you are thinking, the grieving don't care about my art, but they do. I have watched them and they most certainly do. They feel so much for their dead relatives, and I have watched them cry, at the mastery of my work.
Oh I could have been a motician, or even a anthropoligist, but those careers gave me no access to my medium. No I needed to have closer relationship to my medium. That is why I chose to become a priest. They come to me for comfort, and I provide them with the ultimate in forgiveness. No one has ever left my chambers complaining. In fact no one has ever left my chambers, they remain, artful reminders of how beautiful people can be when scupted in the artful hands of a master.
Just a pretty little tale, for a moment in time.
Forget-me-Not
"Try to remember what happened" the voice said.
"I am trying, I am" I am sure I shouted.
"Just try to remember, the last thing that you remember, before you woke up here." the voice went on.
"I am trying, but I don't remember anything" I thought I said.
"You must remember, think back, now, remember" the voice droned on.
"You're not listening to me, I can't remember anything, I don't even remember being born, or who I am, or what I am, I can't remember anything at all." I shouted, raging and racing, trying to get through.
"Okay, maybe we'll try later, rest for now, and we'll try later." the voice said.
"Later" I screamed, "what is later, what is now, why won't you listen to me, why won't listen, where are you, I can't see anything, please listen." I couldn't feel air, but somehow I knew I must be breathing. I could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, it was just darkness, empty space, void, with no measure. I was frozen in place, in time, in my head, or somewhere, I could not tell even if I was alive.
There continued to be a hum, somewhere, something was humming, like a machine, that's what it was a machine, what was a machine. The concept just sat there, a machine, what is a machine. Am I a machine, do machines live, and what was living. It hummed, rhythmic rise and fall, over and over, but nothing else, just that hum. No more voice, no more words floating in ether, from somewhere I could not see, or even know.
I had said my head, what is that, a head, is it something, did I have a head, I must have.
Nothing, but nothing was normal, I was used to nothing.
An over arching brow forhead, with too bushy of an eyebrow, and fingers that were to long, to slender, to many. Slender wrist that continued on to long, that raised to far to a to heavy shoulder. And then white heat, burning, searing, and tense. Back to nothing.
"The snow isn't stopping any time soon, why don't you stay here tonight" she said.
"Yea sure, why not, what with the weather, I could not make any time on the roads any way, and I could see much better by day light." I cahjoled.
"Would you like some more tea, or should I just make up a bed for you now?" she asked.
"I am quite tired now that you mention it, perhaps sleep would be best, maybe." I retorted.
"Yes, sleep, that is exactly what I was thinking" she said.
An hour or so later words had ceased to be adequate, and we lay in some bed somewhere in her house, wet from sweat, and still I had nothing more to say.
"Sleep really would be good right now" I said.
"Of course" she said.
I rolled over and in seconds I was asleep, peaceful, restful, dreamless sleep.
Dawn comes early on late nights. When I woke up the sun had already gotten fully into the sky. The bed was empty now, except for my frame. I arose rested, without the usual care and concern for my health. I found a robe, and a distinct absence of my clothing. One thought, I hope thye will be dry soon, I haven't much time to get back on the road.
I walked down stairs and headed for the kitchen, being the most likely place to find some coffee, and maybe even my host. Why couldn't I remember her name. Oh yea, that's because she never told me her name. Well that won't matter in a few minutes any ways. I will be on my way, and she will go about hers, uninterupted.
On the kitchen table I found my clothes neatly folded, and a cup. The coffee was fresh, and hot, I didn't look aaround for cream or sugar, I preferred it balck. After a quick cup of coffee, I changed inot my clothes and headed for the door. I had seen nothing of my gracious host, or any note, so I just left the robe on the kitchen chair, and found the door. I was to my car and pulling out of the driveway within fifteen minutes of waking up.
The plows had been through already so the driving was easy. Now all I wanted was to get to my house and pick up my wife before twelve. It was 10:45, I had pleanty of time, so I didn't hurry. I hit the main highway by 11:00 and in a half hour I would be turning into my driveway. It was done, I will barely remember it in another two of three weeks, and hopefully she won't cancel the sale either.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard, 11:25, I was making excellent time. I took the off ramp and headed down the main road into town, ten more minutes maybe, and I would be home.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Emptiness, where once there was something. I don't know what, but there was something. Now nothing.
Nothing and some humming sound, like an engine. Like the engine of a car. It was a car, I was driving a car. That's it I was driving a car. A machine is a car. I was driving a car, that's what I was doing before the nothing.
"I have never seen anything like it before in my life." the doctor told the woman standing with him.
It is as if he just stopped living." the doctor said. We have tried everything, and although we can get some signs of basic life, a pulse, all that, there's no life, like a coma, but more profound. Even in a coma you find some type of life, some spark, we can't explain it." he went on.
"Will he recover, ever" asked the woman?
"We don't know, all we know is that he is catatonic, profoundly catatonic, no eye movement, nothing but basic life signs, pulse, breathing, blod preasure, all normal, but nothing else, no outward signs of life as we know it" the doctor said.
"I will wait with him then" the woman said. She left the doctor and went in side the darkened room. There she sat waiting, wondering, would he ever know the truth. She did not know the spell would have worked this way, it was supposed to make him regrett, to repent, to bind him, what had gone wrong. The other woman had said that if he was unfaithful with her, she would make sure he could never be agian. This is not exactly what she had hoped for, had wanted. Her tears were only slight, but she knew it was as much her fault as his, she had not specified enough, had not asked the right questions, not realized how much it would hurt her too.
Just a little story about love, and love gone cold.
More to come...
Sleep well...
-James-
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