Wasted artwork

I can see through them. I see the darkness behind the shiny shields. Best part is that they never realise their mistake. That little gap they keep open invites my curiosity to have a look around. Capturing all shades of greys and blacks my eyes search for something brighter to grab onto and drag outside. It’s always there: in locked up boxes, under heavy stones, behind iron doors - can’t hide it from me. And when I find it I match it to my colours. Too bright, too red, too faded, too common. Do I throw it away? No… I frame it and hand it back to them to hang up on the walls of their souls. I don’t look at my artwork, I move on searching for the finest that will make me want to stay and forget about locking the doors. I’ve hidden my coloured diamonds so deep that no shovel can dig up. And until someone can look into my eyes and turn the stones into dust I will carry on guarding my map.

Chapter One - the beginning

Someone must be coming to help me. The locals, they live so close. They must have noticed the blood stains out there. Why is no one coming yet? If this happened in Bogotá I would already be discharged from hospital.  But this is Peru. Stay focused, don’t pass out, someone is coming. Peru but where exactly, what’s this tiny village called? Caja…Cajamerba… Cajamarca? Focus. What I can remember…what I can… is that it was a hot sunny day today. It’s still too hot. I remember… watching the sweat steaming off Diego’s back as he dragged me to this cave. Why was he dragging me? I need to sleep. No! Stay awake, they’re coming.

Jake tried to curl up to ease the pain in his stomach but his muscles declined the brain’s order. That burning pain wouldn’t back down; he assumed that a red hot iron had been sewn into his stomach. He could see a blacksmith smirking at him from the darker end of the cave. Jake was educated enough to know what these hallucinations meant. He was wishing not to be a smart teacher right now but one of the villagers. That case he could play along with his mind’s tricks and have a conversation with the smirking blacksmith. Deciding to ignore his unwanted cave guest his hand reached for his stomach for a reality check. Wrong decision. Panic starts creeping into his mind now as the half dried blood covers his fingers. It must have been a few hours since Diego left him here. The blood is cooling down but still streaming down his sides.

Why is no one coming yet? This is not Bogotá, this is Caja…Cajadra… Diego! I knew you would come back. I need to…

Jake couldn’t force his eyes to stay open anymore. He felt his wounded body lifting of the ground as his hero grabbed him but when the cool air filled his lungs he managed to sneak a quick look at the blacksmith they left in the cave.

Look who’s laughing now?

Eyes back to shut position. Though Jake’s mind hasn’t given up on its tricks just yet. As he was being carried to safety he could feel the heat spreading from his stomach to his head. The smell of his own blood mixed with sweat kept dragging him back to reality alarming his system that something was wrong. It was hard for him to decide if that stomach pain was from his wound or if it was a reaction to this worried state of mind. If he could only open his eyes to see his surroundings his mind would have made its peace and Jake could be focusing only on the wound.

He would see orange lights coming from the little village houses that had to have either red or grey roofs. It seemed like this was an unwritten rule in the community. None of them had gates but animals were sleeping at the back of the buildings. During the day this place is more educating then visiting the zoo. The graphite coloured sky proudly showcased all the stars that normally hide behind city clouds. As the half Moon lit up the valley the outline of the nearby hills created a perfect illusion of guarding gates. It would have reminded him of those pictures he used to cut out from magazines to daydream about visiting Peru. Instead he was unconscious by now and being carried into one of the little houses. It had a grey roof. 

                                                             ***

Still Chapter one

 She was always the polite one, well mannered and quiet. He did not see this coming. But as she threw the wallet at Diego, he had to take a step back when it hit his chest. You would like to think she was aiming at his heart.

‘Cecilia please take a deep breath and let me speak’ her screams were hurting his ears. This is not the picture he had in his mind this afternoon when he was drinking his coffee, daydreaming about his wife.

‘Let you speak? Well then you may start your explanation now, I’m listening’ her voice was still too high-pitched for a polite conversation. The veins on her neck were showing a pulse rate of a marathon runner.

‘I have nothing to explain to you. Are you physically not able to understand this?’ Now Diego’s voice started to catch up in the screaming race. If there was a third person in the room this would be the moment for making an imaginary bet on the winner of this fight. Upper class screams vs. Arrogant remarks.

