Erinys The Inexplicable

You know.. Some people really embrace the whole “growing up” thing. This morning, whilst wandering aimlessly with a potential fellow Toy Soldier, spreading the good word of Dr. Steel, we ran into a person we both know, but I hardly recognised.  You would look at her and think, christ, how old is she? 17? 18? You look at me and wonder if I’ve finished grade ten yet.  

Today in Australia, it is the 27th of November. Exactly two months until my 18th birthday.  I’ve never been one to hold these so called rites of passage on any sort of pedestal, but I’m looking forward to turning 18. To quote myself “Finally the numbers shall tick over in my favour”.  

But I don’t know. I’m not particularly bothered that I am sometimes mistaken for a lost child, but there’s something else that’s got me feeling that 18 shall just be another number up on the board; another decimal of pi, meaningless and never ending. 

And you know, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Another number, nothing new, no responsibilities or expectations. 

And liquor ay! Woo, party and all that…

*sigh*

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have an 18th birthday party.

Just mail me presents. 

That’ll keep me happy. 

Tonight is my school awards night and for the first time in three years, I am a nominee.

OOOH, I’m SOO excited, I wonder what I could possibly be getting it for? Could it be for my wonderful effort in… in… um… OR MAYBE they’re recognising my participation in that.. ah…

So yes, you can understand my surprise and down right annoyance when I saw my name on the list of nominees. Not only did I have to sit through two hours of a blonde na-

Hold up a second there Erin, if you call one of your teachers a Nazi on the internet, that may not bode well for you in the future.. Hi to the principal of my school! :D

Where was I? Ah yes, not only did I have to sit through two hours of a well meaning teacher telling us how to sit, stand and walk, I have to sit through another three hours of speeches and formality tonight.

And all for what?

At my school there are things these suspicious called “Commitment to Study” awards, which is, basically, an equivalent of an encouragement award. I find the notion of this award severely demeaning. Especially if a person continues to get an encouragement award year in, year out. Clearly that person wasn’t encourage to do anything better. Encouragement awards recognise averageness. You’ve failed to beat the competition to be the very top and not only that, you have failed at being the very bottom. A person should be recognised for being the best at something, not the middle.

If that doesn’t sway you to my point of view, think of how many trees that could be saved if they stopped giving these pointless certificates, that you look at once and swiftly discard to hide your shame. And ehy not stop at encouragement awards? What about “participation awards” and “appreciation certificates”? I wonder who had the fantastic idea of appreciating someone by giving them a piece of paper. I’d feel much more appreciated if thought went into my gift. Generally people receive certificates for things they didn’t really want to do in the first place and now they have a useless piece of paper to commemorate the unpleasant experience forever more.

So next time, think before you mindlessly insert another name into a worthless certificate from the template saved to your computer. I don’t know, use the paper you would have used for certificate and make a paper aeroplane or crane or something.

I don’t know.

I’d like a crane.   

This section is dedicated to Dually for his FANTASTIC INSPIRATION HOLY SHIT: 

Grace lost track how long she stumbled through the desert and didn’t particularly care to remember. That stumble through the desert was something didn’t care to recall. When her veins started pumping sand, and mind was nothing but a hot angry red blur, she collapsed to her knees, the grains embedding them selves in her raw burnt skin and fell forwards in defeat. And there she lay, waiting to bake in the desert oven, or have some sort of carrion bird pick at her well done flesh.

Grace can’t remember how she ended up on her back staring at a of fleet oval shaped silhouettes float over head, their shadow offering brief relief from the sun. She recalled a slight tugging at her shoulder, but that was probably just her survival instincts sensing potential salvation. The next thing she remembers was cool water hitting her directly in the face and for a moment she thought she was back in the dream of the ocean. But she coughed and spluttered and opened her eyes to see elegant looking dark skinned men and women clustered around staring back at her, some with suspicion, others with blatant curiosity. She attempted to stand up very quickly, but all she could manage was sitting at this stage. Her sudden shift in position put new tension on different areas of skin, and she winced as her sunburned flared with pain. There was a brief muttering amongst the assembled people and they appeared to reach a decision because without another word, someone threw a damp blanket around Graces shoulders, and a man hoisted her onto his. Grace dangled helplessly over the man’s back, unable to struggle through weariness. She vacantly considered for a moment that situation she was currently in, could be detrimental in the long run, but at this current point in time she wouldn’t complain if these people fed their prisoners and surely the cell would be out of the sun. The circle of people around her parted and she was carried onto a vehicle or vessel of some kind, she couldn’t quite see on account of being slung over the mans back. She was then carried deep into the depths of the vessel, where it was dark and cool. Grace was then carefully placed on what appeared to be rough white sheets, covered in a light, damp cloth, and she finally drifted off to a comfortable sleep.

