Monday, September 22, 2008

A Lesson of Life

How is it possible?!
How can you see someone every day
mean so much in the persons life
and still not know her at all?!

How can you ignore the problems
the troubles in my mind
be blind for my pain
and deaf to my screams?

I’ve lied too you so much
every day
just to avoid the disliking of the truth
but the naïve pieces of moral that still exists taught me
that it was wrong
this easy living wasn’t right
that the truth meant more.

Now I’m true
to who I am
to how I am
what I do
and who I’m among.

I present my whole life to you
believing you to accept it
to know it
but you don’t.

I don’t even believe you know me at all.
You knew me
you know how I was
but not who I am now.

But you’re properly right.
It’s so much easier to live, not seeing the trouble of others
Choosing not to notice the tears
Pretending that there exist no fears.

Thank you, dear loving family, for this lesson of life.

Posted by Kat / Paxie in 22:56:04 | Permalink | No Comments »

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Clarices letter 2:3


A word before: See this is one of those proberly with alother less errors, but it’s also long.
It’s a serie of three letter from a little girl in the beginning at the great depression, check the dates and be open to the harsh world she live in. Notice her change too. But enjoy!

January 1930
Dearest Mama P
Why haven’t you answered any of my letters?! Not even the Christmas card?! Mama P, what’s wrong? I got told the troubles have hit the countryside too, have you lost the farm? You can tell me, I can live without the apple pie in the sunny garden, and I just want to know about you and uncle Timothy and Jen. Things are getting worse and worse here, not only have we just experience the worst Christmas and New Year ever, I think all of Saint Louis is like that. Right now thick sad salty drops is falling in the Mississippi River and it’s not only rain I’m thinking of. I witnessed a jumper yesterday from the old bridge, yelled something and then took off. No way anyone can survive that. Worst thing is, I’m not even really scared or shocked, but dad is furious. Sadly suicide has become a not that rare event anymore, not saying we all run around and kill ourselves here in Missouri, but it does happen much to often than it should.
Sam, my teacher, is dead.
We don’t really know if it was suicide or somebody of some reason killed him, he was just found dead in his shed with a cop of cheap bad coffee in the one hand and an assignment in the other. The teachers true way to go. The police was there, but they’re too busy to care about a nigger’s death. The town is buzzing with mafia folk and organized crime, which comes first, so we might never know what really killed Sam. We buried him in the corner of Shit-town (the now official name) last Monday, and new people moved into his empty shed already today.
Things seem not to be able to get much worse, but still do so. It’s like now that all niggers are on the street the white people start to drop into misery too, but they’re less good at tackling it. When white people drop they surely drop – drop dead. But somehow it’s now us black peoples fault! Us who felt the consequences first! It’s like we now provocates them by even walking at the street now! They chased and harassed Jimmy all the way to Shit-town before they let him go, and even there it’s properly only because to black men was there, ells they would have beate the crap out of Jimmy, for doing what? Nothing!
Today in the children’s soup line a bunch of white kids showed up and the nurses let them get first and get most, even through there’s never even enough for us black kids who’s there every day!

I really hope you’re all right and things are better where you are.
I should say hi from mom, she’s now home for first time this month, but she says she might get more spare time from now on.

With all good whishes in the world
     Yours Clarice

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Thursday, September 18, 2008

How Nice

Too pretty to damn
Too innocent to judge
Too guilty to ignore
Too unknowing to touch
Too young to scold
But just old enough to know that your doing wrong
And understanding that you’re getting away with it
How nice it is being a little girl.
Posted by Kat / Paxie in 22:49:43 | Permalink | No Comments »

Clarices Letters 1:3


A word before: See this is one of those proberly with alother less errors, but it’s also long.
It’s a serie of three letter from a little girl in the beginning at the great depression, check the dates and be open to the harsh world she live in. Notice her change too. But enjoy!