‘You wanted me to let you speak, so speak. Can’t wait to hear another lie.’

‘You make it too easy to be lied to.’ Diego couldn’t have rolled his eyes in a more patronising way as the insulting words left his lips. He stared out the window and kept his gaze on the marshmallow-like sky just to avoid Cecilia’s eyes. He always hated marshmallows. ‘I was at Jake’s practising my English. I go there twice a week I told you. I am disappointed in you Cee for accusing me.’ He said and turned around to give her a cold look. It didn’t make her feel what he was aiming for. Instead she flew into a rage and they were back to round one again. Creating a new winning strategy in his mind was more difficult than challenging this time but he succeeded as always.

‘Are you ignoring me now? Diego Sanchez you better not leave the house now or you will have nowhere to come back to!’ she yelled when her husband slammed the front door.

 

Diego picked up his wallet from the floor on his way out and opened it when he finally didn’t feel Cecilia’s eyes drilling his back. The note from Jake was still there. His blood rushed to his brain as he realised his enormous mistake.

Do you live or are you just alive?

You feel that little tingle deep in the middle of your muscles, you can’t help it, it’s there. A little flame fighting its way up travelling from muscle to muscle, across your entire body through your nervous system. You feel alive. You smile as you let the rhythm control you.

How can you explain this feeling, this state of mind to someone who’s unable to locate this simple but powerful joy in their lives? Dancing… that’s what I’m talking about. It has the power to stop the world and begin a new one. In that world you feel relaxed, confident, extremely happy, playful and above all this you feel YOU. Music is not the foundation in this magical game, what really creates this beautiful experience is the simple fact that you can truly let yourself go. And when the known-to-others you is gone, enters the mask free personality. No defence system, no walls and shields, not even a slightest illusion, it’s pure like a newborn’s mind without any alterations. A very rare moment in our sugar coated lives.

If you had ever felt this experience then you understand that dancing is as important as breathing. If you had recognised this pure moment in someone else’s eyes then you my friend, I would like to meet.

03/02/2011

Is it?

Can you ever possibly warm up a cold heart? This is the scariest question that sends shivers down my spine, yet I enjoy playing with the idea that the answer is a black and white no.

I used to believe that it could be achievable, that it would happen when another cold heart understands your frozen language. Something like putting out fire with fire; ice could stop the existence of ice and create something so beautifully stable and strong like concrete. Yes I used to believe in this transformation, the creation of concrete. But as the ice gets thicker and harder to break through, this illusion becomes more and more disguised. There are a few false moments when I see this illusion taking its worn out mask off and just before I could catch a glimpse of its true face it turns around and disappears in the dark. I try to face this darkness and march straight through it but ice is very slippery. It’s hard to chase something without falling over many times.

Then there are other moments when fire is threatening to melt down this entire shiny ice field. I never know how to keep this heat under control without causing damage. In the fire of course, never the ice. And when I see the flames backing down, running away to safety I hear a sound. The sound of a fracture or a snap. Strangely there is no pain - but guilt? Yes plenty of guilt. Cannot be undone, it is there scratched in so deep that nothing in this world has the power to cover it up and make it look undamaged.

Drip, drop, drip, drop… is it the ice melting or the last few marbles hitting the ground?


 30/01/2011

Have you?

Have you ever looked into a mirror and all you could see is your face, nothing more? I dare you: look at the eyes next time you check yourself in a mirror, you’ll be surprised. Look into them in your own reflection long enough until you see you your own soul. You’ll see what you’ve been hiding from everyone or perhaps if you’re lucky enough you’ll get to see what others keep telling you but your ears block them. Compliments… what’s stopping us from believing them?

24/01/2011

chapter one (?)

‘Look Diego darling, you’re in the news again! My great explorer!’ she hugged him with pride and as he turned his head away his tears reflected in the mirror behind his proud wife. Was that a tear of joy? Pain or even guilt? Whatever it was he managed to wipe it off by moving up his shoulder in a perfectly mastered movement that no one in the room noticed. The hug didn’t last any longer than a few seconds but for Cecilia it felt like a joyful lifetime. She just wanted to feel him breathing.

