Broken Words

 

you can stare at the screen for as long as you like and still it remains blank…

 

the words are there

you know they are there

they have been running around your thoughts for days

you can picture the scene

hear the voices of your characters

they push into your dreams

they play in your daydreams

lingering on a long bus ride

 

but

 

sat before the screen

the words flee

the scene fades

words slip from your fingers

their voices silent

everything is distracting

focus scattered

 

sit

 

i have an hour

i had an hour

time dwindles

still i stare at the keys before me

qwerty mocking me

another lunchtime escaping creation

 

confused

 

even non fiction is fuddled

a change of direction

failed

im still sitting here

still sighing hard

 

watch

 

half my time is lost

and these words

are all i have

my fiend

 

im using the delete key more than i care too

words are written

then deleted

gone

 

i know the scene is there

i know what happens next

i know what i want to write

i know ill be on twitter instead

 

giphy

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Anne Harrison 09.06.17

 

 

 

 

 

 

Questioning my Confidence 

I am feeling lost a little unfocused. 

I see all that accumulates upon my ever growing to-do list 📃 and bury my head.  

I know exactly what I want to do in order to do what I want to do 

But I’m frozen from action 

I sit… Lost… 

I bury myself in chores 

I invent excuses 

I know I can do this,  so why can’t I start?  

I’m frustrated,  sat in class I’ve not studied. It’s always one day,  next day, next week,  month… Year… Never… 

How can I let myself down? How can I discard my dreams?  Lost in an endless circle of scrolling,  getting annoyed at myself for being frozen. 

The inability to start is clouded by a fog of insecurity.  

And I end up questioning my Confidence 
Anne Harrison 30.05.17

Beyond Writing

Personal Blog, art musings …

I’ve actually found a little time today and earlier on in the week to dust off my old paint brushes and pick up where I left off earlier this year with a series of abstract paintings. The joy of waiting so long between building up the stages of the paintings is that I can drastically change the whole appearance of the work.

By that I mean I’ve been cutting up a lot of what I’ve done and rearranging by weaving the designs together, creating checkboard patterns of various colours and textures… in theory… because in reality I really haven’t got a clue what I’m doing most of time, actually, all of the time. You see, I’m no artist, I don’t even pretend to be,  I can’t draw and I simply mess around with paint, acrylics and watercolours.

I’m in love with texture and colours, patterns and shades.  I adore various mediums and despite not having a clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to make a glorious mess.

Among  my passions I delight in visiting art galleries… just as music/novels/movies… I do not hold a singular genre in favour. Preferring to explore many known (and unknown) artists alike. Travelling to London and Liverpool to explore exhibitions. I’m inspired,  though I lack any skill or talent. I paint, like I write  (or sing) not because I’m any good, but because I simply love too…

Having no burning desire to be something I’m not really gives me the freedom to enjoy what I do for my own pleasure… if nothing else I’ve made a glorious mess and had fun doing so…

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Anne Harrison  29.05.17

A whole lotta words

On 26.09.16 I reposted a short story on my blog, on Friday  I wrote part 75, bringing current events to a comfortable  (current) conclusion… With each post being between 300 – 500+ words… that’s a whole lotta words in 9 months… I fell in love with writing at university, yet at the same time the course also shifted my perspective on publishing. I decided that there was no way I could ever be a published author. So I decided a blog was the perfect outlet for my silly little tale, my outrageously terrible poetry and most of all, my blog became my safe haven, to express myself on matters such as overcoming depression to coping with watching my Mother slowly die… Here was my freedom of expression,  where I didn’t need to delete posts because of trolls. My story is fantasy based, has Dragons… nope it’s not influenced by GoT (even if there is an eyeball scene) instead I’m heavily inspired my Michael Moorcock/Anne Rice… I don’t have a hero, my main protagonists were killed really early… oops… My next stage is to jump 14 years ahead… with possibly a few significant scenes before then to include… Ironically, I still personally prefer poetry, but I follow so many wonderful poetry blogs, my words are dumbed into silence. I think, I would like to use the space to explore my adventures, to put my experiences into words, but my characters won’t shut up and demand my attention. I’m taking a little rest from writing, I’m still staggered I’ve wrote so much in just 9 months… maybe this year I’ll actually achieve http://nanowrimo.org 

 

This Weeks Inspiration

All the wonderful thingies which inspire me to write and while writing… 

 

 

Pallid man in the tall hat whose pale flesh is crimson stained with the remains of your last meal. I want to play with you. In the dark, in the bone yard.:

The teeth of the vampire are a phallic symbol. I wonder how big his uummm, teeth are?:

Blood< why does it have to look so pretty when it's blood pouring into water? That's like against the rules:

 

 

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

by Frank O’Hara

 

 

“Red Right Hand”

Take a little walk to the edge of town
and go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with
a red right handHe’ll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul,
but there won’t be a single thing
that you can do
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand

You don’t have no money?
He’ll get you some
You don’t have no car?
He’ll get you one
You don’t have no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy,
’cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares,
you’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
he ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
you to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
he’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

 

 

So, basically, more music, vampires (again) music lyrics, poetry and art…  What a delicious cocktail of inspiration… I’ve also kinda delighted in re-discovering Marina Abramovic again…

So, as something different from killing characters, I’m including a little of my work that I dedicated to her performance piece ‘rhythm 0’

I really should add vampires (maybe) I keep finding vampires inspiring me…

 

***

‘6 hours’ By A. Harrison

to remain passive for 6 hours

     at your command

manipulate control with their hands

random strangers members of public

which items will you use

will you be tender or abuse

       a gun a knife

tears stain your face

they explore with delight

naked flesh drawing a mess

whips and chains

         a soft caress

velvet touch of a crimson rose

steel thorns pierce your veins

cutting skin

sticky plasters

        baptise you from sin

a loaded gun

would you shoot me in the head

would you want me dead

when I stand will you run

      pleasure pain

my art your actions photos remain        

***

 

Anne Harrison 07.04.17

Work in Progress

This is what the current working notes chaos mess is like, what I carry around in the black hole of my bag and add to bits when I’m waiting for a bus or otherwise randomly inspired.

Apologies – I write in pencil a lot – also there is a random spoiler somewhere in the scribbles, but you might not be able to decipher my dreadful handwriting and atrocious spelling… (Hopefully) …

… Sharing this and The Not-So Old Notes as a little oddity into my random writing process…

 

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Anne Harrison 29.03.17