images via
"it's important to have empathy for where everyone's at in their lives."
- bernard fanning.
12.11.09
he says there are always lingering questions about relevance before an album is released
images via
"it's important to have empathy for where everyone's at in their lives."
- bernard fanning.
7.11.09
remove mold, eat pesto out of bottle
i've just had one (wow, i just typed 'won' instead of 'one'..haha) of those moments when you, for the first time, properly listen to the lyrics on an album/song that you hadn't really appreciated/paid attention to before. you can never ever recreate that first moment when you discover some great words, or for some reason finally understand a passage in a song for the first time; a passage that beforehand you had never been able to grasp, or draw meaning from/relate to.
for me, it was within a few Mumford & Sons songs tonight.
an around-the-edge definition that i found for 'Timshel', one of Mumford's song titles:
my [elders] felt that these words were very important too — ‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ ...
the American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. the King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. but the Hebrew word, the word timshel — ‘Thou mayest’ — that gives a choice. it might be the most important word in the world. that says the way is open. that throws it right back on a man. for if ‘Thou mayest’ — it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ ...
now, there are millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. but ‘Thou mayest’! why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. he can choose his course and fight it through and win.
within Timshel:
- death is at your doorstep, and it will steal your innocence. it will not steal your substance.
- you are the mother..the mother of your baby child; the one to whom you gave life.
- you have your choices and these are what make man great; his ladder to the stars.
- you are not alone in this. as brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand.
- and I will tell the night, whisper, 'lose your sight'. but I can't move the mountains for you.
within Awake My Soul:
- how fickle my heart and how woozie my eyes.
- lend me your eyes I can change what you see.
- where you invest your love, you invest your life.
when preparing for a performance, (or , I feel, when about to create anything,) begin with the drive to give, to communicate, to share, to inspire..this positive approach dissolves all nervousness and anxiety which is born out of fear and judgement.
i really really really want to read Cloud Atlas..i encourage you to look it up on wikipedia for a pretty great summary ! i really hope the library has it, i’m planning to get right into it post-final exams/schoolies and what-have-you. one of my favourite, most thought-provoking/mind-opening quotes comes from the very end of that book ('Only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean! Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?' = referenced in a post a little earlier, here).
i've absolutely adored this song since day one. i think i first heard it on the radio about 2-3 years ago and its still in my top 10/20 songs..i'm not even really sure why. it's so romeo/juliet-esque, but i just think it's fanastic. and every time i hear it, i still feel exactly the same way as i did when i first came across this song. (and i haven't watched this/the video clip, so if it's incredibly hopeless or off-putting..dont judge me on it haha. just have it playing in the background while you do other stuff on the computer. i just wanted an audio clip of it to throw in here :D)
i present to you, O Valencia - The Decemberists:
for me, it was within a few Mumford & Sons songs tonight.
an around-the-edge definition that i found for 'Timshel', one of Mumford's song titles:
my [elders] felt that these words were very important too — ‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ ...
the American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. the King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. but the Hebrew word, the word timshel — ‘Thou mayest’ — that gives a choice. it might be the most important word in the world. that says the way is open. that throws it right back on a man. for if ‘Thou mayest’ — it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ ...
now, there are millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. but ‘Thou mayest’! why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. he can choose his course and fight it through and win.
within Timshel:
- death is at your doorstep, and it will steal your innocence. it will not steal your substance.
- you are the mother..the mother of your baby child; the one to whom you gave life.
- you have your choices and these are what make man great; his ladder to the stars.
- you are not alone in this. as brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand.
- and I will tell the night, whisper, 'lose your sight'. but I can't move the mountains for you.
within Awake My Soul:
- how fickle my heart and how woozie my eyes.
- lend me your eyes I can change what you see.
- where you invest your love, you invest your life.
when preparing for a performance, (or , I feel, when about to create anything,) begin with the drive to give, to communicate, to share, to inspire..this positive approach dissolves all nervousness and anxiety which is born out of fear and judgement.
i really really really want to read Cloud Atlas..i encourage you to look it up on wikipedia for a pretty great summary ! i really hope the library has it, i’m planning to get right into it post-final exams/schoolies and what-have-you. one of my favourite, most thought-provoking/mind-opening quotes comes from the very end of that book ('Only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean! Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?' = referenced in a post a little earlier, here).
i've absolutely adored this song since day one. i think i first heard it on the radio about 2-3 years ago and its still in my top 10/20 songs..i'm not even really sure why. it's so romeo/juliet-esque, but i just think it's fanastic. and every time i hear it, i still feel exactly the same way as i did when i first came across this song. (and i haven't watched this/the video clip, so if it's incredibly hopeless or off-putting..dont judge me on it haha. just have it playing in the background while you do other stuff on the computer. i just wanted an audio clip of it to throw in here :D)
i present to you, O Valencia - The Decemberists:
2.11.09
boys should make passes at girls who wear glasses
Nick Cave and Yann Tiersen are fantastically appropz, non-distracting, focus-inspiring study music..just in case you were wondering.
was talking to a good friend today at school and she brought up an interesting point. I (stupidly) hadn’t realised that other people had felt the same..but it makes sense that heaps of people do...
