Georgina wilding commission newest draft.

17 Jan

Right so, firstly, here’s is the link to the sound cloud audio (i think, i’m not very tech savvy – https://soundcloud.com/stream)

 

So what the piece is about is basically, family and friends and the people around this character, (lets call that character you the reader just for the sake of explanation) are hypocrits, tell you not to do something or go somewhere because it will be bad for you. They’re dragging you down telling you about this ‘poison wood’ and the ‘bird of death’ that will just eat u up, may that bird of death be reality or of your dreams and we’re you want to go, whatever you interpret it. So then, you the reader, ignore what they say and go to the woods and find the ‘bird of death’ (i.e an owl) has spat out lots of pellets of the things it can’t digest, which is bones and teeth and beaks etc (which is a true fact you know!!), but in this i’ve added that it can’t digest broken homes etc. Those broken homes and bad things are familiar to you and a reflection of all the crappy people around you so in realizing the similarity between you and this ‘evil’ you save all the pellets, (imagine gollum from lord of the rings, ‘my precioussssss!) and hold a mass for them, a mass for all the dead things that are foreign to you, and funnily enough, the things that are familiar! – I hope that makes any sort of sense! I can explain better out loud than i can typing! 

What i want to get from this edit is obviously general feed back. Mostly if it needs another stanza? If the mass thing needs explaining better so do i need to say ‘i held a mess for something foreign…’ because that was origionally a play on the fact that the pellets themselves are a mass of substance. Its supposed to feel fairy tale-ish, dark and creepy! It’s around a minute and a half in performance…. and here’s the newest edit….

Once plush green ploomage,

laid dank and black.

Choked it’s last breath

at the brink of swamp scum,

now vined corpses, for magits and mites

to rip and swallow down in

anguished insecurity.

No Jazz, or dancing bees.

No green leaf in sight.

Deceit, as simple woodland.

 

When the wind was right,

the scent of wet bark would

tap, tap, at my window,

creep through the cracks

and hand me an envelope.

‘You’re invited.’      

 

They said the bird of death

lived there.

Had plucked out

the eyes of its mother

and worn them as jewels

around its ankles,

to impose one last glint

of fear into the vole,

as it swooped and ripped

it from the soil.

 

They said i shouldn’t

play there, said I’d find myself

in pieces, said I’d be listening

to world through the muffled

underbelly of whichever maggot

had taken my ears. Said,

I’d be trapped in a restless crevice

under some tree somewhere, said

I’d be trapped. Said, I’d be trapped.

 

But i still did.

I did and i did and i didn’t

listen to their don’ts

and found pellets and

packets and bundles of bones.

Each time i took them home.

Fur and beaks and teeth

and stories. Legs and tails

and broken homes

were all tied up inside.

 

A mass for something foreign,

a mass for something familiar.

I saved them all.

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