K. Morris's Blog, page 776
August 22, 2014
When the Forest is Dark and the Light is Scarce
Incredibly powerful and moving
Originally posted on Amber Skye Forbes:
Source: http://depr-e-s-s-i-o-n.tumblr.com/
I always walk through the woods when it’s light outside. Yet, the more I walk through the woods, the darker the sky becomes. It’s not like it’s storming or anything. The light becomes less scarce, the forest thicker. The branches above become so interwoven that I can’t even see the stars. Only moonlight is able to trickle through the narrow spaces in the branches, but I can’t see anymore. My eyes try to adjust. They won’t. All I can do is feel my way around until I stumble on to the forest floor.
I cannot get back up.
Instead I drag my body through the forest, waiting for daylight to break through. I should sleep; however, insomnia won’t let me. No matter how exhausted I am, I attempt to swim along the floor, its current of forest decay making my progress difficult.
Morning is too far away. I…
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A Walk In Woolton Woods
This morning my mum, her partner, the 2 dogs and I visited Woolton Woods and Camp Hill which are a 10 minute drive from my mum’s home.
The ancient woods where full of the scent of newly mown grass, the heady smell being heightened by the showers which for brief periods chased the sun away.
Both the woods and Camp Hill which abut them contain many ancient oaks. I have always had an affinity with these great trees which derives from happy recollections of collecting acorns with my grandfather. I love the smooth feel of the outer shell of the acorn and how it contrasts with the softer seed within.
One huge oak branch lay on the ground. The wood felt hard to the touch indicating that it haden’t resided long on the woodland floor and was, perhaps a casualty of the recent after effects of the tail end of the hurricane which recently invaded our shores.
A large tree stump stood on the ground it’s roots still clearly visible. The great cycle had begun with grass growing out of this once venerable tree as, imperceptibly decay set in. In years to come this tree trunk will, no doubt fertilise the woodland floor allowing new saplings to take it’s place.
Feeling a little self conscious I tried to put my arms around a huge oak. Unsurprisingly they reached barely halfway round the trunk. The rough bark felt good under my hands, the tree and I sharing a connection – both products of nature’s rich tapestry. This great oak and the others surrounding it have been there long before I was born and unless a mighty natural disaster uproots them will remain long after I have ceased to be. Whenever I see ancient trees the paltry arrogance of humanity is put firmly in it’s place. Those oaks have doubtless seen generations come and go, people living what, for them are lives full of meaning while the great trees look on silently watching generation succeed generation.
The Dog That Barked In The Night
Woof, woof, the sound of a dog barking disturbing my slumbers. Awoken from deep dream filled sleep I lie in bed wondering why this rude awakening, am I being robbed? Jumping out of bed my feet encounter wooden floor boards. Uncarpetted floors, that isn’t right for my floors are covered in thick carpet, have the thieves stolen the carpets as I slept? Then it all comes back to me. I am staying at my mum’s in Liverpool where only rugs cover the bedroom floor. I have stepped onto an uncovered segment of flooring.
I exit the bedroom and in bare feet make my way downstairs to let out Trigger, my guide dog who appears determined not only to disturb the household but mum’s neighbours. My 4 legged friend does what comes naturally in the garden and returns, tail wagging extremely pleased with his early morning business. I mount the stairs hoping that sleep will, once more overcome me.
August 20, 2014
Turn Off Your Mobiles
A good piece in yesterday’s Guardian (20 August 2014) about the mania for using smart phones at concerts and other similar events to record and/or photograph proceedings rather than, as in times gone by simply immersing oneself in the activity. Perhaps the pendulum has swung too far and people have lost the capacity to simply enjoy an activity without feeling the need to photograph and record it to death. I, sadly have my doubts but, as is so often said only time will tell. For the article please go to http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/aug/20/kate-bush-transcendence-v-smartphones
Such Things As Dreams Are Made Of
Yesterday morning I awoke after having experienced a series of vivid dreams. I am registered blind with a small amount of residual vision which, in essence means that I can see outlines of objects but not details. Consequently if I pass a friend in the street and they fail to speak to me (no that doesn’t happen or not that I am admitting to anyway), I wouldn’t recognise them by their outline. When dreaming the situation is precisely the same – I see vague outlines but nothing of substance. My hearing and other senses remain fully functional as in what we term “the real world”.
On awaking it occurred to me how we all go to sleep in the belief that we will wake up either as a consequence of our natural body clock or due to some external reason, for example a loud sound having disturbed our slumber. However this is not, necessarily the case. Anyone of us may cease to occupy this earthly realm at any juncture, either while waking or passing (hopefully peacefully) while asleep. Like a computer being shut down, the brain will, at some indeterminate point cease to operate and silence pervade the great machine.
All this is rather sombre, however on my way home yesterday evening, feeling the wind in my face and smelling new mown hay I felt the joy of living. Yes we may “cease upon the midnight with no pain” but, hopefully the nightingale will sing for us while we live and we can relish his song.
August 19, 2014
Anyone For Bacon?
I fear for my safety should my guide dog, Trigger encounter this bike giving off delicious bacon smells. I would, I suspect end up in hot pursuit of said machine with Trigger’s teeth firmly clamped to the bike’s exhaust. The rider would, I think end up rather like the Pied Piper with a host of dogs of every conceivable variety following hard on Trigger’s paws (I would have said heels but, as dogs don’t possess them I will refrain from doing so)!