‘Yes, that’s me’ he replied forcing a natural looking smile on his scarred face.

It all started three long months ago when he was having a coffee with Jake. They used to meet up twice a week at Jake’s flat right in the centre of Bogotá to practice his English. He was the ideal teacher – charging only 2000 pesos per session and having a mutual obsession of Peruvian history.

‘Tell me again, why didn’t you immigrate to Peru instead of Colombia?’ Diego couldn’t resist repeating the same question week after week. Hope was glowing from his eyes expecting a better answer this time.

‘I am scared to be too close to the fire my friend’. Eyes shut, hope gone. ‘However I am planning a trip next week. There is a hidden Inca temple I believe I can find.’ Eyes wide open, heart beating fast. ‘I happen to have an extra ticket if you care to join me…’ half a smile appeared on his face as he waited for Diego’s reaction.

‘Me? Going to Peru with you? Is this one of your odd jokes I never get?’

‘No, I’m serious. I would only step my foot on Peruvian ground with someone who would respect the culture as much as I do. Besides I don’t have any other friends.’ Jake’s smile swiftly transformed into a childish frown making his only friend realise he had no other option but to go to Peru and find that Inca temple.

Only one night separated him from Peru. He started to feel uneasy but pushed any negative thoughts out of his mind. Logging on to his computer he felt an unexplainable urge to write to his sister.

My dear sister Kate,

I know it has been a long time since I made contact but I truly hope that you’re well. I think of you more than you would imagine; I feel a bit lonely sometimes.

Have you finally quit that waitress job? I hope you have and you’re not serving coffee anymore, you deserve better. I am settling in here, Bogotá is wonderful, you would enjoy it, I hope you can come and visit me one day. I have made a good friend as well his name is Diego. We are going on a trip to Peru tomorrow – my dream after all becomes reality.

I need to tell you something very important but please my dear keep this to yourself until I contact you again. I have found an ancient book at the local market. The old lady who sold it to me didn’t realise what it was. It’s a handwritten diary of a great English explorer who describes how he almost discovered an Inca temple in Peru but had to leave the country before completing his mission. I know you’re not as fascinated about this as I am so I will spare the details. All you need to know is that I am going to find this place I have no doubts. Keep your eye on the news, it will say soon ‘Discovery of the century by Jake Spinster’.  I have mentioned this to my friend Diego as well and he’s being very supportive.

I will keep you updated but remember to watch the news, you will be so proud of me!

Love,

Jake

***

As Kate arrived home after her bizarre shift in the coffee shop she couldn’t help feeling guilty. She was still angry with her brother for leaving the country secretly but he’s finally made contact and she never responded. Deciding to become the forgiving and supporting sister, she’s promised to herself to visit him in Colombia - one day. Chasing the guilt away worked and she felt impressed with herself. As she picked up her mail from the floor a handwritten envelope caught her eye. You don’t see many of these nowadays. The stamp says Peru - that guilt is creeping back again. Instead of opening it immediately she made herself a cup of tea, turned the TV on and set down on the sofa. After spending 10 minutes eying up the envelope she finally felt brave enough to read the letter. ‘This is not from Jake, who’s this Ricardo and what happened? Read again, deep breathe.’ Tea steaming, tears flowing. Without any delay she went into a shock.

Dear Kate,

My name is Ricardo you don’t know me. I was honoured to meet your brother Jake on his mission in Peru. I am terribly sorry to tell you this but there’s been an incident.

I found Jake 2 days ago in a cave in the mountains. He was badly wounded. I carried him back to my house and my wife used herbal medicines to heal his injuries but unfortunately they didn’t help. The following morning he collected all his strength to speak to me and explained what had happened. He said he discovered the ruins of an Inca temple near where I found him but his partner attacked him with a knife and he lost his consciousness. He made me swear on Pacha Mama not to contact anyone about this but you. I am sorry but I have to respect his wish.  He mentioned a name Diego, I hope it helps.

I am very sorry I couldn’t save his life, please forgive me.