November 1929
Dear Mama P
See how pretty your little niece here back in Saint Louis learned to write! I just turned 13 and I can now both read and count to 20! Mom, your dear sister, is so proud, and I am just glad to make her glad. And it’s not only my writing that’s pretty, mom says I’ve become a real little beauty, and I’ll add a picture. It’s not very good, but at least I got one. The neighbor kids have never tried to get their picture taken, at least Jimmy and I tried that.
It’s our newest member of our little new town that been teaching me, his name is Sam and he’s a real teacher. I don’t know how he got the education though, he’s black as the ashes fresh from the firer, even darker than me, but somehow he succeeded and leached black kids in a little school, just with one room. But when things started getting bad the school lost the house, like we lost ours, and Sam lost his job. Now dad has built him a real nice shed, no rain will poor in there as long he keeps it nice, and as payment Sam been teaching me. Jimmy would have gotten lessons too if he had time and wanted to. But Jimmy’s still busy working, or at least trying to get work. He get some small jobs here and there and get some money that helps a lot, but he got no real job, though he says that right now “any work that pays is the best job you can get” whatever that means. Dad still helps in our little shit-town (that’s what everyone calls it, I don’t really like the name but shed-town or shit-town, it surely is familiar) but the thing that we really survive on is moms job. She’s still standing for the cooking and cleaning in that fine family like always, but now for keeping her job and getting just a bit more of pay she has to do three times as much work, so she now lives at the house and only comes home once a week with the money for us to live on. The days are long and hard on her; she looks so much older now that I don’t even think you‘ll remember her! She has always been so pretty, but now being nanny, maid and cook her hands are worn out and she got nervous wrinkles around her once so pretty dark eyes.
When things started going badly mom said it would soon get better and that we where not the only ones having a harsh time. She was right about the last thing, every week there’s new people in town and it has grown twice its size since we moved in not that long ago.
But now things can’t get much worse, so things must soon get better, and then we’ll get money for moving back in a proper house where there’s not as cold at night, and don’t smell that bad. It must be nicer at your farm at the country, with all the animals and such. I almost don’t remember it, but I dream of how it must be, and how my cousins play at the fields. Jen must be quite big now, right? When we get money again we’ll come visit you all, and we can have apple pie in your sunny garden like when I was little! Take care!

Yours Clarice

Posted by Kat / Paxie in 22:08:51 | Permalink | No Comments »

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Talking to Strangers

Once there was a little girl sitting on a swing, all alone, on a playground.
Then came a man, lonely wandering in the park with his hands in his pockets.
His eyes spotted the little girl.
Following her every move,
how her legs slowly went up and down, making the swing swing.
He walked in her direction, but not straight to her, and he didn’t approach her.
The girl looked at him with her big dark eyes.
“Hello.” She said, cause she was a very polite little girl.
Lightly surprised the man stopped.
“H-hello.” He replied.
The girl looked at the swing beside her.
“Wanna sit?”
The man shyly nodded and sat.
They sat like that, each on their swing, in totally silence for some time.
“I’m Clara.” The little girl suddenly said.
The man was just to reply, but then realized something.
“Havn’t your mom thought you better than to talk to strangers?” he said instead.
Little Clara looked upon him with a disapproving smile.
Changing subject was not very polite. But she was.
“No, why should she?” she politely answered.
“Cause some strangers can be dangerous to little girls like yourself.”
“Are you?”
“Yes! I mean no! I mean…” the man let out a deep sigh, then took forth his hands from his pockets, there where dirty, with red messy liquid all over them.
“I just committed murder. Do you know what that is?” the man said with a sad voice.
“Letting someone die?”
“Forcing somebody to die.”
The little girl looked at the strange man with deep confusion.
“Isn’t that bad?!”
“Very bad.”
Clara studied the face of the stranger.
He looked sad, with worried wrinkles around his eyes.
“So you’re bad?” She said with a little disappointed voice, which made the man smile.
“Not really. Just… Pushed to an edge. Put in a bad situation.” He concluded.
“So… I’m not supposed to talk to strange people who’s put in a bad situation?”
“No, not like that. Your not suppose to talk to strangers who’s…”
“…Pushed to the edge?”
“Yeah…” but it was like the man just heard how ridiculous his own words were.
“How do I know who that is?”
“You don’t. That’s why you shouldn’t talk to any strangers.”
“Like you?”
“Like me.”
Short silence once again.
“You don’t seem bad or dangerous to me, mister.” The girl concluded.
Once again the man smiled.
“No. I’m not really. I would never harm you.”
“So why shouldn’t I talk to you?”
“Cause I’ve done something bad.”
“Why did you do that then?” the girl curiously asked.
“Cause someone was bad to me.” The man sadly replied.
“Then you’re not really bad, are you?”
The man looked up from his toes and straight in the eyes of the naive little girl.
“No, maybe not.”
“So why shouldn’t I talk to you?”
“Know what, you should! If more people did that this might not have happened!”
“What?”
The man rises with a confidant smile and petted the little girls hair.
“Nothing child. Just forget what I said, and thank you.”
“For what?!” Clara was deeply confused.
“For the nice talk. I gotta go now.”
Now Clara smiled. The man showed up to be polite after all.
He started walking away from the playground when the little girl called after him:
“Where’ you going?!”
“To the police station, it was nice to meet you Clara, to bad we’ll never meet again!”
He waved and quickly walked off.
Clara gladly waved back.