August 18, 2014
Ilana
“World War I was the underlying cause of the Bolshevik Revolution. Discuss”.
History has never been my strong point to put it mildly! I guess that its more complicated than the question suggests. Besides the war,the “great man” theory of history must have played a part. Surely old Vladimir Lenin’s powerful personality must have influenced the overthrow of the Tsarist regime. I mean it stands to reason, doesn’t it?
If it wasn’t for all my partying I’d probably be better able to answer that damn question. Any excuse for a party and you can bet your bottom dollar, I’ll be there.
“Hi Stan, mum and dad are away for the weekend, fancy coming over tonight?”
I was sitting on my bed, Ipad in hand willing myself to tackle that bloody history assignment when that text from Pete arrived. Sod Tsar Nicholas II and the Communists. It was nearly 100 years ago, what the hells it got to do with the here and now. I’ve only recently turned 18, for christ’s sake I’ve better things to do than bury myself in dusty old books, I’m off to Pete’s place.
—
She’s really something. That long black hair and long, toned bare legs reaching right up to her armpits.
“Hi I’m Stan, you’re gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shit what a corney chat up line. If I where her I’d tell me to go and screw myself. What a prat you are Stan. You haven’t got a bloody clue how to chat to the ladies!
“Hi, I’m Ilana” she says in slightly accented English, fixing me with those dark eyes of her’s.
“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you sound Ilana?” If I didn’t blow it the first time I opened my big mouth then I’ve sure as hell made a prize idiot of myself this time. Any moment now she’ll adopt that look of withering contempt women’s faces take on whenever I’ve uttered a few sentences.
“Thanks, you’re a sweet guy. My family’s from Hungary. I came here as a little girl but I’ve still got a slight accent”.
“Really, didn’t the Soviets invade Hungary in the 1950’s?”
“Yes, in 1956. Its known as the Hungarian Uprising. My parents are from an ancient Magyar family, aristocrats in fact. When the Soviet tanks rolled in they managed to flee to the UK”.
Wow perhaps she can help me with my essay and, even if she can’t I just want to spend as much time as possible chatting to this gorgeous girl. “Do you know much about the Bolshevik Revolution?”
She throws back her head and laughs, her perfect white teeth glinting in the candlelight (Pete’s always had a thing for candles, he says it makes the atmosphere more intimate).
Stan” she says entwining her fingers in mine) history is my passion. Since the birth of civilisation my people have been persecuted and killed. The Hungarian puppitt government was just one manifestation of the suffering inflicted on my race. So, yes I know all about the Bolshevik Revolution and it’s effects on my people”.
“Do you think you could help me with an essay on the causes of the Revolution? I need to hand it in on Monday morning”.
“Sure”.
“How about tomorrow, at, say 1 pm?” I say knowing full well that my parents will be visiting friends on Saturday and won’t return until Sunday evening.
“I’m not a daytime girl. I party all night and sleep late into the day” she says squeezing my hand. Thrills of anticipation shoot through me. “I’ll be with you just as the moon rises which (she says consulting her mobile) will be a little after 9”.
—
“Hello Stan” she says, looking absolutely stunning in a very short red dress which leaves little to the imagination.
“Hi Ilana. Come in” I say trying not to blush.
“Thank you”. Her Hungarian accent, barely imperceptible yesterday, seems much more pronounced this evening. Perhaps it’s the lack of loud music which makes me notice such things.
We walk through into the lounge.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, just sit next to me” she says patting the sofa.
I plop down next to her. “Stan you are a very handsome man” she says her blood red lips parting in a smile to reveal those amazingly white teeth. So perfect. Sharp little daggers of enamel glistening under the overhead light. I draw back involuntarily.
“Stan, I thought you liked me, is something wrong?” she says her delicate tongue moistening those ruby lips.
“No its just that” I trail off my eyes fixed on those needle sharp little teeth.
“It’s a privilege experienced by very few men to enjoy the intense pleasure of one such as I” she says her mouth inches away from mine. She leans in softly taking my face in her hands. Her lips so soft on my neck. Feather like kisses sending waves of delight through me. A sharp scratch like a needle when one gives blood. She laps greedily as a cat drinks milk. I am giddy with fear and desire.
August 17, 2014
Vampire
The owl’s mournful cry caused the young woman to gaze up into the night sky. Death glided gracefully overhead in search of his prey.
“I salute you my friend” the woman said raising her hand to signify her respect.
Her coal black hair blue in the rising wind. She licked her full red lips and smiled. Briliant white teeth reflected back the light of the moon. She, to was in search of her prey.
REM Night Swimming
Some 20 years ago my friend John gave me a tape of the REM album containing Losing My Religion. I still have the cassette somewhere although it ceased to play many moons since. Other than Losing My Religion, Night Swimming is probably my favourite REM track. The song talks of freedom, of lost youth and so much more, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGbZFBcO9Dk
Windy Morning
Sitting at my desk, the wind gusting outside. Something indefinable, slippery as an eel escaping my grasp. What is it, a sense of beauty combined with loss. The loss of connection between humanity and nature. A sense of sadness, of something passing perhaps never to be regained. We wrap ourselves in the comforting blanket of technology shutting out nature’s wonders. People walking through beautiful places glued to their mobiles. Ipods turned up, humans unaware of their fellow man, and still the wind cries outside.