She was saying that she has this great fashion sense, mentally, but no-one knows about it because she doesn’t have the dollars to get the clothes/outfits that she dreams about/has the creativity to whip up with her sense of clothing greatness, :). she was saying that she hopes no-one judges her on the clothes that she does wear, haha, bc its not really her sense or real choice of clothing..just what she is able to get by with at this stage.
i think a little bit of that is true for everyone - minus the queen and maybe lady gaga, or something.
it’s really frustrating being somewhat caged into affordable fashion, because I think it’s a pretty big deal in (my) life, and a huge outlet for fun and creativity and even a fun chance for making friends through mutual interest in certain pieces/designers - had we the opportunity to have what we really desired, at the click of some fingers. i also find that the right clohteswhat also frustrates me is that, even despite having a personal lack of dollar value, most clothes that I dream of aren’t even accessible from where I am right now – financial woes aside. hmpf.
i’ve also found that the right clothes for your body, the occasion, or your personal taste can have a lasting impression on the whole atmosphere and confidence that oozes out of you at any given time. for eg., in a get-up that you feel 110% comfortable in, whether it be a floor-length evening gown that fits just right around your waist, a tee and jeans that make you feel at your most subtly comfortable or even a pair of heels that makes you stand with your shoulders back that little bit more – then it will show. clothing has a strength that can empower the wearer, and I think its really important that people remember that..whether they are necessarily interested in ‘fashion’ as an entity or interest, or not.
clothes are not just for looks or even necessarily always made for function. they can have so many emotional levels attached, if you allow them to do so. some pieces are created with a direct concept or political opinion in mind that has/had an intent to be publicised and appreciated widely or, alternatively, a point that was brought to public attention simply bc the designer is aware that its morals and opinions will be contested and argued against – bringing their point-of-view to the surface, as they desire.
but on an ending note, i really like this little philosophy, and do definitely agree whole-heartedly (despite everything that I’ve just said re: $).
never compromise quality for price,
black before white,
understated rather than complicated. - friedrich gray
here’s some things that have inspired me to create (if only at this stage the pieces of wearable art/fashun are still stuck in my mental volumes of note-to-selfs to diy) this afternoon..
a great deal are from The Selby at some point along the line, if memory serves correctly.:
bothers me that the pictures are different sized in width toward the end of the little collection in this post, but whatever..i can hardly be bothered to swap them round. its a shame that the last two vertical strips are smaller, too, but hmm. you may or may not survive without my fixing it up.
the last image though, Donnie Darko screenshot, anyone ?
ps, for fans: wiki 'Sarah Darko', (i think it's called). its a potential somewhat ~sequal to donnie d and sounds absolutely terrrrible. it has nothing to do with the original director and really sounds as if it is just a cheap rip-off of a hand-full of motifs and moments out of the original film. such a letdown in advance in my opinion..
and no sequel (as if i want one anyway, ever) could ever match the qual of the soundtrack of the first.
aw cmon. you were thinking it.
was talking to a good friend today at school and she brought up an interesting point. I (stupidly) hadn’t realised that other people had felt the same..but it makes sense that heaps of people do...
She was saying that she has this great fashion sense, mentally, but no-one knows about it because she doesn’t have the dollars to get the clothes/outfits that she dreams about/has the creativity to whip up with her sense of clothing greatness, :). she was saying that she hopes no-one judges her on the clothes that she does wear, haha, bc its not really her sense or real choice of clothing..just what she is able to get by with at this stage.
i think a little bit of that is true for everyone - minus the queen and maybe lady gaga, or something.
it’s really frustrating being somewhat caged into affordable fashion, because I think it’s a pretty big deal in (my) life, and a huge outlet for fun and creativity and even a fun chance for making friends through mutual interest in certain pieces/designers - had we the opportunity to have what we really desired, at the click of some fingers. i also find that the right clohteswhat also frustrates me is that, even despite having a personal lack of dollar value, most clothes that I dream of aren’t even accessible from where I am right now – financial woes aside. hmpf.
i’ve also found that the right clothes for your body, the occasion, or your personal taste can have a lasting impression on the whole atmosphere and confidence that oozes out of you at any given time. for eg., in a get-up that you feel 110% comfortable in, whether it be a floor-length evening gown that fits just right around your waist, a tee and jeans that make you feel at your most subtly comfortable or even a pair of heels that makes you stand with your shoulders back that little bit more – then it will show. clothing has a strength that can empower the wearer, and I think its really important that people remember that..whether they are necessarily interested in ‘fashion’ as an entity or interest, or not.
clothes are not just for looks or even necessarily always made for function. they can have so many emotional levels attached, if you allow them to do so. some pieces are created with a direct concept or political opinion in mind that has/had an intent to be publicised and appreciated widely or, alternatively, a point that was brought to public attention simply bc the designer is aware that its morals and opinions will be contested and argued against – bringing their point-of-view to the surface, as they desire.
but on an ending note, i really like this little philosophy, and do definitely agree whole-heartedly (despite everything that I’ve just said re: $).
never compromise quality for price,
black before white,
understated rather than complicated. - friedrich gray
here’s some things that have inspired me to create (if only at this stage the pieces of wearable art/fashun are still stuck in my mental volumes of note-to-selfs to diy) this afternoon..
a great deal are from The Selby at some point along the line, if memory serves correctly.:
bothers me that the pictures are different sized in width toward the end of the little collection in this post, but whatever..i can hardly be bothered to swap them round. its a shame that the last two vertical strips are smaller, too, but hmm. you may or may not survive without my fixing it up.
the last image though, Donnie Darko screenshot, anyone ?
ps, for fans: wiki 'Sarah Darko', (i think it's called). its a potential somewhat ~sequal to donnie d and sounds absolutely terrrrible. it has nothing to do with the original director and really sounds as if it is just a cheap rip-off of a hand-full of motifs and moments out of the original film. such a letdown in advance in my opinion..
and no sequel (as if i want one anyway, ever) could ever match the qual of the soundtrack of the first.
aw cmon. you were thinking it.
