A PEASANT GIRL



My name is Jelena I work as an artisan potter making plates and food utensils for Mont-Michel the lord of Villedieu-les-poeles my husband is named Daemon and he also works with me I toiled all Thursday at the pottery work my hands grew weary and my thoughts were weighed down with bricks as I walked home in Villedieu-les-poeles I felt an eerie sense of being catenated I looked around behind me only to see a couple of knights on horses heading off to bloodshed between France and England my footsteps made little splashing noises as I held my hand around Daemon’s shoulder we were soul mates met in the industrial artisan workshop I only got paid twenty livre per week and was headed off to the butcher to buy some cheap sausage meat me and Daemon ambled towards the west end of Villedieu-les-poeles to find the markets on a Thursday night bestirring with knights peasants noblemen women children and men I looked at the meat wrapped up on the table it looked dark red and piquant I had an urge to eat it although I knew that meat in this town has a reputation of making people sick I bought some sausage meat for two livre walked off down the lane-way to the south of the town we arrived home to find my brother convalescent vomiting up in the basin I patted Alfred on the head told him you’ll be fine lad just take a rest after he stopped it was the time of night to beg for money so I got a little crate which was made from wood and had mud stains placed it upon the floor outside the mud hut I looked into the eyes of those who passed and could see a vast destitution in them they looked sad and disconnected I pleaded with them both with my body and with my tone of voice leaning forward my countenance depressed and looking hungry and poor please I am sick and poor and need a little assistance it wasn’t yielding a result so I cuddled up in bed with Daemon tried to forget that I was just a little artisan peasant in a dream I could feel myself on a horse its trunk under my thighs I was galloping along a white sandy beach east of Normandy bordering the Atlantic Ocean I got off the horse and strode into my thatched wood hut the spray of the salty sea wafted against my face the tide came in at 3pm and flooded the floor of the hut which was just wood planks placed over grass and weeds I woke up felt the meat coming up my throat a tide of irrational anger and unhappiness filled my heart as I heaved into a wooden container which I had made for myself Daemon woke up heard me said you’ll be fine dear you’ve gone through hell in this town I thought of the dream wished I could be inside it watching the silvery Atlantic Ocean reflecting the sun as it passed through the overcast clouds illuminating my meaning and history.




TUNDRA


I hiked along on the trail on my father’s map out at the base of Bald Mountain which looked like a big bath plug on top of the expansive grassy tundra with the blue of the Rockies in the distance of the valley my eyes got sick of the luminous sunlight which bore down on my cheeks like a hot rod roasting the back side of a pig there were buffalo up ahead I was wading across a swamp my trousers getting wetter every second the stench of a dead elk that flies are feasting on came into my nostrils and made me think of the stench of dishabille bathrooms back in my apartment complex in Northern California the Indians used to possess this land before the scum imperialistic project got underway and killed my family members my father Kaga my mother Talulah my twin brother Tahkeome I am Elsul the only one left I gazed across the vast plane and felt high like a little boy taking acid for the first time I climbed out of the swamp and felt relived I prized open my backpack to find a cigarette and lighter which I puffed on I have no-one with me but the dead spirits of my forefathers I took a nap and thought about the last time I made it to the top of Bald Mountain perched on the top with my hands shaking like a musician shaking a lemon I am in the south of Idaho the vegetation still intact I try to keep my mind open so that we Indians can change history to resurrect the dead culture of my ghostly friends time is amaranthine my friend I found a wise Indian out here in the forenoon little black marks under his eyes his skin brown as a dusky patch of grass when I slept that night I dreamt of my ancestors who know that I am one with them and this land I felt the grass on my toes and underarms I got up hiked off in the forenoon in a new expanse of time my thoughts stretched on like the scenic view which mirrors my emotions through time.




THE REFLECTED EGO



Ben looked into the silvery mirror in his families flat in Burnside Nambour he could perceive a double in his vision he felt like he wasn’t the person in the mirror the reflection reminded him of his double sexuality both male and female manifested in his genes like Freud had described in his book the interpretation of dreams the image was lucid as an expensive wine glass after being washed up it reminded him of his reflection he had seen in the water when he travelled to Lake Titicaca his father Dimitry a Russian worked on Archaeology out there with his boss Brian McMay the image in the mirror was the passage of time flowing forth and back in every direction like the scopic River Nile which helped to feed the Egyptians back in Cleopatras’ rein a spider crawled up Ben’s leg and he gesticulated spider! help! he was only fifteen his mother Nicole entered the room gazed at Ben in the reflection which reflected her dual ego she told Ben keep still son wipe it off your legs Ben was morphing into a light shade of blue passed out onto the floor where he laid still as a gravestone Nicole killed the spider with a fly swatter disposed of it in the bin she looked into mirror and saw Ben passed out saw her ego reflected in his face Dimitry came in looked shocked like an Indian seeing the first ship of the English imperial mandate and kissed his wife cuddled her he said great work but master Ben is passed out you okay son? Nicole was in a bad mood felt her antipathy towards her husband Dimitry mirrored and reflected in his deep blue eyes Ben woke up in a cold sweat and said to Nicole is the spider dead? she showed him the corpse of the spider laid in the bin it was still twitching a little when it looked in the opal like image in the mirror it thought that the spider on the other side was real and it was not isolated the spider thought these humans are evil my arachnid family will get revenge and sting every human we can find Ben’s sister came into the room with her blonde hair cute spaced out fixed stare and gazed at the spider was very afraid she said I hate spiders can you make me a Milo mum.




