A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part VII

Howling At The Sun

I think that I think about perspective a little too frequently. I see a wolf howling at the sun. Some might see a bull. Or a devil. Or a young boy sitting on Falkor's back.

The importance, as always, is immaterial.

Clouded Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part VI

Thinking Blue.

Ethan..

All Apologies

Walking in the cool amber gloom of Macquarie Street, I think the music blaring in my ears could be heard from the next block. I don't know what I'm feeling. I don't know what to feel. There is no augur.

This is the Unplugged in New York version. Io preferisco.

What else should I be?

All apologies.

What else should I say?

Everyone is gay.

What else should I write?

I don't have the right.

What else should I be?

All apologies.

In the sun,

In the sun I feel as one.

In the sun,

In the sun,

Married!

Buried!

I wish I was like you,

Easily amused.

Find my nest of salt.

Everything's my fault.

I'll take all the blame;

Aqua sea-foam shame.

Sunburn with freezer burn,

Choking on the ashes of her enemy.

In the sun,

In the sun I feel as one.

In the sun,

In the sun,

Married! Married! Married!

Buried!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

All in all is all we are...

All in all is all we are...

All in all is all we are...

..."All Apologies" - Nirvana

Sometimes, you can't say anything as perfectly, as beautifully as those before you.

Apologies, Ethan..

The Stages of Mourning

"99% of Us is Failure" - Matthew Good

I've been doing a little reading about the Kübler-Ross model, where there are five stages that define one's progress through the process of grief:

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

While I think that this is a very accurate representation of the process, I believe that there is one more stage. I hazard to put forward an opinion given that I have no grounding or research in the field other than my own experience, but as always, I will regardless.

I see grief as an addiction. I've realised that whenever I grieve over someone or something that is lost, so many feelings rise to the surface, filling me with the same emotions, just of lesser toxicity. The Kübler-Ross model evokes a sense that you fall through the stages, one by one, until you are swimming in the ecstasy of Acceptance. But I feel like I can go through the entire cycle in a day - in a moment. Like an addiction, I go through those five stages as if the curtain of tragedy had fallen only moments ago - and that is why I think there is a sixth stage: Relapse - the final stage, that assures you only one thing: that this is not the final stage.

Every time those feelings begin to collect and swarm towards my consciousness, I get that desire, that need for the thing/s I miss most. Of course not all tragedies can be (quite negatively) correlated to drugs - it's just the feeling.

Grief unfortunately strikes us all. The meagre consolation is that it gets better over time. Relapse becomes less frequent, the feelings become less potent, and the fond memories, the happiness, the lingering warmth of what's lost always remains. Constant.

Goodbye From Ethan..

Do What You Want To Do, Be What You Want To Be

I've always loved this song. I've got my parents to thank for that. Couldn't be simpler; couldn't be more obvious; couldn't be more important. I'm going to listen to this song more often.

"Because I Love You" - Masters Apprentices

Yeah.

Searching Ethan..

Ms. Communication (Chinese Whispers)

Would Pharaohs tell slaves of history and lore?

Would Kings entrust serfs with knowledge of more?

Whenever a power of evil and oppression,

Crush spirits and bones and spread their depression,

They conquer the libraries; they burn the thick tomes,

They imprison the people inside of their homes.

But these are not houses of timber or stone,

They're bastions of learning, all for one's own.

So pass on your messages, as best as you can,

From mentors to children, even beasts to man.

For when the great plague has inevitably come,

They'll say what's been said, and do what's been done.

This world is but a game of Chinese Whispers;

Full of Meaningless murmurs, and forgotten answers.

Shhhh Ethan..

With Regards to the "A Word is Worth..." Posts

All posts that are entitled "A Word is Worth A Thousand Pictures..." are photos that I have taken with the 2.0 megapixel camera on the back of my phone. Consequently, they are of relatively poor quality - for better or for worse. You may also spot other posts entitled "Doodles..." that depict similarly poor-quality photos of sketches. These are my own sketches.

This is more of a guideline than a rule, as there are other sketches and photos of my own that are scattered around without such labels - sometimes they inspire writings that may require more appropriate titles.

Have mercy.

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part V

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part IV

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part III

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part II

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part I

Multi-universe Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part V

Lovers.

Love Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part IV

Artificial vs. Real

Waiting Ethan..

A Word Is Worth A Thousand Pictures, Part III

Freedom

This is the inspiration to my new (and real attempt at a) novel.

Flapping Ethan..

Just A Taste

"Just A Taste" - Scary Kids Scaring Kids

I am experimenting. I often have songs that give me inspiration (this is such a song). Now you can hear them (possibly as you read).

Stay tuned.

Listening Ethan..

Memoir, Part II

When we set off on the voyage from Mackay to Townsville, almost all of my fellow first-time sailors succumbed to seasickness. I was somehow blessed with sea legs at birth and spent the majority of my time on the first day helping to clean up vomit, hold back hair and supportively pat backs. It was certainly an interesting way of meeting new people. As my sister Amber was designated to a different watch, this was the first time in my life where I had to meet new people of different ages and backgrounds. I also came to realise my talent for brewing ambrosial hot chocolate from water, condensed milk and Milo: a voyage of discovery, indeed.