24.10.09
i don't doubt that many will have already seen/read this on a fairly renowned blog recently, but for those who have not..:
and i'm not in any way shape or form trying to fashion-bash, but i do think that some pretty great points have been raised in a small amount of words:
"It's always a bit discombobulating when people raise their voices in anger because they've gotten wind that designers are making and selling $25,000 dresses. After all, it's not as if the existence of a dress that costs as much as a car negates the availability of cute $25 frocks at Target. And it isn't as though edicts have been issued that all women must now dress like one of the superheroes on Balenciaga's runway.
For personal and sometimes tortured reasons -- I can't have it so no one else can! -- observers declare that they just don't understand the attraction of these strange and expensive clothes. That would be a fair argument if those same complainers lashed out at people who spend thousands of dollars on Redskins season tickets, vintage wines, first-edition books or midlife-crisis cars. But those industries don't stir nearly as much ire from people who are uninterested in them.
Everyone has a passion that is lost on others."
(Robin Givhan - The Washington Post, October 18th.)
"It's always a bit discombobulating when people raise their voices in anger because they've gotten wind that designers are making and selling $25,000 dresses. After all, it's not as if the existence of a dress that costs as much as a car negates the availability of cute $25 frocks at Target. And it isn't as though edicts have been issued that all women must now dress like one of the superheroes on Balenciaga's runway.
For personal and sometimes tortured reasons -- I can't have it so no one else can! -- observers declare that they just don't understand the attraction of these strange and expensive clothes. That would be a fair argument if those same complainers lashed out at people who spend thousands of dollars on Redskins season tickets, vintage wines, first-edition books or midlife-crisis cars. But those industries don't stir nearly as much ire from people who are uninterested in them.
Everyone has a passion that is lost on others."
(Robin Givhan - The Washington Post, October 18th.)
18.10.09
natalie portman's shaved head
i've been really getting into Paul Kelly and at jono's request: a Cat Stevens cassette i found in my room. really enjoying both. they're really good to study to. Paul reminds me a teenie tinie bit of Crowded House for some reason.
i want to start listening to more Bob Dylan and some more stuff from the ~60s, but cant be arsed to download right now. i think i'm really just going to wait til next year and rely on the file-sharing network at whichever uni i end up at.
--------------
like so many other novel inventions - the internet, amphetamines, the atomic bomb - sunglasses were born of war. well..this is not entirely true. like the others, what really happened was they were invented for other purposes and then got their 'big break', as they say, because of their capacity to aid in combat. the internet helped share military intelligence (mostly on atomic bombs, ironically), amphetamines helped keep the soldiers awake, and the bomb, well, we all know how that story goes..
--------------
crackling static sounds overwhelm you. you're in a future world, a dark and crowded place, chasing a giant - or is it chasing you ? a cyber adventure, a sensory overload. this is a comic book experience you've never had before.
--------------
this week i'm really dreaming about Buderim again (or am i ?) - which means i would have to really soon-ly look into a residence of sorts if i went to USC. it's scary, i really want to be on college first year out..and at least for a year. but if i head out to Sippy Downs..i won't know one person.
but, i think also that that fear is kind of exciting. i could be aaanyone - not that i plan to change so much, well not consciously, but imagine. fresh.
i really feel like going op-shopping and this crave ALWAYS sets in on a sunday. i haven't been in..probably 4-5 months, if not more. feels like really really ages, but i just haven't been feeling in the mood for it for a long time, and a lot has been going on that has either restricted me time/money-wise.
i'm a bit dollar-less right now, and i went into Portmans the other day, only to find about $1500 worth of things that i didn't like but really LOVED. rare.
like, i'm really wanting just a plain pair of small-framed black sunglasses. they're so flexible; black would be so much more multi-purpose than the patterned/transparent pairs i sport now.
i really want a pair or five of black (i think ?, well at this stage) pleated/non-pleated pants that can be/are cropped just above the ankle. they fit so loosely but snugly in the pictures that i've been hounding for months. porties had a pair just like that, i think. but right now i CANNOT afford 100+ for anything like that :(..so cue: endos/lizline.
a little like these, but with cuffs at the bottom..
or some identical to this pair would surely not go astray at all.
unfortunately, though, i dont know if they would look ok with out heels..and if they look shabbitha without some elevation - than they would go to waste in my lifestyle.
there were a thou little black dresses - not excruiatingly short (from what i could tell, i didnt try anything on because i dont plan on having to sew my tear ducts shut any time soon) and all with just the right amnt of embellishment - like a single ruffled sleeve, or some puffed action on either side or or or just what i want in life right now.
