bflaaaaaaaaaaaz
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- May 21, 2007
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This is my first page of my e2. the start is a qoute, it linkes to Othello as an area of study. What do you (meaning anonomous internet buddies) think of it.
“If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death, and let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, Olympus-high, and duck again as low as Hell’s from Heaven.”
Sitting in darkness he reaches deep into the night, the svelte body of Jack Daniels slides through the velvety black of night with ease. He is blind to the depressing state of his lonesome study, orderly and crisp one pair of shoes line the doorway. A single glass sits on the large oak desk. Framed landscapes line the walls. Faceless, they attempt to fill the void. Even with the anonymity of night wrapped around him, he still knows who he is and what he has lost.
The silky hand of liquor stirs memories deep within him. Under the influence of his only friend everything becomes clearer. One question still remains. Why? He loved his family. Anne had died a few years earlier and so too had the hope of forgiveness. But his daughter… Jasmine. Much like the dying breath of a lonely man, he let that thought drift away unfinished. Burning first within his heart it floated away in a defeated sigh. Had it been thirty years?
More.
He had missed out on watching her become a woman. Immortal, the face of her youth haunted him. Full of sadness, tears stung her delicate skin. In his memory he reached out to his little girl, longing to show her the ineffable love he knew she deserved. Unused, it stirred restlessly. Jasmine had grown up and cut all ties. He was a fool.
Sinking deeper into his thoughts, Eric tries to rationalise.
Great passion can inspire great love. The unlimited capacity for human experience allows this force to seep into any crevice of our existence.
Despite the alcohol, and the raw nature of his feelings, within his mind he begins to clinically sort through the emotions distressing his heart.
The greater the intensity the greater the danger of destruction should this entity be utilised in a negative form. Newtons Law; for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction.
The more he drowns his sorrows in alcoholic mist, the further his pain intensifies.
We all try to narrow our experiences down to a select range, the few emotions we feel comfortable with. Love, trust, security. Remembering the words he chokes a little as a phantom sensation rolls off his tongue.
Quietly it slips into the night unheard.
He did love his family. More than anything.
Again, he tries to rationalise.
Why? Well, the greater the love… Newtons Law.
Sitting quietly in an affluent suburb in the Eastern part of Sydney, a substantial house sits shyly off the road. A brand new 1968 Fairlane passes briefly through the street disturbing aging Jacarandas. They struggle to maintain their composure, bent from the weight of lilac flowers the beauty overwhelms even them. A careless laughter under toned with the charm of youth fills the street with it’s presence. Nestled within this group of fourth graders a knot of anxiety builds. She begins to slow her pace.
“If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death, and let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, Olympus-high, and duck again as low as Hell’s from Heaven.”
Sitting in darkness he reaches deep into the night, the svelte body of Jack Daniels slides through the velvety black of night with ease. He is blind to the depressing state of his lonesome study, orderly and crisp one pair of shoes line the doorway. A single glass sits on the large oak desk. Framed landscapes line the walls. Faceless, they attempt to fill the void. Even with the anonymity of night wrapped around him, he still knows who he is and what he has lost.
The silky hand of liquor stirs memories deep within him. Under the influence of his only friend everything becomes clearer. One question still remains. Why? He loved his family. Anne had died a few years earlier and so too had the hope of forgiveness. But his daughter… Jasmine. Much like the dying breath of a lonely man, he let that thought drift away unfinished. Burning first within his heart it floated away in a defeated sigh. Had it been thirty years?
More.
He had missed out on watching her become a woman. Immortal, the face of her youth haunted him. Full of sadness, tears stung her delicate skin. In his memory he reached out to his little girl, longing to show her the ineffable love he knew she deserved. Unused, it stirred restlessly. Jasmine had grown up and cut all ties. He was a fool.
Sinking deeper into his thoughts, Eric tries to rationalise.
Great passion can inspire great love. The unlimited capacity for human experience allows this force to seep into any crevice of our existence.
Despite the alcohol, and the raw nature of his feelings, within his mind he begins to clinically sort through the emotions distressing his heart.
The greater the intensity the greater the danger of destruction should this entity be utilised in a negative form. Newtons Law; for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction.
The more he drowns his sorrows in alcoholic mist, the further his pain intensifies.
We all try to narrow our experiences down to a select range, the few emotions we feel comfortable with. Love, trust, security. Remembering the words he chokes a little as a phantom sensation rolls off his tongue.
Quietly it slips into the night unheard.
He did love his family. More than anything.
Again, he tries to rationalise.
Why? Well, the greater the love… Newtons Law.
Sitting quietly in an affluent suburb in the Eastern part of Sydney, a substantial house sits shyly off the road. A brand new 1968 Fairlane passes briefly through the street disturbing aging Jacarandas. They struggle to maintain their composure, bent from the weight of lilac flowers the beauty overwhelms even them. A careless laughter under toned with the charm of youth fills the street with it’s presence. Nestled within this group of fourth graders a knot of anxiety builds. She begins to slow her pace.