Yours truly,

Ricardo

No one can imagine the chaos inside her head, the unbalanced feelings spreading through her nervous system. The loudest thought ‘What do I do?’ kept bouncing around her, she could see it all over her living room. When reality finally sank in Kate looked up at the TV and found her answer.

BREAKING NEWS: Discovery of the century by Diego Sanchez

'You wait for me Diego Sanchez, I'm coming for you' 

Assumptions

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Almost perfect – she thought sitting outside of the coffee shop where people were queuing for home made carrot cakes, non-fat lattes, full fat cappuccinos and everything else we are told to buy but can’t really afford. She took a sip of her freshly ground Italian coffee as she observed the crowd through her overprized sunglasses. Her chair was facing the main square providing an excellent view of the street musician who was surrounded by that crowd she now decided to be unexciting. The musician however caught her full attention.

Her mind immediately started playing a movie starring her and the gorgeous guitar player. ‘Marco what is this?’

‘This for you mio amore, you can wear it around your beautiful neck, so I will always be close to your heart. See this? It says Dolce Vita. Do you know what that means?’

 A young waitress interrupted her daydreaming waving in front of her face, asking if she needed anything else. She looked at the inpatient girl and shook her head without saying a word, and showed her the well known sign for ‘Bill please’ which increased the waitress’ blood pressure drastically.

‘I can’t believe this woman - the offended waitress whispered to her colleagues ear, taking her anger out on the till. ‘Look at her, I’m sure she’s not even 30 but she acts like if she had the same life as the Queen; just because she’s got it all she could have said a thank you or at least something. What a stuck up bitch, I wish I had spit in her coffee.’

 ‘Come on Kate don’t be like that’

‘What? Like her? Oh look, look “I’ve been shopping at Swarovski, I need more ear-rings, doesn’t matter I have only two ears I have to have a hundred of these.’

‘Just give her the bill and no spitting!’. Kate forced on a perfect fake smile they teach in customer service workshops and leaving her pride at the till she walked over to the Queen wannabe and placed the bill on the table.

‘£28.99? Mm not too bad’ – thinking as she opened her wallet to get some money out. Next to the £20 notes a shiny business card caught her attention:  Lali Bronson – divorce lawyer. ‘I need to stop putting this off, I’ll contact her this evening. Oh… no email address, only phone numbers’ – she tore up the card and left it next to her bill, placing more money on the table than the waitress deserved. She rummaged through her handbag, looking for a pencil to leave a note for the waitress.

Her friend arrived just when she finished writing. As they walked away she told her friend how amazing the coffee was – by using sign language.

Motivation

Motivation: the fuel to our souls. Without it we are nothing but an old Ford Escort broken down on the motorway. We always need some emergency supplies to keep us going otherwise we are just there, waiting to be rescued. You wait for others to tell you what to do, you wait to see which way the crowd is going so you can follow them. Do you not hear it? That familiar voice inside your head? That's your fuel. Fill up now!

I will remember

Remember how you used to close your eyes when you were imagining your future? Wishing your sweet dreams to become reality and looking forward to your future with a childish smile on your face?

Wherever you went you left colours behind you turning people’s lives into a colour-in book. You were a great artist, painting happiness onto our grey canvass. I will always keep that painting locked into my soul, and remembering your childish smile will make me realise how you warmed up the world around you.

But now my friend, you closed your eyes for too long, you closed them forever. 

Narcolepsy [2005]

  The beautifully sparkling sunshine was sneaking through the window aiming at his face – he was fast asleep. In this moment as the sun finally reached him, his body twitched and he jumped out of the bed in a sudden movement. The sunlight glanced back from the shining sweat drops on his face, his heart was racing, struggling to breathe. In addition to this unpleasant waking up that horrible nightmare was weighing on his mind as well, which only a few minutes ago he believed was the reality. He took a deep breath and started walking towards the bathroom.