there was lots of pastels and sheer, which i thought i would be sick of right now..but nope.
lots of (fake - i did the scratch test, hehe) pearls in just the right, minimalistic quantities.
blazers that weren't too structured/square; and made out of soft fabrics that i can only imagine would sit nice and a little loosely, but still formally
but ohh it was just everything in abundance that i've been trying to find for a lot of months. bug-ah.
so therefore i want to find a great deal of these finds in a thrift outlet-o in this town quiiite remarkably soon. perhaps before the art exhibition's -grand- opening thursday night ?
i guess i could sew all of the above - with all the skill/time/dollars i have.
and and and im really enjoying cropped/cuffed shorts - i guess a liiitle bit like the bottom-haff of this get-up (but not really at all) - teamed with patent nude heels. yummo.
(neither of which i own ? - better get to it.) ive been actually finding a whole heap of patent nude heels in mackay in the last week or two - like in 2-3 shops, which has really excited/surprised me. i've been searching for a pair for at least a year now, since i first saw a picture in one of the cheesie magazines at work featuring vickbeck and katie holmes shoe shopping, and one of them i think was either wearing a pair or trying them on.
many of the pairs that i have recently come across have been well over the budget, but whatever. im worried they'll get really scuffed if i do invest in a pair for formal/grad etc (im going to be well and truly shoe-pooling), like my mocktail pair did..but maybe if im extra-careful, i'll get by relatively unscathed ?
i'm also on the semi-search for something a bit obnoxious in size but also pretty feminine and formal for Prom to whack in my hair. all ive found are flowers and im not too sure, i feel like theyve been done so much before - but i guess it would be a safe option. any ideas ?
--------------
images via
art music, metamorphasis, soldier on, straight-jacket, no vowels
i want to start listening to more Bob Dylan and some more stuff from the ~60s, but cant be arsed to download right now. i think i'm really just going to wait til next year and rely on the file-sharing network at whichever uni i end up at.
--------------
like so many other novel inventions - the internet, amphetamines, the atomic bomb - sunglasses were born of war. well..this is not entirely true. like the others, what really happened was they were invented for other purposes and then got their 'big break', as they say, because of their capacity to aid in combat. the internet helped share military intelligence (mostly on atomic bombs, ironically), amphetamines helped keep the soldiers awake, and the bomb, well, we all know how that story goes..
--------------
crackling static sounds overwhelm you. you're in a future world, a dark and crowded place, chasing a giant - or is it chasing you ? a cyber adventure, a sensory overload. this is a comic book experience you've never had before.
--------------
this week i'm really dreaming about Buderim again (or am i ?) - which means i would have to really soon-ly look into a residence of sorts if i went to USC. it's scary, i really want to be on college first year out..and at least for a year. but if i head out to Sippy Downs..i won't know one person.
but, i think also that that fear is kind of exciting. i could be aaanyone - not that i plan to change so much, well not consciously, but imagine. fresh.
i really feel like going op-shopping and this crave ALWAYS sets in on a sunday. i haven't been in..probably 4-5 months, if not more. feels like really really ages, but i just haven't been feeling in the mood for it for a long time, and a lot has been going on that has either restricted me time/money-wise.
i'm a bit dollar-less right now, and i went into Portmans the other day, only to find about $1500 worth of things that i didn't like but really LOVED. rare.
like, i'm really wanting just a plain pair of small-framed black sunglasses. they're so flexible; black would be so much more multi-purpose than the patterned/transparent pairs i sport now.
i really want a pair or five of black (i think ?, well at this stage) pleated/non-pleated pants that can be/are cropped just above the ankle. they fit so loosely but snugly in the pictures that i've been hounding for months. porties had a pair just like that, i think. but right now i CANNOT afford 100+ for anything like that :(..so cue: endos/lizline.
a little like these, but with cuffs at the bottom..
or some identical to this pair would surely not go astray at all.
unfortunately, though, i dont know if they would look ok with out heels..and if they look shabbitha without some elevation - than they would go to waste in my lifestyle.
there were a thou little black dresses - not excruiatingly short (from what i could tell, i didnt try anything on because i dont plan on having to sew my tear ducts shut any time soon) and all with just the right amnt of embellishment - like a single ruffled sleeve, or some puffed action on either side or or or just what i want in life right now.
there was lots of pastels and sheer, which i thought i would be sick of right now..but nope.
lots of (fake - i did the scratch test, hehe) pearls in just the right, minimalistic quantities.
blazers that weren't too structured/square; and made out of soft fabrics that i can only imagine would sit nice and a little loosely, but still formally
but ohh it was just everything in abundance that i've been trying to find for a lot of months. bug-ah.
so therefore i want to find a great deal of these finds in a thrift outlet-o in this town quiiite remarkably soon. perhaps before the art exhibition's -grand- opening thursday night ?
i guess i could sew all of the above - with all the skill/time/dollars i have.
and and and im really enjoying cropped/cuffed shorts - i guess a liiitle bit like the bottom-haff of this get-up (but not really at all) - teamed with patent nude heels. yummo.
