Sunday, January 30, 2011

Justerini And Brooks Whisky

Tree and heart

A new writing workshop Gwen in this morning. The instruction is simple:

A sentence beginning: The tree is in front of the house, a giant in the autumn light.
A sentence end: I hope my heart held without cracks.
It's up to you to write the text between the beginning and the end ... respecting a time constraint: thirty minutes!

And here. What to do with these sentences? 31 minutes later:


The tree is in front of the house, a giant in the autumn light. I feel tired as the day declines rapidly in this season. I have only one desire: to sleep, let me go to sleep, which will allow me to anesthetize the malaise that eats me inside. One last look out the window attracts me to this giant tree protector millennium. There is something familiar and yet strange in its appearance, in the form of its trunk, in the nodes of its bark. I drag myself out
not without a lot of my comfortable armchair, drawn by something like a magnet. The door opens, only, as if moved by an invisible current of air, like an invitation. I go out into the garden, the light of day declines slowly and the blazing colors of the leaves of surrounding trees warms my heart as I approach the tree. I'm so tired ... only a few steps separate me from the house, but I feel I have traveled hundreds of feet in seconds. I must bear, I must rest a moment, and this tree warm, protective, give me the necessary support before continuing. By leaning against the trunk of the tree, I feel under my fingers its roughness, its vitality. My fingers skim the surface of the bark reassuring and suddenly I see the trunk open. My hands have triggered a mechanism and the back door opened onto a staircase that descends into the depths of the earth. I know, I am invited to descend into the underworld, as if I had finally found a place where I could feel good, warm. I gotta go, it's my home!
I walk through the maze of hoses dug between the roots of the tree and its congeners in the nearby forest. They form a veritable subterranean cathedral, comforting, protective, and I feel so ...
At the corner of a gallery, I hear footsteps, voices, songs. Men in frock are there, sitting on small benches and sing. They chant strange chants that I do not understand the lyrics. Instinctively, I feel they are not in their place. I just found this place, but I'm home. They took me, and will hunt me. Their faces with staring eyes, strange look to me. They saw me, they are many, at least a hundred, and rise together, moving towards me. I am at the entrance to this huge room, and I know there's no way out. I must go, otherwise they'll kill.
I run at random in the galleries formed by the roots, not knowing where I came. How to get out? How to find the stairs leading outside while all these men at my heels? They are behind me. I run, they walk, but I know them very close, I have no chance. I'm tired, I'm going to fall apart in a few minutes I no longer have strength, they will catch me.

Breathe.
Concentrate.
I turn around. The men are there, in front of me. They are numerous, they are quiet, determined, implacable. I have no chance. Dizzy, I lay my hands on the walls of the gallery, caring about the roots of trees.
I sense they are alive. This vital force of nature seems to overwhelm me, like a torrent of powerful energy, indomitable. She is alive, vibrant. I'm alive.
My eyes close, this energy is concentrated in me, I feel the tide. Soon she will go out, blow up, pass me. I have to channel it otherwise it will destroy me before men in frock will do so.
I feel this energy: my hands are shaking, my breathing quickens, my heart rate increases.
I open my eyes, holds out his hands. The blast energy is powerful, devastating. The men in frock receive it in the face.
I hope my heart held without cracks.

Amelie Platz, January 30, 2011

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