  First he targeted the mirror to get his morning confidence boost, as he thought there was no other man who’s features would be as perfect as his. His short cut, light brown hair breathtakingly highlighted his dazzling green eyes, and his full lips made him look extremely masculine with his square jaw line. With half a smile on his face he turned to the mirror and saw his distorted face covered in blood. Every nerve in his body was screaming out the thought that he had no recollection of what had happened to him. As his shocked face became pale the dried blood almost looked fluorescent. He tried to remember the previous night. The girl arrived around 8pm. After dinner they were about to put a movie on; until that point he remembered everything clearly. And then someone was at the door and rang the bell. He walked towards the door…

  - Oh my God! – he screamed as the memories came back.  He started running to the kitchen hoping that what he just remembered was impossible to be true. But it seemed that he couldn’t trick destiny’s cruel games. The knife covered in blood was lying on the table next to the girl’s murdered body. He felt he was going to break down from his desperation and as his muscles went numb he fell onto his knees. 

- I can’t believe this. What have I done…. – he whispered, his voice quavering from crying. After a few moments of his break down he forced himself to think the events through logically. Dinner, movie… so far it was clear. Then the bell that changed everything and on the other side of the door was his fuming twin. He could barely understand his uninvited visitor’s furious words but as the sentences reached his mind he flew into a rage as well.

  He pulled out he kitchen drawer without thinking and picked up the biggest knife. Like an insane person he rushed to the girl, his hands gripping the knife. He could feel his anger driven heart beat in his eardrums, everything else seemed to be silent around him. The begging, the apologies, the items falling down from the shelf, the screams coming from two directions, the gun being fired – all this was silent to him. After 10 minutes of this drama he suddenly felt frozen and took this chance to look around. On the kitchen table: his stabbed twin sister, in her hand the murder weapon – his sister’s blood was dripping off the gun as she was still gripping it unable to let go. On the carpet in the hall: his girlfriend, shot dead.

  Playing this horrifying flashback in his mind was suddenly interrupted by a sharp sound. The bell. Someone rang the bell again. He was scared to open the door. He took all his courage and peeled himself off the floor; everything he just remembered from last night was all around him again. He walked towards the door and slowly placed his hand on the handle hesitating for a moment if he should push it. Then unconsciously his hand put pressure on the handle, his mind deciding to open the door. 

  In this moment as the sun finally reached him, his body twitched and he jumped out of the bed in a sudden movement. The sunlight glanced back from the shining sweat drops on his face, his heart was racing, struggling to breathe. In addition to this unpleasant waking up that horrible nightmare was weighing on his mind as well, which only a few minutes ago he believed was the reality. He took a deep breath and started walking towards the bathroom.

Play-time [2005]

Mistakenly believing in the miracle: corrupt, dishonest game. But who’s writing the rules? In case of a fatal error we can cause serious damage unintentionally. And how difficult it is to come to terms with that painful feeling. What’s it called? Oh yes…guilt. Even the word itself is so disturbing as it leaves our lips letter by letter.

I don’t want to hurt anyone. And this is where the other keyword comes into the picture: want. The king is in check, he keeps moving from square to square searching for the way out to break him free. A brutal and evil game this is. Sometimes it’s quite ironic as well. There is no logic, there is no way of knowing how to avoid the soul-scratches. The old wound keeps ripping until it cracks open and covers everything in an Anger coded unexplainable something.

And there are two ways leading out from Anger: hatred and impassivity. Now you have every right to ask where the third alternative is – forgiveness. Forgiveness is not another option it is a state that comes after choosing impassivity.

The rules are complicated, if they can be called rules. It is truly not my intention to hurt anyone. But what can I do? Checkmate.

whirlpool [2005]

I arrived late. I’m just sitting on the frost covered stairs chasing my thoughts but they took charge of me and I am not able to escape. I can see the faded faces around me, they seem so dark. All the smiles have been swapped by a false illusion. I want to believe in vain that everything will turn out to be good, that the lead-heavy anguish will just drop off of me. Everything is so colourless. My world has run out of colours, I don’t know anymore what flame-red and smile-green looks like.

I’m watching my surroundings through my pupils for a moment, and then I realise again that everything seems much cosier with closed eyes. I can feel how much this whirlpool wants to pull me in, but I strain my body to make sure I won’t give any space for the long sought happiness.  I’d rather just sit on the frost covered stairs.

Thought-storm attacks me again, I can’t control myself. I let the sceptical sentences to enter my nervous system and by giving them a green light my eyes strangely become wet. This is when I realise the big secret, which I believed to be just a little fake game.