Yearly reflections

When I was a child I felt so embarrassed by pictures of me that I’d carry out clandestine operations to angle photos and push aside picture frames. I never had friends over because pictures embarrassed me more than the stuffy places we lived in.

To slip by unacknowledged was a skill, it’s own reward. It felt only natural for me to be drafted by shadows and sneak away from any recognition. Why? Well I won’t go into the Freudian bits but being unformed, untouched by an passing childhood crisis was a kind of liberation. I could be anyone I wanted to be, be on both sides, the wronged and the victorious. I was a diplomat with no crisis to attend to.

Having nothing to trouble you makes you a bit of a day dreamer, why wouldn’t you be if you were uninvested in what happened around you? It also makes for a polite kind of self involvement, a enjoyable one but there’s only so much of it I could stomach. Cynicism, I think, makes for good reading in your adolescence, afterwards it has nowhere to go but to a capacity for destruction.

I read some Jung this year, I read him every year but I only made something of his suggestions this year. You’ve got to be willing to unleash a little naiveté, a willingness to hope that’s a little bit more around the corner to really enjoy him. It’s funny that he’s the one with the reputation of being unscientific because he’s the one’s who’s constantly trying to structure things. There’s a certainty that comes with pulling back the curtains, leaning into a day dream or just a regular dream. It’s also funny given how much they reveal when you consider how vapour like they are.

I’ve been journalling my dreams regularly, they’re pretty strange but honest in the most absurd way. Meeting and being terrified by a goat faced God is a strange path to self discovery but I’ll take whatever works. The one thing that amazes me about dream journalling is how it let’s you recall dreams more regularly as you go along.

There’s a certain kind of honesty and strength that comes with writing down what’s bubbling in your mind, or even committing to creating something. So next year I’m going to go back to something I’ve always been avoiding, writing long bits of fiction. I’ve always had the lurking recognition that doing so really stretches how well you write and reveals your hand. I’m also going to get back to drawing regularly, I’ve been meaning to practice my basics instead of trying to skip ahead to the fancy parts I can show off. I’ve done an okay job of it so far but I’ve still got a long way to go on getting the perspective right.

Spider horror

There’s a lot of intresting things you can do with spiderman rather than just keep him a four legged crime fighter.

Let’s travel to this more… intresting alternate reality where Peter’s bitten by a radioactive spider unlike the one’s we know.

We meet our late adolescent waking up with haste, straight out of a fever dream. His body burns and unknown to him he’s about be awash in hormones, puberty like no other. You may even call it a… Metamorphosis.

Feeling stubs and strong, thick hair on his back that defied any explanation, furry finger tips and swelling waist, our hero stumbles, rolls over trying to catch a glance at the mirror.

Except he doesn’t have to turn that far. Small rows of beady eyes open seeing bone crushing pincers on his hair covered face. Then he sees the extra limbs.

We see now the agony he feels, as his body twitches and pulls in ways he never thought possible. All this whilest he’s learning he can no longer stand upright. Of course he’s having all sorts of new hormones pumping through his veins, driving his rage as he bounces, stumbles between between fear, hate, glee and new emotions we cannot know. But in all these urges, he’ll feel the primal hunger slowly creeping up on him.

While his limbs flex and twitch, as his face melts into a cold, boneless stare. He looks at the mirror again, all 8 limbs to the ground, he is lost to that primal hunger.

As he pushes around stretching and contorting in new ways, we see he pauses to examine, perhaps admire his new cold and springy body, ready for his next command.

He looks down his thorax,past the pulsing tracheal system and pulls inwards causing bubbles to foam up between his pincers and several strings of web shooting out to stick to his walls. He mindlessly tries a pattern for his web.

Now the deep hunger has it’s method. He gulps his spittle and foam, and in a miserable, desperate and surly voice calls out :

“Aunt Mayyy”

This story was inspired in part by “Metamorphosis”, “The Fly” and a Spiderman meme


Moonlight flows off his bed

The reflection seeps in a dream

Fern Lake, Lotus pond but a mile long

His feet push the clear waves

Drift through lilies, open up a path

An ode to moonlight.

Spotted in space

Spotted in space. Earliest sighting around satellites, shocked an astronomer, intrigued his colleague.  Closer and closer, black were the eyes that looked back at them. Eyes empty on closer examination, skin decayed, perhaps mummified. Larger than an average man, face contorted and caught in a scream. The horror of decay, the intrigue of how it went there, how it stayed there all gone when they saw it’s mouth move. Astronomers swear they heard their names.