lovely she sat, lovely she walked, lovely she spoke, beauty she brought
Simon muttered stumbling, kicking a small green cup, sending it spinning and twisting across the floor. Light danced as it moved and a thin sound came from it, like a scream but pure. The wall wavered again
Simon turned away and into the wall, then stopped. It felt good. Little sparks scratched and titillated that deep itch that never quite subsided. He stretched his arms out wide and floated up slightly, letting the cinder blocks meld into him, firm after the softness of their plaster cover. He shimmied slightly pushing the rough molecules deeper , sharpening and polishing. He stretched his toes out – that always felt good in a hot bath after a long day – and felt the curious little sparking warm them. He flexed his legs carefully sending part of his left foot outside of the wall. Simon heard steps outside and pushed his face part way, looking into the hallway leading to the stairs and building doors. A short, blonde girl with incongruous jet black eyelashes screamed. He moved back hastily into the security of the wall.
We were talking on Skype when I keeled over dead. I made quite a noise, sending the desk chair flying and knocking over a stack of books on the floor AND the pan of congealed Mac & cheese. As I lay there on my back, dead, I could see that some of the noodles had improbably hit the ceiling. They stuck there like an elementary school macaroni art thingie. “so this is death” i thought. So far it wasn’t too uncomfortable, though if I lay here much longer I could rapidly become quite bored. Hmmmm. What was I supposed to do next? There was no tutorial for the moments after death. I would wait.
‘The man was tall, well perhaps just a bit above average height’ . . . Simon stopped for a moment to consider . . . ‘tall, yes’ he decided, but not freakishly so.
‘He was handsome too in a dark way. Midnight brown eyes in a almost Mediterranean face that was always fresh shaved, framed by a button down collar on a crisply ironed checked shirt…..’ He seemed unaware of Simon’s attention.
‘….and thinly tailored blue dress trousers with fashionably brown leather shoes’, Simon added, not wishing to leave the picture unfinished. The man spoke easily and confidently, in a mid range voice, with hints of bass, smiling slightly at small hints of jokes he made, and serious in turn, rotating both. His intelligence was thrusting and deep and quick. Yet he chatted affably and easily as a friend to a friend, and equal to an equal, giving no hint of superiority.
I guess that’s why Simon felt annoyed.
Simon sat, feeling the breeze soft and fresh, hearing trees rustling softly to each other; their song strummed lightly. Sundays were so quiet, dead, or nearly so. He was in Hell’s waiting room, after all. He thought for a moment about that phrase, ‘after all’. How appropriate! He was now after ‘all’ his life and was waiting. Other ‘guests’, in their golden years snorted, farted, lay inert or babbled meaninglessly. Perhaps together it all made sense. The noises of Hell’s invitees, an orchestra tuning up for a tuneless eternity. Katy came, floating in the air an inch or two above the bench beside him, but was interrupted for a bit by an almost poem that popped into his head…… then she returned into view, beckoning, threatening, promising. ‘Well’, Simon supposed, ‘what sort of hell would Hell be without her?’ A pretty poor one, ‘a hell’ rather than ‘the Hell’. He ignored her for the moment,
Is change the order of life? Is change the cake or the icing? I have changed the title of this site a bit and altered some of the ‘about’ context to paint a better picture of what I am doing here. I began with an idea to write a multimedia book using Apple’s ‘Pages’ word processor. Why this WP? Well, it easily allows an artist in words to insert videos, different fonts, pictures, drawings by simply dragging and dropping. I found too, that if a video were inserted in a page, when the reader came to that page it would automatically start to play. This was a few years ago. At the same time, I found that only those with ‘Pages’ could experience this multimedia effect.
I joined several Linkedin eBooks groups where I found that making this ability universal was for the future and to be found in the mysterious HTML5. So, I kept my eye on developments and continued to write using Pages in preparation for that future dawn.
Steve Jobs died in 2011. Bear with me! This will fit the above thoughts! I have just finished watching the movie, Steve Jobs: the Man in the Machine. This was pretty much an attack on his character. I am not saying it was inaccurate, but only that the movie was not balanced. The balance that was either ignored or pushed off to the side, was the primary difference between Apple and any competitor. Steve Jobs always insisted that Apple products be beautiful. Outside the automobile industry, gadgets, devices and so on have usually had a utilitarian feel. They were paint by numbers. Apple devices – and not just the devices – even the power supply equipment and the packagings are original works of art. This is directly because of Steve Jobs. It is sometimes forgotten too, that he is the impulse behind having a multitude of fonts for text. Too bad WordPress doesn’t allow me to change fonts!
Apparently, the last product of Apple that Steve Jobs personally pushed was iBooks Author. At last, I could write multimedia without having literally millions to spend on programmers, designers, and so on. I am ramping up my main work in this format because rumours float around that Apple has lost its mojo and will not support iBooks Author much longer. If and when that happens, my painting with words will die. I pray the rumours are false, but there have been no updates since 2015.
Back to good change: I received some good advice on a professional author’s Facebook group about marketing. I was having trouble deciding how to market my work when I have such a common name. Searches for ‘Edward Smith’ turn up pages and pages on the Captain of the Titanic. I was told I needed to emphasize my word painting and to stick the word ‘author’ after my name on everything I post or write. I don’t like the word ‘author’ as it seems pretentious for me anyway. I am just a writer. Nothing special. So I changed the title of the blog and added in a subscript, “I paint with words’.
Here goes! (and here is text in a favourite font of mine: chalkduster
He was tall, well perhaps just a bit above average height . . . Simon stopped for a moment to consider . . . ‘tall’ he decided, but not freakishly so. He was handsome too in a dark way. Midnight brown eyes in a almost Mediterranean face that was always fresh shaved, framed by a button down collar on a crisply ironed checked shirt. And thinly tailored blue dress trousers with fashionably brown leather shoes, Simon added, not wishing to leave the picture unfinished. He spoke easily and confidently, in a mid range voice, with hints of bass, smiling slightly at small hints of jokes he made, and serious in turn, rotating both. His intelligence was thrusting and deep and quick. Yet he chatted affably and easily as a friend to a friend, and equal to an equal, giving no hint of superiority.
I guess that’s why Simon felt annoyed.