Archive for August, 2012


I know talking about the weather is a klichée…But it does mostly seem like a good conversation starter.

Well, where I live, Temperatures have changed, so that our weather is moving towards the subtropical climate …The days of August are so hot and humid, that you feel like you’ll end up in a puddle.

You probably all know a sultry summer: Everything sticks together. You can feel sweat beads rolling down your back. You desperately try to catch that tiny shift in the air. Your brain feels addled and you stare into nothingness, lights winking and your thoughts slugging along slowly.

That’s the way I felt this morning, sitting at my desk, all the cells in my body screaming for some way of release, some way of cooling down. All the while, I had to endure my teacher taking us through a painstakingly long history lesson that might otherwise have been thrilling but was nearing torture in this heat. I felt trapped in my body.

Whenever I’m in situations like this, my mind takes over.

In my head, I started uprooting from where I was sitting, floating over the desks and my classmates blank faces, out over the school yard, its trees and brittle grass. I imagined my sweaty, tired body plunging into cool, billowing water. Just floating down a river, my hair dancing in the currents and the water cleansing me, washing away my depressed and frantic musings about the next few weeks. I am naked whilst the normally packed riverbanks are empty, void of judging eyes or lusty fingers.

You might be asking yourselves why my imagination would create me ‘au nature’. Well: I hate swimsuits. They worry me. They always seem to be so much more erotically engaging than the actual nude. It doesn’t seem fair for me to have to present myself as meat on a meat market. I generally prefer natures honesty.

Back at my desk, this scene amused me for about a minute, but these kinds of little vivid pictures don’t last long. That’s when I started composing a story. It’s another one of my pretty little pastimes.

I fled to a place so far away from my muggy classroom,  I ended up in a different season. It is winter and it’s snowing…

SNOW-a short story

 She was so exited to finally leave her mother’s womb. All of her brothers and sisters had fallen already, breaking from the safe ranks and quickly tumbling out of sight. Now it was her turn. But she was hesitating, probing her feelings.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Other than the sound of her feet sinking through the snow and her heavy breathing as she was stomping along the ridge of the hill, there was complete silence.

She had finally let go. In the first moment she was horrified, the vast white land expanding below her. But then she found that she was thrilled, letting herself be carried this way and that by the stirrings of wind, swirling and spiraling through the air.

Cold flakes stuck to her hair and landed on her shoulders. Above the girl, gray and heavy clouds hung low in the sky, pregnant with the beautifully unique snowflakes. The earth was covered already with a layer of white, disguising all hard and sharp edges.

Unexpectedly, a dark shadow crossed her path. A flutter of feathery wings disturbed her peaceful dance.

The long call of the king of the winds reverberated through the open space and she paused, struck by the sheer beauty of the song.

Now the ground was dangerously close and yet, she did not worry. She would be joining her siblings soon. Full of joyous relief, she danced on.

She thrust out her arms and started turning and turning because if she hadn’t, the happiness in her heart would have surely spilled over.

Below her she saw a figure spinning on the ground. She thought fleetingly that she should try to evade it. But her little center was full of love for her brothers and sisters, thus she was made ignorant.

The girl faced upwards to watch the eagle fly away and when it was gone, she closed her eyes.

She was alone now. All of her kin was home, already on the ground. Suddenly, breathtakingly and one second away, a human face stood out from the dark shape.

One last snowflake landed softly on her eyelid, melted and like a tear, it clung to her eyelashes and then rolled down her cheek.

Writing

A hand that etches into being

memories and pictures

like the faithful tool it is.

……………………….

He asked: What is a text?

And how it came to be.

She said: A ramdom thought

and one strange smile

A laugh, a pen, a while.

And sleep was keen,

the writer dreamed

and so the word was caught.

That is the key.

For now, for this thing to be next.

Love, SS

Imagine a Forest

 Imagine a forest.

Imagine it being solitary.

Solitary is good.

Good for a forest.

 

Imagine your bare feet,

moving over damp decay.

Moss.

It smells musty.

It feels rural.

It’s cool.

 

Imagine a forest.

A forest is always brown.

Brown is good.

It’s powerful.

Imagine brown being warm and raw and home.

 

Imagine a tree.

Its wild.

Its deep.

You hear it.

 

Listen!

Rustling.

Whispering.

Beating.

Alive.

 

Trees are the drums of nature.

Imagine there’s a rhythm.

It’s a tangled, chuckling music.

 

Alive.

You are alone.

We are brown.

Quiet.

Cool.

 

Slashing.

Imagine two screaming creatures.

Stomping!

Imagine two beings gloating.

They grip, they grapple.

They grope and grasp.

They scald and shuffle.

They snarl and growl.

 

 

They are bent and twisted.

They are turned and folded.

They rip the air.

They tear to tear.

Leave naught behind.

But

one small seed,

surrounded by destruction.

 

Imagine a forest.

Solitary.

Brown.

Destruction.

Seed.

Fellow spirits, thanks for visiting my blog!

I’m a budding writer and artist…practising, scribbling, sketching and learning as much as I can, ignoring schools toll on my free time.

I love walking outside in the wild forests surrounding my home. I’ll cross a foxes path or disturb a badger family’s leisurely evening stroll and get a flash of new ideas in my head. I love cycling in the hills, you get breathtaking views. That is how I get my inspiration for writing. I like physical exercise and fresh air to sort through my thoughts and calm my mind. I don’t go for walks enough by far.

Afterwards, I often feel a compulsory need to put my ideas to the pen. I love my runaway imagination, but sometimes it is very headstrong and needs to be brought to order. Also, I often have to fight against periods of crushing apathy, born I am sure, out of my addiction of the screen.

This page is here to help me get a better understanding of quality. And you are going to be my primary source of wisdom! I need objective, constructive critique, so I implore you to leave your impressions as comments below.

Just remember that I have had no writers education as such. I read a lot and have learned about it a bit in school.

Furthermore, my mother tongue is german. But I am absolutely fluent in english (my father is Scottish) and swissgerman (where I grew up). I’m even semi-fluent in french, but I don’t really feel brave enough to try out my writing skills in a foreign language. I have a feeling that that would end in disaster and I generally try to evade offending people’s taste…

I’m going to post all my creations here. They will range from Poems, to impressions of an interesting experience,to stories or articles of political/religious/existential nature….As you can see I’m going to be trying my best in a broad spectrum of styles. All I need you to do is comment and spread my word around, giving me feedback and a broader audience.

I thank you for your time and energy.

Enjoy,

Love

Scribbling Spirit

Ps.: Don’t believe in truths!