FRANZ KAFKA


Franz Kafka typed away all night on his novel about a man who travelled into a small village in order to infiltrate a castle he wanted to transform life into a dream he looked at a glass of beer on a table felt uncertain that it was solid all the philistines who drank beer wouldn’t think someone was in their right mind if they thought this Kafka believed that the first truth about reality is that it appeared surreal the universe was the invention of a genius playwright he could do anything with writing expand a river travel to the end of the universe imagination transformed into action a shadow which made no noise followed him around everywhere he went haunting him spurring him on to write when he was five years old when all the dumplings scrambled eggs laid in their own oily juices on his plate he shouted like a maniac angry that he was trapped inside a web of bureaucracy unable to escape the dreadful tedium which was life on earth if he didn’t have a limb or only existed inside a plastic bubble that would not be as bad as his eternal incoherent thoughts imperfect Franz wrote constantly not doing anything but writing for exaltation it was a tide of water filling up a shipwreck at noon if he lifted his hand from the page the story would lose its flow poignancy and subtle nuances the night came later and later until it was morning a maid came across him hunched over his eyes into the paper a bit of black ink from his pen muddied his nose the maid asked why do you write so much young Franz he replied so I can describe the axioms that flow like an eternal stream he felt that every night writing for six to eight hours in the deadness of a cavity of brilliance that he was like Goethe the creator made use of his hand it wasn’t directed by him but by the vibrating string energies which made up the universe he abolished all his needs to complete his life’s pilgrimage to get a novel published it was like Nicolas Flamel up in a church tower chanting incantations trying to find the elixir of life to turn youth into eternity iron into gold if he stopped writing it was like he being ashore on a desert island with nothing but the clean white sands the time flowing between millennia a seagull grabbed a grain of sand and flew off its offspring a millennia later found that sand and carried it on Franz fell asleep one Wednesday morning his face stained with ink a line of prose he had written which the maid read ‘but it did not matter to K. whether it was certainly her anyway, he just became suddenly aware that there was no point in his resistance’ Franz woke up an hour later sweaty from insomnia and deciphered what he had written he realised that resisting against the gift he had obtained was futile he would swim to the depth of an underground cavern to complete a true work of literature the illness would follow him but he couldn’t turn back no he needed it to feel alive.



MAX’S MEMORIES


Max thought back to when he was a kid of how he bathed with his friends Mark Amy and Jules in the water which was shallow he said come on Jules jump off the rock into the deeper part of the water when you land I will give you a score and we can see if we can defeat each other Max thought about this recollection and realized how mature he was when he was ten years old to put that much thought into things he reminisced about when he was fifteen he persuaded someone older a man with a black mustache to buy him some cigars he took his first puff in a movie theatre watching the matrix with his high school companions James and John James said to him easy to get cigarettes man you want to come down to Ann Street beach and catch some gnarly waves dude he replied sure man whatever they rode down the main street of Currimundi through the beachside track which was hidden by Gewurztraminer vines and little shrubs they rang their bells on their Malvern Star bikes at pretty girls who rode by one looked about twenty-one wore an elegant flowery green dress with a checked skirt she had dirty blonde hair waved at them casted upon them her smile she liked cute boys thought it would be good to have a shag with them but they were underage they got to the beach the waves were about one and a half metres a little rip was near to where the creek met the ocean it was an excellent spot to swim out on his Mike Stewart bodyboard James had a Wingnut board which had a little fin underneath it that assisted him to get into tubes it was mid-June and very cold they paddled like builders working on the Eiffel Tower lived blissfully in the moment Max looked across at the beach which was planate on a grey October morning he lifted his cap and dislodged it at his feet his wife Melanie gazed into his eyes and said you pondering something Max you kinda have that sentimental gaze you get when in reverie Max kissed her on her lips whispered into her ear you want to do it tonight she nodded and blushed they had only been together for three years Max looked out to the ocean and saw a meager sailing boat which had white sails and a blue finish he thought about how his life distended onto the horizon where the ships and men that founded Australia in the 18th century had toiled to colonize the land his life epitomized their same concerns same thoughts maybe there isn’t much difference from a peasant in France a sailor on the Pacific Ocean and me as I sat here and thought about my history.