(neither of which i own ? - better get to it.) ive been actually finding a whole heap of patent nude heels in mackay in the last week or two - like in 2-3 shops, which has really excited/surprised me. i've been searching for a pair for at least a year now, since i first saw a picture in one of the cheesie magazines at work featuring vickbeck and katie holmes shoe shopping, and one of them i think was either wearing a pair or trying them on.
many of the pairs that i have recently come across have been well over the budget, but whatever. im worried they'll get really scuffed if i do invest in a pair for formal/grad etc (im going to be well and truly shoe-pooling), like my mocktail pair did..but maybe if im extra-careful, i'll get by relatively unscathed ?
i'm also on the semi-search for something a bit obnoxious in size but also pretty feminine and formal for Prom to whack in my hair. all ive found are flowers and im not too sure, i feel like theyve been done so much before - but i guess it would be a safe option. any ideas ?
--------------
images via
art music, metamorphasis, soldier on, straight-jacket, no vowels
16.10.09
yuck yeah, francesca
(i wrote this for English at the end of last term.
there's bits i like, bits i don't like. it was veerrry last minute, like literally half a week before it was due because so much was going on academically at that time. it was sposed to be a modernised version of Macbeth. mine was set in a concentration camp. on the most part, its embarrassingly over-descriptive. like 'hi, i like creative writiiing guyz, its a hobbie of mine, i've never read a book in my life but im going to use the word 'however' as many times as i can in a single paragraph.' or maybe not like that at all.. you decide.
i hate the way i made it end so abruptly because i got lazy and idea-less.
AND i know it's looong but that's to be expected of me nowadays, i think ? i know i'm a waffle. but i like waffles. they're great with syrup.)
'Incineration of the Human Conscience: Macbeth modernised.'
Overhead, three vultures circle. Their keen eyes search the sea of emaciated bodies for their next meal. They don’t notice that we exist down here, or that we continue to live; to survive, from sunrise to sunset, though all the while showing no real signs of life. We are the dead - herded like animals, void of all rights and dignity that would allow us any opportunity of communication or exterior emotion. Just as birds flock elsewhere in the colder months, in search of nourishment and shelter; an escape, we travel together in an exhausted mass in desperate hope of a slight improvement of where we are now – Mauthausen concentration camp.
One of the scavengers released a rasping screech - in doing so breaking the aching silence for a fragment of a second. As vultures, they are the scum of the sky. Here as Jews, albeit humans, we are the scum of the Earth.
Our heads remain obediently bowed, our shoulders collectively slumped. We shuffle uniformly, in single file, day after day after repetitive, melancholic day. We are always being watched; always seen through the scrutinising eyes of the authorities, but not once are we ever heard.
The cold is so stifling that all the brain can concentrate on is the slow, steady trudging of the skeletal excuses for legs in front. Not a single foot is stepped out of line on either side. There is no forgiveness for error here, you learn quickly.
To the side of the front of the food line a comparatively less-gaunt figure can be seen. Although more or less physically alone in his stance, the man’s self-conscious dependence upon and admiration of his superiors is demonstrated quite plainly, although non-verbally. He can be seen with arms crossed, mimicking the other three guards in child-like search of approval or recognition as they intrude upon his shadow, apathetic dispositions in tow. Sporting a red cap, he is stuck in an awkward limbo between camp prisoner and camp authority. He wears the same uniform as the rest of us, but is not one of us. His similarly bald head is covered instead with a few scraps of red fabric that have been roughly sewn together into the shape of a cap.
A red cap is more or less royalty. It signifies a little extra food, a thicker blanket and indifference from the guards. Indifference is a blessing, as in this case, camouflage is synonymous with a longer life expectancy. Within the first few months of the camp’s existence, the more fit of the male workers were given a red cap and a sense of duty. They had been given the role of guard’s assistant – they tell the authorities of any thefts or traitorous activity that takes place behind closed doors.
The red target that was central in my sights this morning belonged to 70-odd-year-old Duncan, and I wanted in.
My envious thought processes were broken as I found myself on the receiving end of a tired nudge in the ribs from what is now my brother’s painfully skeletal elbow. I would have groaned had the cold not blocked out all of my physical senses weeks ago.
In my direction he hissed, ‘Michael, you’re staring at Duncan again…you know that cap’s got your name written all over it.’
I knew he was right in one respect. Partially, I wanted the cap and the extra food, without doubt, but was not about to forcefully remove the position from anyone. If anything, this camp has shown me that out of all of the combinations of emotions on Earth, that without compassion and companionship, no person or difficult circumstance can be conquered or indeed even endured.
I studied the inside of my eyelids for a minute before further diverting my attention to the growing and gaping hole in the front of my faded cotton shirt. I pulled at a loose thread until the worn opening had almost doubled in size. Being agonizingly close to succeeding in wholly distracting myself momentarily, I irritatingly found myself only to be tugged from my thoughts for a second time.
In an impatient and whispered tone I heard the words,
‘Come on, he’s not even good at what he does. I know you’re tired of barely scraping through survival on this slop, we all are. Think of the extra food you could be getting with that cap. He’s a liar, Mike, he’s a danger to all of us. We can get rid of him easily.’
I shook my head, though in partial defeat, with my eyes once more focussed steadfastly straight ahead. I noticed that the line for food was growing progressively shorter, as was my struggling resistance.
