Fictive

Fictive

You had a penchant for archaic insults

I artlessly and wholly without confident poise

contracted the invectives and resourcefully

worked them into hymns about you being good.

It was no minor requisite to be close to your heated side

a ravening need that marked the preferment of the watershed.

It is accurate that we were the strangest of bedfellows

passing through a shroud mistaken for a liar’s length of love.

Your selfish motive made every bewitching second fictive

my countenance fell as you broke away one lazy limb at a time.

Eithering dreams?

I carefully contemplated the weight of it all

your inconceivable forgery incited acts of vehemence

like my vandalising covers of romance novels

like my making friends with unfortunates

like my meditating on the hurried expiration of your face.

I assembled the artifacts of our wasted days

I wrote the nights down into the slowest of pages

the most downhearted attempt to fill the silence

to forget the strong current of your sideways beauty

and the sound of your voice singing slightly out of tune.

I walk with pilgrim’s progress as if I might accrue joy to replace placated despair

still there is this nagging feeling that my insides do not belong to me

either a complicated cautionary anecdote or a reluctant compromise to forget.

A single act of make-believe depleted my patience for the strains of love.

Fictive.
Indicative.
Vindictive.

Eithering dreams?

**

A friend challenged me to a writing exercise just now, using the word 'fictive'.  Curled up with some tea, a warm sweater, a half empty box of tissue to keep my runny nose clean and the new Carleton Stone record spinning, I wrote.  Well, I typed.  Same thing I suppose.  In a fresh word document, the word 'fictive' became the title and a poem came.  I pondered prose but I didn't resist what came.  If a poem materializes I never mind too much.  I got lost in the music and banged out this poem, untouched, in about 40 minutes.  Boy, after only really writing my homage to PSH, it felt good to flex the creative muscles and get a poem down.  I am *still* pondering the lives of Alf and Josh.  I *will* get it started, I promise.  

But for tonight, an exercise, which in my mind is better than no writing at all, even if it's just foppy gloop.  It's writing, words, from me.  That counts.

Two more work days and it'll be time for a blast to the past via a Platinum Blonde show.  I hope my sniffles and sneezes had expired by then.  I've really been looking forward to the show.  Fingers crossed.

Time to top up my tea and recline.

In propinquity,

Nic

There isn't always an explanation for everything ...

Now that I am finished ‘Town & Country’ (the writing part of it anyway), I have started paying attention to the rumblings of some new characters of the male persuasion, Alf Minor and Joshua Fox.  There are other faces also appearing but I am taking the time to pay attention to Alf and Josh’s whispers first.  I’ve been listening to them actively.  Alf woke me from my sleep last night to tell me a few things so I’ve tonight I plugged my headphones in, turned on some old music and started surfing and researching some of the things that will take their story to the next phase, the actual meat and potatoes, the writing.

Alf is the older of the two characters but I can’t tell if this is his story or Josh’s tale.  They are both vying for my attention and so I need to be certain as to which angle I take.  It has to be the right one to stay true to the story they want to tell me so I can re-tell it to you.  I have a feeling it’ll take some time to sort out but I have nothing but so I’m good to go.  And, now that I have the proper tools for my craft, I can be as prolific or as relaxed as I want to be.  The forecast for this coming Saturday is rainy, so guess what I’ll be doing during the day?  You guessed it, creating!

This Sunday I have a special artist date planned for myself, a play.  I’m going to see ‘Having Hope At Home’ at Neptune Theatre.  John Dunsworth, widely known as Mr. Lahey on Trailer Park Boys is among the cast.  I’m really excited to take my seat in the balcony and get lost in it.  Nothing more amazing than a story playing out live and in person, right in front of you.  It’s truly amazing.  I’ve also got a week before I get to see Blue Rodeo live.  It feels like it’s becoming a tradition to see them in the cold winter months.  Our seats for this show are incredible.  On the floor, in front of the stage, only a few rows back.  The following night I’ll be off to see Wintersleep at The Marquee.  What a busy weekend that’ll be!  And, then it’s Vince Neil and Platinum Blonde.  My 2014 is off to a great start when it comes to live shows, theatre and music.  Those experiences will all build my confidence and my passion for writing, sounds corny but it really does.  The energy, the lights, the action, the sweaty crowds – they feed me, make feel whole and alive.  Some people feel zen when they do yoga or make smoothies, I am zen, right in the core of my being, when I’m present at a show, watching artists make history and add to the soundtrack and chapters of my life, fuel me, so that I may be able to come sit here at this table and bang out a story.  It’s all full circle.

So yeah, Alf and Joshua are next.  It’s brewing, percolating, forming into something I will eventually be able to share with you.  And, if I haven’t mentioned it yet, the working title: ‘Elder Hemingway’.  That’s all I’m giving up so watch this space!

Must retire to my boudoir and drink red wine.  That’s what you’re supposed to do on Thursday night, right?

In propinquity,

Nic