What Happened Last Week: Grace wakes up to find her shack surrounded by water:

When a small unmanned sail boat started to sail towards her, she became less concerned and happily accepted the fact that she must be still asleep and dreaming. This being the case, she didn’t hesitate at all in boarding the boat when it stopped before her. Upon boarding the wooden vessel, it started on it’s way again without a puff of wind or any effort on Grace’s part.

She smiled to herself, enjoying her pleasant little dream, even as the boat carried her far from visible land and the little ripples began to grow to waves. The waves continued to grow and form white fists of foam on top, which would then smash down on to the smooth ocean surface bellow. But Grace continued to be nonchalant, even as a wave towered upon her small and now noticeably vulnerable boat and simply waited for impact. She was a logical person and this being a dream, she expected to wake up the moment the wave hit. The wave pounded on the little boat, smashing it into unrecognisable pieces, forcing a surprised Grace deep into the watery depths. “Okay” she tried to think clearly, now feeling slightly uncomfortable under the weight of the waves “I haven’t woken up yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Best not fight it.”

Grace allowed her body to be tossed between the hands of the waves, each catch driving her down and in different directions, but only for a small moment. A distressing tightness in her chest and a spinning in her head distracted her form her previous cool composure and she decided now would be the time to panic. She struggled to find the surface, but her perception of up and down had been severely muddled by the motion of the waves. All directions were dark, and discernible shapes were difficult to make out as they rushed past in a bubbly blur. But just as her head and chest were threatening to explode, a human figure loomed out of the confusion. But as soon as it began to gain features, she wished it would disappear again. The eye sockets where gapping holes, or caverns for eels to make their homes, the body was blue and bloated, with patches of white and green algae clinging to the putrid skin and the hair was limp brown seaweed, swaying in the ebb and flow of the water. It was dressed in board shorts and a string of brown beads around the fish nibbled neck. It floated towards Grace and with all the energy she could muster, she attempted to recoil. But that was end, her lungs were filled with water and it was so much easier to just… close… her… eyes…

When Grace woke up, she was lying face-down and partially covered in the familiar red dirt. She sat up and shook a small dust storm out of her hair. Of course it was a dream. Of course… But how did she end up even further away from where she started? There was no sign of the shack. Or anything useful for that matter. The clouds were gone, and the skies were open to harsh unadulterated sunlight.   

While I’m being particularly slack in my NaNoWriMo project, I’ve been attempting to exercise my writing bones in other ways.  I’ve been rather proud of myself actually, this is the most I’ve written in two years.  Soo yes, here’s a review of the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. A not particularly good review, my writing skill being the not particularly good part: 

Why are there so many films about an outsider coming into a mental hospital and “stirring up” the way things are done? I’ve seen threes such films in the past few months One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest (‘75), Girl, Interrupted (‘99) and Cosi (96’), all with quite similar structures. Outsider enters, develops deep bond with the patients, generally because they treat them like people, outsider leaves. They even have the same familiar characters, the side kick, the suicidal one, the young one, the violent one and the control freak.

But with all these film, as it is with all humans, the bones may be the same as everyone else, but apply flesh and features and you have your own unique work of art and a personality to match.

The one I have recently finished watching is ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. By golly, Jack Nicholson plays violent well. I was going to say he plays crazy well, but his character McMurphy, is not by any means crazy, though this role isn’t particularly a large stretch from the certifiable madman Nicholson played in The Shining (80’), which he in fact played afterwards. Did Stanley Kubrick see Nicholson in particularly savage role and know that he was the man he wanted for his film? I quite like Jack Nicholson as an actor, even though I’ve only seen him in the two aforementioned movies.

One thing I love about this film is the development of the character Cheswick (Sydeny Lassick). In the beginning he is meek and bumbling, but towards the end you see a noticeable change in his manner, which is highly noticeable by repeating a similar sequence from the beginning at the end. I also love the character of Chief Bromden (Mwako Cumbuka) and the relationship between him and McMurphy. They are both similar in a way, Chief has pretend to be deaf and dumb to escape the outside world, just as McMurphy has pretended to be mad to escape the work gangs.