As the sun reached the horizon we retired to our icy wooden bunks for another uncomfortable night of unrest. We were retiring once more, but as brothers; as people with names, rather than numbers. For the entirety of the evening no crack in the wall, splinter in the bed or fleeting draught of wind went unnoticed. My eyes didn’t shut for a second all night. Instead, they incessantly flicked around the room, for the constant and choking fear that my thinking would become verbal as I continuously deliberated and tore my morals apart over Ben’s words and the possibility of Duncan’s position soon becoming solely and rightfully mine.
While lining up for the morning soup ration, Duncan’s cap appeared to be redder than ever; the fabric darkened to a deep crimson of blood. His usual stone-faced expression of authority had transformed instead to a taunting and smug smirk. As I approached him in the line, an overpowering smell of human death arose from nearby brick towers in the form of stiflingly thick black smoke. The dawn seemed to be entirely without noise other than knives being sharpened against each other at the food stand, while a quiet, more distant chugging noise could be heard from two steam trains in the distance. It was a recognized realisation that both trains were headed directly to Auschwitz death camp.
It seemed that even the vultures understood the fight against fate of the red –donned figure on that morning. The ravenous birds circled a few times but never once swooped down, as they had every day previously.
Upon reaching the soup-laden guard I veered a sharp left, directly into the sights of the other who stood at that stage unoccupied, arms crossed, on casual but sharp surveillance. I tipped him off in hushed and hurried tones about Duncan’s ‘theft’ of food. While in full awareness that it was in actual fact his colleague’s wrongdoing, I could see the sentry’s ears prick up within seconds. He nodded, while his eyes visibly widened with surprise; darting around in both confusion and perhaps betrayal.
Upon returning silently into the line once more, I felt another friendlier shove to the ribs, although in this instance no words were exchanged. A slight nod signalled my brother’s approval, fully aware that the deed was indeed done.
There was rewarding for acts like that of my own, regardless of red cap or not. I knew that Duncan’s position would so soon be mine, and fairly so.
The following morning was as anticipatory as the previous, if not more. At daybreak, I was handed a small pouch along with my soup bowl. Its contents were expectantly no more than a small scrap of now-faded red fabric that had a short brim at one end.
The thrill from adrenaline and newly-obtained self-satisfaction that filled my mind and body within that instant temporarily liberated all discomfort that I had been feeling as a result of the frozen winter air.
The arrival of the cap into my awaiting hands had simultaneously marked the disappearance of Duncan from Mauthausen camp. I could only assume the worst; that his faux act of theft had resulted in the grey-haired, ex-guard’s assistant being sent on a direct route to Auschwitz.
As days passed, I came to realise through my newly promoted social rank that not even a prolonged stint in a concentration camp can do a lot to suppress the individual ambition that can be found within all conscious beings – whether being victorious in a metaphorical arm-wrestle with mortality or not. As my brother grew ever more bitter with the passing of each day, his words became to be all but generated with a supportive or compassionate motive. His actions seemed to become increasingly colder, as did the temperatures outside. Contrastingly, outside of Mauthausen the war grew hotter; its unrelenting grasp on our throats slowly but surely tightening. Prisoners started dropping like flies as the smoke that rose from the chimneys grew fatally thicker as a result.
I found myself cold and alone. Without the comradeship of my brother I became quite literally just another number on the long list of death-assured Jews. In my position of solitude and social isolation, the vultures were my only companions. They were without guilt or moral conscience, seemingly appearing then disappearing at their own free will – the perfect disposable partners in crime.
Without a real reason to continue living as well as not having the fortunate gift of flight like my new-found feathered friends, I found myself digging a mentally-draining hole that felt to be kilometres deep. It became difficult to find things that were worth greeting each breaking day for. My existence had been solely and wholly reduced to the simple repetition of breathing in and out, with my eyes constantly darting left, then right.
The extra food was so insignificant an increase that I noticed no difference in my physical health; my ribs still jutted out at an angle that no longer seemed alarming to my eyes.
The satisfaction that I had once held quickly approached guilt while the empathy and fairness that I had prided myself on within my red-capped role of responsibility in the past, dwindled, and soon became overridden with an abusive lust for power.
Friendship and equality turned to words that I had, either subconsciously or consciously, wiped from my vocabulary as well as from all mental thought and processes.
Again, my sight appeared to alter on a remarkable level; mirroring my thoughts almost identically. My cap drooped and sagged at the edges, as if others were always trying to pull it off my head and from my grasp completely. Its colour returned to a shade of stale blood…my blood…Duncan’s blood. Ben’s sneering eyes undeniably understood more than they let on, and I felt his stare burning a deep and dark hole into the back of my crimson headwear whenever he was reduced to a hazy image at the very edge of my peripherals.
I heard whispers, which caused me to don my cap protectively, even in my sleep. I slept lightly or not at all, panic taking over every physical sense that existed in my body.
‘Michael murders sleep, Michael murders sleep, Michael murders sleep’, I heard the wind howl through the worn, wooden rafters at night.
Faces in the mass of Jews appeared to sprout grey hair or a rugged moustache, just as Duncan’s had been. Backs grew hunched and towering, similar to Ben’s.
