New hair and glasses
To start: I never thought John/Sherlock would become canon. No, really. I don’t think many people do. Lots of people want it to, but I think it’s generally accepted as a relative impossibility, no matter how much we want it.
What I am here to talk about it why that impossibility is so harmful, what that says about media today, and, of course, why I am disappointed in fucking everybody.
Also: this post contains minor spoilers and frank discussion of the appearance of a certain character, so if you don’t know what I’m talking about, turn back now before you regret it.
Maybe I am thinking about this too much. Its what I do, I look, using past experiences and what I know and what I have seen and compare and contrast and usually get the worst answer possible, no matter how improbable, and get scared by it.
I am a control freak, everything is so frtagile in my life, I feel that if I let go, even for once second, I’ll lose myslef and everything I have worked for. I control the people around me and my life with a blunt fist, and, when we are together like we are, I have…nothing to grab onto!
Its so freeing, and its terrifying, and I get such a sweet rush. One thats hurts my teeth! I’m an adrenaline addict whose paranoid as hell! I dont make any sense!
I am thinking too much, its a defense mechanism, I just feel everything is more than I know or about to become soothing I cant control…cant have that…
I’m not sure. Thats a statement I have commonly used throughout this experiment. Sadly enough, usually I know my way about, but here, Im in the cold dark.
I dont know what you see on my face, because, I dont feel it. I covered my face eairler today, hid it away, cause I wasn’t sure what it was doing, Embarrassed because I don’t know what the fuck Im even expressing. I can feel my body attract, want to close the distance and have not even air between us. And I can feel my mind rebel though, hard, pull me away. Constant war inside and out. I may have sanded down my feelings, but the physical reactions is something so untouchable I could never grasp them. If anything, I promote them. They are so real and viral compared to the gray of my life, I wanted that spark.
And I do get sparks, from your hands, and they are so bright, I feel cold when they leave.
If I do know anything, is that, this is all the farther I can go. No matter what may be there, what my body may be giving you, it dosn’t get the final say. And any more, I-I just could not handle. I am already feeling a bit sufocated, and any more and I just might choke. It’s me not you, and to be honest…not sure how much longer I can keep going. This is all I can give, not all, that would destroy me.
I love this, this hurt so damn good. I hate this, this suffocating chill in my throat.
Trees begin as seeds, as we all know. Tiny baby’s of the tree world, that can fin in your palm, and even on your fingertips. He was smaller than all his fellow fallers, and feared he would only die upon losing his mothers grasp, like so many he had seen before him.
But he was heavy!
Small boy with a great weight to him. And upon his judgement day, the seconds of life of death, he took a route unlike the others that feel in that second. They fell close to the tree, and would never become anything. Too close to home, not enough water or sunlight, and they would half to compete with mom.
But our small man, his weight made him bounce and roll through the silk thin grass and down the swift dip of the hill. He rolled for some way, thinking; this is it! I’m going to become a tree!
He rolled and rolled and, then, he feel. Right off the edge of the great cliff his mother called home. Free-falling made his very being sick, and he would have lost his lunch if not only a simple acorn.
Another smack of earth and he was toppling down a dirt covered hill and then, skid down into grass again. Where on earth was he!? It was a different land down here, and if he would only still for a moment he could see! He did still, but not on the silk grass he had known before. Not a dirt patch or a shaved field. No river bank or flower field. He stopped on a hard alien surface, black and super-heated by the sun.
It smelled like fire and ruin.
The little acorn stopped on a street below, in a cookie cutter neighbor hood, which his mother tree looked over. The little acorn stayed there; never being swept away by much. There was little wind here. Cars would pass, children would play, but he would stay, confused as to if he would ever be anything…here.
Looking about, no other plants made their home on this black patch. The summer went, bring rain and good sun with it. Gathering much made for poor soil, and yet, nature is powerful! The seed sprouted! A crack in the smooth surface of the side of the acorn, disturbing natures perfection.
And inside, a speck of life! Green and wanting! A stem and a single leaf sprung up to drink in the suns warm in life, and even two snow-white roots burst forth from the bottom, looking and latching and drinking.
He was half of a tree thing, like an aline popping from it’s egg.
But, without soil and earth and proper nutrition, this black tar would bake those fragile roots, and end him. All it took was one little girl to save our little acorn. She had golden curls and blue eyes like crystal waters.
She saw the little half tree and giggled in delight. She had seen many an acorn, but nothing quite like this! Telling her mother, who gathered out little guy up and potted him, made the acorns new home in her daughters windowsill.
The acorn could thrive now! Sure, he was a sprig of green in a expanse of soil, fragile as a newborn flower, but with the soil her could thrive! The girl loved him, called him Barry after her recently dead fish. Who her brother had killed ‘by accident’. She promised that this time, she would protect Barry.
Her brother was a feral child, one of destruction and chaos born of half-handed raising by an equally wild father figure. He destroyed anything in his path, and his sister possessions were far from excluded. He would hurt neighborhood animals and try and shoot squires with his BB gun. And when he found about the newest edition to his family, a wicked grin set about his face.
The tree was now a dark green stem with one bright green leaf on top. Nothing yet, not even worth of the title Oak, but well on it’s way there. Then, the little girl, his only guardian, left for a two day school trip. With his angel gone, he found himself drown in liquid by the hand of a greed eyed wild boy.
This was not water, the life giver.
But something foul, and dark brown. Poison all about him, sticky and tacky, clogging his roots with suffocating ease. It hurt, just a little would, but there was so much! He couldn’t get away, his roots were too high, too fragile.
There was no escape for him.
The girl returned to see her little acorn shrived and brown. Dead and gone long before her arrival. With a single empty can of coke sitting next to his pot. She swore from that day she would set out to save plants!
Though, she did not get far, for just as Barry had met his end prematurely, so did she. Killed in a car accident two week later, along with he father who was said to be under the influence.Her brother is 24 now, in for life for killing his coke dealer.
And the mother?
She sits in a single bed apartment, living a simple life. Sometimes though, she’ll sit at her desk and stare longingly at the small Oak tree she had planted. Taking and planting one new Oak a year, two fulfill an old promise to someone she loved.
The End.Matty Cooper. 2013. A small something I wrote of Jess, via request.
Some of my edited pictures:
1. The Vision of Light and Colour
2. Shattered Nightmasres
3.Robust in Gray
4. My Work; Breathing Light