Archive for the ‘ cut-up ’ Category

The ABC of cutters and their contributions.

This is an experiment in cutting up text. Or reusing text in different stories.

Here are some contributions:

A: “the door was open when i got home. I sensed you near the doorway just out of sight but you were quick for me. you’d left before i arrived. Still,  there is always signs of you here. the bite on my shoulder, your books by the bed. you are these rooms. And then your shadow falls across my face.  a kiss on my wrist. rose petals on the floor, soft candlelight. the wind blows. the books shiver.  i dive into memory…

we swim around the house, breaststroke in the bedroom, freestyle in the lounge. butterflies in my eyes. the house releases its wings – great red things that flap furiously.  you ask me to dance. We swirl across the floor. faster,  faster flowing into each other until your hand lets go. until my hand won’t hold on.  you float away leaving me stranded. And I slipped unseen through the cracks. sometimes i am the spaces between bricks holding this house together. sometimes.

I walk up the stairs listening to the creaking and cracking –  i wonder if it’s me or the wood. you brush past me… i think. Everywhere there is some sign of you. the slamming of doors. the breaking of glass.  A window shatters, my hand bleeds. Looking at the damage I see it is nothing some plaster won’t fix.

i need a drink of water. as i walk down the stairs I hear the tap running in the kitchen.”

B: “this sacred space is unfamiliar changed removed. I look at my scars and the unpainted walls around me. How like this house my body is – I inhabit it and when I am gone it will no longer be mine or me. I carry it with me always. In my heart a home.

Like some dusty trinket my soul is hidden in some place I cannot reach – forgotten. The steady ticking of a clock echoes my steps down this corridor beating in sympathy with the blood in my veins. Gentle note echoing heavy and light. Memories capture me like old family photographs. This wall covered in lost dreams is my young spirit before time moved swiftly between dark and bright.

If the clock should stop my house will never hear such comforting sound again. Something is missing in my room – desperately sought steadfast  intangible. Lacking in purpose it lays fallow. I must sow the seeds of growth and change its nature.

I find myself in the rifts on the ceilings between the cracks in the bricks lines around my eyes peeling paint on these walls. Signs of decay. Age shows its face in these ceilings these floors these hands these feet. I walk up the stairs listening to the creaking and cracking – i cannot tell if it is me or the worn wood.

The blaze of the fireplace ruptures the discordant beating of my heart.  Things come and go, changes turn with the seasons and all that remains unmoved is me. A window shatters, my hand bleeds. Surveying the damage i note that the damage is nothing some plaster won’t fix.”

C: “I woke up this morning because I could hear someone breathing. I opened an eye and looked around but the room was empty. The sound was still there; faint and steady. It was then that I realised I could hear the universe growing around me.

i need a drink of water. as i walk down the stairs I hear the tap running in the kitchen.”