No corner could I turn without the sight of looming smoke from human death. It overwhelmed me entirely, weighing down my tired lungs with every waking moment of its constricting embrace. Paranoia was not an obsession or irrational disorder of mine, but a form of safety; a comfortable blanket of peace.
After weeks of distress along with a zombie-like gait, I fell; simultaneously both mentally and physically. Ben, soon after, disappeared on a train to nowhere.
If anything, this camp has shown me that out of all of the combinations of emotions on Earth, that without compassion and companionship, no person or difficult circumstance can be conquered or indeed even endured.
there's bits i like, bits i don't like. it was veerrry last minute, like literally half a week before it was due because so much was going on academically at that time. it was sposed to be a modernised version of Macbeth. mine was set in a concentration camp. on the most part, its embarrassingly over-descriptive. like 'hi, i like creative writiiing guyz, its a hobbie of mine, i've never read a book in my life but im going to use the word 'however' as many times as i can in a single paragraph.' or maybe not like that at all.. you decide.
i hate the way i made it end so abruptly because i got lazy and idea-less.
AND i know it's looong but that's to be expected of me nowadays, i think ? i know i'm a waffle. but i like waffles. they're great with syrup.)
'Incineration of the Human Conscience: Macbeth modernised.'
Overhead, three vultures circle. Their keen eyes search the sea of emaciated bodies for their next meal. They don’t notice that we exist down here, or that we continue to live; to survive, from sunrise to sunset, though all the while showing no real signs of life. We are the dead - herded like animals, void of all rights and dignity that would allow us any opportunity of communication or exterior emotion. Just as birds flock elsewhere in the colder months, in search of nourishment and shelter; an escape, we travel together in an exhausted mass in desperate hope of a slight improvement of where we are now – Mauthausen concentration camp.
One of the scavengers released a rasping screech - in doing so breaking the aching silence for a fragment of a second. As vultures, they are the scum of the sky. Here as Jews, albeit humans, we are the scum of the Earth.
Our heads remain obediently bowed, our shoulders collectively slumped. We shuffle uniformly, in single file, day after day after repetitive, melancholic day. We are always being watched; always seen through the scrutinising eyes of the authorities, but not once are we ever heard.
The cold is so stifling that all the brain can concentrate on is the slow, steady trudging of the skeletal excuses for legs in front. Not a single foot is stepped out of line on either side. There is no forgiveness for error here, you learn quickly.
To the side of the front of the food line a comparatively less-gaunt figure can be seen. Although more or less physically alone in his stance, the man’s self-conscious dependence upon and admiration of his superiors is demonstrated quite plainly, although non-verbally. He can be seen with arms crossed, mimicking the other three guards in child-like search of approval or recognition as they intrude upon his shadow, apathetic dispositions in tow. Sporting a red cap, he is stuck in an awkward limbo between camp prisoner and camp authority. He wears the same uniform as the rest of us, but is not one of us. His similarly bald head is covered instead with a few scraps of red fabric that have been roughly sewn together into the shape of a cap.
A red cap is more or less royalty. It signifies a little extra food, a thicker blanket and indifference from the guards. Indifference is a blessing, as in this case, camouflage is synonymous with a longer life expectancy. Within the first few months of the camp’s existence, the more fit of the male workers were given a red cap and a sense of duty. They had been given the role of guard’s assistant – they tell the authorities of any thefts or traitorous activity that takes place behind closed doors.
The red target that was central in my sights this morning belonged to 70-odd-year-old Duncan, and I wanted in.
My envious thought processes were broken as I found myself on the receiving end of a tired nudge in the ribs from what is now my brother’s painfully skeletal elbow. I would have groaned had the cold not blocked out all of my physical senses weeks ago.
In my direction he hissed, ‘Michael, you’re staring at Duncan again…you know that cap’s got your name written all over it.’
I knew he was right in one respect. Partially, I wanted the cap and the extra food, without doubt, but was not about to forcefully remove the position from anyone. If anything, this camp has shown me that out of all of the combinations of emotions on Earth, that without compassion and companionship, no person or difficult circumstance can be conquered or indeed even endured.
I studied the inside of my eyelids for a minute before further diverting my attention to the growing and gaping hole in the front of my faded cotton shirt. I pulled at a loose thread until the worn opening had almost doubled in size. Being agonizingly close to succeeding in wholly distracting myself momentarily, I irritatingly found myself only to be tugged from my thoughts for a second time.
In an impatient and whispered tone I heard the words,
‘Come on, he’s not even good at what he does. I know you’re tired of barely scraping through survival on this slop, we all are. Think of the extra food you could be getting with that cap. He’s a liar, Mike, he’s a danger to all of us. We can get rid of him easily.’
I shook my head, though in partial defeat, with my eyes once more focussed steadfastly straight ahead. I noticed that the line for food was growing progressively shorter, as was my struggling resistance.
As the sun reached the horizon we retired to our icy wooden bunks for another uncomfortable night of unrest. We were retiring once more, but as brothers; as people with names, rather than numbers. For the entirety of the evening no crack in the wall, splinter in the bed or fleeting draught of wind went unnoticed. My eyes didn’t shut for a second all night. Instead, they incessantly flicked around the room, for the constant and choking fear that my thinking would become verbal as I continuously deliberated and tore my morals apart over Ben’s words and the possibility of Duncan’s position soon becoming solely and rightfully mine.