A seventeen-year-old, six foot tall boy named Mitch became my best friend on my watch, which was a little strange as I was the youngest and shortest on the voyage and he was one of the oldest, and definitely the tallest. Our friendship began on the second day; we had the mid-afternoon watch, which meant that although we missed the dolphins and turtles of the early morning watch, it did mean that we missed out on cleaning the ship. But there were downfalls. As it was only the second day, we didn’t realise that Captain Sarah liked to sun-bake in a bikini during the early afternoon. Mitch and I created the game that we liked to call Trying Desperately To Remove Images From Our Short Term Memory. Although this game didn’t work, we didn’t yet have the courage to carry out our postulated game of Scratching Out Our Corneas With A Spoon.

***

Our route took us alongside the Great Barrier Reef, where Mitch and I tried making a fishing line out of rope, shoe laces and a broken tin can after seeing a monster Spanish Mackerel lazily gliding beneath the ship. We also made it onto an AM radio station while we were docked at Bowen and broadcasted our abhorrent singing ability by belting out several classic rock songs. But the most memorable event happened on the fifth day when it was announced that the crew would re-enact the wedding of Matthew Flinders and Ann Chappelle. The twist was that the ceremony would be a cross-gendered affair; boys will be female characters, and girls will be male characters. Guess who played the role of Ann Chappelle?

As one of the girls in my watch was applying my make-up and teaching me the surprisingly meticulous method of pressing my lips on a tissue to set my lipstick, I noticed my sister peering in through the cabin door. She was wearing old brown shorts, the classic dark grey cabin boy vest, a beaten tricorne hat, and a facetious smile from ear to ear. She laughed, leaned towards the person who had just appeared behind her, and said, “Dad’s not going to be happy when he hears about Ethan dressing up like a girl.”

The person Amber had just spoken to was Captain Sarah.

It was I who then had a facetious smile from ear to ear. Amber quickly realised that she had expertly yet unknowingly performed the odious faux pas that I had feared myself making, and developed a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease. Captain Sarah exhaled with a smile and said, “Fathers never are.”

When the odd ceremony was set to begin, the crew was waiting on deck. As young teenagers, all less than seventeen years of age, everyone was a little embarrassed, quite awkward, and incredibly unsure of themselves. Unfortunate photographs were taken that I’m sure will make someone a lot of money if I, or any other member of the crew ever become an influential or distinguished member of society. The last member of the crew to arrive on deck was Captain Sarah and it soon became apparent that everyone was thinking the same thing: what was she going to be wearing? Almost disappointingly, Captain Sarah rose from the galley dressed in a long purple evening gown. Having become accustomed to Captain Sarah’s attire, we all thought that it would be more outrageous for her to be dressed as a male. My sister had the honour of walking me, Ann Chappelle, down the aisle to Matthew Flinders: a young girl named Kim, whom I had a barely-concealed crush on. Perhaps it wasn’t the best scenario for wooing a girl, but hey, I still married her.

What started off as an awkward and seemingly condemnable social peccadillo became one of the first times in my life that I felt comfortable laughing at myself. To this day, when I catch up with Mitch via email we still laugh about the trip and my first marriage. It was perhaps the best (albeit the most extreme) way to express the maxim that follows you through your schooling life: “be who you want to be”. I certainly learnt that lesson; even if I had initially thought that my dear mother had dropped my sister and I into the introduction of one of those scandalous Today Tonight exclusives.

Remembering Ethan..

Come Colour

In the stillness.

Floating, uncommitted.

Disjointed and blithe.

There is no merry-go-round: no dance.

While the empty flatbeds haunt the fields,

Bluntly separating the mist,

The spires are like daggers, piercing the sky.

The laughter of the day has drifted away.

Frozen swings and static lullabies,

Distant breaths of beasts and giants.

A zephyr intrudes, waking the skin;

The coliseum of tight flesh moves,

Not in hostility, nor anguish, nor want.

The tentacles rise and fall helplessly,

Then lay again to rest.

Come sunrise.

Come colour.

Ringmaster Ethan..

Return From Japan

It has taken me a while to write this post. It seems all of the things that I left unsorted have had their vengeance, and it took me some time to recompense them. Now the thought process is a little scattered and etiolated. People often say that if you have problems in your life, you shouldn't run from them. While I can see the value in this ideology, sometimes running away is a genuine option - maybe even the best option. I know that in different stages of my life when I've had problems, I've gone overseas or went on a road trip - even just went for a walk to the beach or out in the bush - and it is incredibly helpful in seeing issues and troubles as they really are - a short hurdle, a transient obstacle that, like all other things, fades in time. Changes are happening every day. Sometimes you can make your own, and sometimes you don't have a choice. But everything ends, everything begins - it's a stop, start, up, down, here, there, quiet, loud, bright, dark, happy, sad, honest, false, calm, crazy kind of world that we just get pushed around in.

There, Ethan..