Nurse Rateched, to put it lightly, is a subtle bitch making her particularly scary. She isn’t exactly bad for the patients, but her manner and forever frowning brow does make you wonder whether she actually would let a self admitted patients go if they decided to do so.

One last thing I’d like to mention is the haunting soundtrack of drums and some sort of stringed instrument, composed by Jack Nitzsche, which sets an interesting mood for the beginning and end of the movie. It sounds creepy and ominous, like something bad or sad is going to happen, and having repeated at the end is like the music saying I told you so, but a little bit more comforting with the escape of Warren juxtaposed with it. Can I say that? Can I have a sound and an image juxtaposed with each other?

I highly recommend you see either one of these films about the “crazies” locked away from society, and their own community they develop with in their safe white walls, but as McMurphy said “They’re no crazier than the average asshole out walkin’ around on the streets and that’s it”.  

I HAVE REACHED 2000 WORDS FINALLY! Mien Godt in Himmel, that was painful:

The rain was soothing against Graces burnt skin, and the rain clouds dulled the harsh sunlight, so it was much more comfortable for her to set out for shelter, or even home. She couldn’t have ridden too far and if she had a horse she would have been able to make it back to the homestead in a day. But now that she was horseless, the prospect of a slightly longer journey was all that concerned her. After a few hours of walking through dirt that was slowly becoming mud, she noticed lean-to beside a trickle that was slowly become a stream. On closer inspection, she noted the lean-to was more of a dishevelled shack, the mistake quite an easy one to make for it was no more then five pieces of tin supported by four bleached and bent trees. Grace removed the front panelling of tin cautiously, half expecting to find a decomposing corpse inside, shacks like these usually being the place were a person would die. But it was empty, and relatively dry. She then used the calico to wrap around herself as she sat in the middle of the shack and prepared to wait out the now becoming storm.

When she next opened her eyes, it was dark. Grace hurriedly dusted the red dirt from the side of her face where it had become stuck after her head hit the ground. She could still here the rain shattering against the tin roof, but that was not what had woken her. Grace patted around in the dark beside her, and her eyes attempted to search every inch of the small hut. She had woken up, because she had felt someone near her. That concern was immediately diminished when she noticed a certain darkness creeping towards her from the supposed front door of the shack. Pushing it aside with one foot, Grace was completely startled to find that the trickle, that became a stream, had become a vast lake, almost surrounding her little shack.   

So, I think I know how to continue this story, I just need to fill in bits till I can get to that:

She road towards the tank and stared long and hard at the small puddle left in the bottom, as if she hoped it would stop it evaporating as she watched. Grace looked up again at the dark shape of the wild dragons retreating in the distance.

“Hmm, not much we can do about that” she said, shrugging and turning her horse towards home.

Suddenly an idea struck her and she wheeled around and took off after the dragons disappearing in the distance. If there was water around here, they would find it.

Grace followed them all afternoon, and soon the sun was sinking, it’s dying rays turning the dirt from red to pink and finally navy blue. When the wild dragons finally touched down to rest for the night, their giant mounds were silhouetted by the sunset in the distance. Grace hobbled her horse, gave it a little water from her skin, and lay down for the night. She didn’t dare light a fire, the dragons would see it and become suspicious.

The next morning, or rather afternoon, Grace awoke, to find the dragons gone, her horse gone, and the skin on the back of her neck, legs and arms baking in the midday sun. She groaned, not at all surprised at what had transpired. She should have known, dragons weren’t stupid. She rolled up the piece of calico she had been lying on and looked around for some possible shelter. A few meters away Grace noticed a brown lump and with a sigh of relief, she realised it was her saddle and supplies. “Well then” she thought to herself “I’m not going to die immediately”.

Grace riffled through her saddle bag, and drained the last few drops of water before contemplating what she was going to do next. If she found somewhere to take shelter until night fall, she could use the stars to guide her home. The dragons where long gone and her horse their on-the-road-snack. She knew she should be sort of concerned about the demise of her horse, but she was an old nag, and the dragons probably choked on her stringy flesh.

Grace surveyed her surrounds. There wasn’t much. Red desert stretching out as far as the eye can see in all directions. She had to look up at the sky just to make sure it to hadn’t been assimilated into the monotonous redness. It hadn’t, but she did notice something else unusual, a small black cloud racing across the sky with several larger dark clouds in hot pursuit.  And as if the clouds were simply waiting for Grace to look up, the cluster of heavy dark clouds, split, spilling their burden on the land below.