While lining up for the morning soup ration, Duncan’s cap appeared to be redder than ever; the fabric darkened to a deep crimson of blood. His usual stone-faced expression of authority had transformed instead to a taunting and smug smirk. As I approached him in the line, an overpowering smell of human death arose from nearby brick towers in the form of stiflingly thick black smoke. The dawn seemed to be entirely without noise other than knives being sharpened against each other at the food stand, while a quiet, more distant chugging noise could be heard from two steam trains in the distance. It was a recognized realisation that both trains were headed directly to Auschwitz death camp.
It seemed that even the vultures understood the fight against fate of the red –donned figure on that morning. The ravenous birds circled a few times but never once swooped down, as they had every day previously.
Upon reaching the soup-laden guard I veered a sharp left, directly into the sights of the other who stood at that stage unoccupied, arms crossed, on casual but sharp surveillance. I tipped him off in hushed and hurried tones about Duncan’s ‘theft’ of food. While in full awareness that it was in actual fact his colleague’s wrongdoing, I could see the sentry’s ears prick up within seconds. He nodded, while his eyes visibly widened with surprise; darting around in both confusion and perhaps betrayal.
Upon returning silently into the line once more, I felt another friendlier shove to the ribs, although in this instance no words were exchanged. A slight nod signalled my brother’s approval, fully aware that the deed was indeed done.
There was rewarding for acts like that of my own, regardless of red cap or not. I knew that Duncan’s position would so soon be mine, and fairly so.
The following morning was as anticipatory as the previous, if not more. At daybreak, I was handed a small pouch along with my soup bowl. Its contents were expectantly no more than a small scrap of now-faded red fabric that had a short brim at one end.
The thrill from adrenaline and newly-obtained self-satisfaction that filled my mind and body within that instant temporarily liberated all discomfort that I had been feeling as a result of the frozen winter air.
The arrival of the cap into my awaiting hands had simultaneously marked the disappearance of Duncan from Mauthausen camp. I could only assume the worst; that his faux act of theft had resulted in the grey-haired, ex-guard’s assistant being sent on a direct route to Auschwitz.
As days passed, I came to realise through my newly promoted social rank that not even a prolonged stint in a concentration camp can do a lot to suppress the individual ambition that can be found within all conscious beings – whether being victorious in a metaphorical arm-wrestle with mortality or not. As my brother grew ever more bitter with the passing of each day, his words became to be all but generated with a supportive or compassionate motive. His actions seemed to become increasingly colder, as did the temperatures outside. Contrastingly, outside of Mauthausen the war grew hotter; its unrelenting grasp on our throats slowly but surely tightening. Prisoners started dropping like flies as the smoke that rose from the chimneys grew fatally thicker as a result.
I found myself cold and alone. Without the comradeship of my brother I became quite literally just another number on the long list of death-assured Jews. In my position of solitude and social isolation, the vultures were my only companions. They were without guilt or moral conscience, seemingly appearing then disappearing at their own free will – the perfect disposable partners in crime.
Without a real reason to continue living as well as not having the fortunate gift of flight like my new-found feathered friends, I found myself digging a mentally-draining hole that felt to be kilometres deep. It became difficult to find things that were worth greeting each breaking day for. My existence had been solely and wholly reduced to the simple repetition of breathing in and out, with my eyes constantly darting left, then right.
The extra food was so insignificant an increase that I noticed no difference in my physical health; my ribs still jutted out at an angle that no longer seemed alarming to my eyes.
The satisfaction that I had once held quickly approached guilt while the empathy and fairness that I had prided myself on within my red-capped role of responsibility in the past, dwindled, and soon became overridden with an abusive lust for power.
Friendship and equality turned to words that I had, either subconsciously or consciously, wiped from my vocabulary as well as from all mental thought and processes.
Again, my sight appeared to alter on a remarkable level; mirroring my thoughts almost identically. My cap drooped and sagged at the edges, as if others were always trying to pull it off my head and from my grasp completely. Its colour returned to a shade of stale blood…my blood…Duncan’s blood. Ben’s sneering eyes undeniably understood more than they let on, and I felt his stare burning a deep and dark hole into the back of my crimson headwear whenever he was reduced to a hazy image at the very edge of my peripherals.
I heard whispers, which caused me to don my cap protectively, even in my sleep. I slept lightly or not at all, panic taking over every physical sense that existed in my body.
‘Michael murders sleep, Michael murders sleep, Michael murders sleep’, I heard the wind howl through the worn, wooden rafters at night.
Faces in the mass of Jews appeared to sprout grey hair or a rugged moustache, just as Duncan’s had been. Backs grew hunched and towering, similar to Ben’s.
No corner could I turn without the sight of looming smoke from human death. It overwhelmed me entirely, weighing down my tired lungs with every waking moment of its constricting embrace. Paranoia was not an obsession or irrational disorder of mine, but a form of safety; a comfortable blanket of peace.
After weeks of distress along with a zombie-like gait, I fell; simultaneously both mentally and physically. Ben, soon after, disappeared on a train to nowhere.
If anything, this camp has shown me that out of all of the combinations of emotions on Earth, that without compassion and companionship, no person or difficult circumstance can be conquered or indeed even endured.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