Soon after Claras mom came back, glad to find her little girl all safe. She’d seen a man walk off and asked who that had been. Clara looked at the path where he disapeard.
“I never got to know! But he was not bad, not really. Just in a bad situation.”
“Now your talking nonsense-talk my dear. Come, let’s go home.”
And then they did.

Writers comment: Cute little tale, right? A true bedtimetale. Like the point at least. Wrote it just after finishing ‘Clarice Letters’ which I’ll give you later, just wait, there’ just a little harsh to begin with.
Please do comment.

Posted by Kat / Paxie in 20:01:35 | Permalink | No Comments »

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Hush

Hush, darling, hush
You have nothing to fear
both your father and I and your teddy is near
maybe we can’t really protect you from the horros outside
the war, the killing, pain, sadism and such
but don’t let the world hit you with fright
it’ll just make you shiver and stay up all night
there really nothing to do
if the bedbugs really is out to get you
then kiss teddy so-long
just remember; the nightmare might be a fright-scare,
but death takes only a secound.
So enjoy your nightmare all night on
nothing is more lifeproving than a safe little fright
so cause of that I’ll turn off your table light
kiss you goodbye and leave you all to yourself
and put teddy back onto his shelf.
Hush, sweetie, hush
and goodnight.

Writers comment: The true modern lullaby that for sure will prepare the children for the (fucked up) world we live in just now. At least this truthful cute little thing is what I think I always missed from my mother… So now I wrote it myself!
Yes, it’s gloomy. Yes, it’s dark. Tell me something new.
And goodnight, cause this was the Poem pr. Day. Sleep tight, and keep a knife for the bedbugs.

Posted by Kat / Paxie in 22:49:24 | Permalink | No Comments »

Up and running / First Sign of Life / Explination

Here we go, the nightmare has begone.

You’re in and you can’t turn away now -I mean, please don’t!

You see, this is an experiment that experiments more with me than you!

First; I am danish. This ain’t even my motherthounge and I suck at korrecting myself. I can see when I make mistakes (I proberly just made two, right?) but then you people can at least comment the errors if nothing ells.

Secound; this blog will be used for me to at least post 3 times at week with creative writings, that meaning poems, novells or something like it. This’ not gonna be a usal “my day was ok”-blog, but a way for me to push my creativty to actucally stay alive and productive.

I got two little projects going on i inside the little messy head of mine:
“Little Girl Stories” & “Ay Poem pr. Day” (yeah I write “ay” sometimes, it’s not correct but sounds pretty.)

They kindda explains themselves pretty well, right? Little Girl Stories is a serie of novels about little Girls, and Ay Poem Pr. Day is the poem I squeeze out, I try to write at least one ay day (at school, in the train, in my kalender, on my hand, anywhere anytime!) and I put out some of the best.

Stay in and hopefully see my english turn to the better while I turn into a true artist!

Thank you for reading!

- Paxie, Experimential Writer and School Girl
Posted by Kat / Paxie in 21:03:01 | Permalink | Comments (3)