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About the Author
Alister Flik grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home in the Midwest with a healthy variety of crazy available to her, and her middle child syndrome hardly affects her at all anymore. At 18, she moved to the West Coast, got a tattoo, and now lives happily as a quirky theist amidst the Portland heathens she so dearly loves. Her idols are Joan of Arc (crazy or not), Flannery O'Connor, and Daria. Her favorite superhero is the perfect superhuman combination of Joan of Arc, Flannery O'Connor, and Daria dressed in a cape, armor, boots, and armed with wit and a pen. She is currently looking for someone to illustrate this into a comic book.
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Ignorance
When I killed the cat,
I lost my timidity and fell,
Eyes first, into flesh. Opened;
"aware," I told myself; red core
of fruit in my hand to fill
my peeled chest. With this
skeleton dripping its blood,
sweet between my fingers,
I slaughtered the creature.
Its dying howls echoed
Ecstasy through my
nerves. Yearning curves
of white teeth scarred the
tender skin of plucked,
torn, picked innocence. Sinking
in, the supple taste of the experience
dripped down my lips, licking
as rigor mortis slipped its hand
slowly into the spreading
dead. Mouth open,
I froze; shivering and
uncovered, I burned
for a naked tree. I bloomed an
empty fruit. Exposed
bare skin blistered under

the Sun. I had my answer, but
the cat was cold.


AF
"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
 
Francis Meyrick

I'm with you on this bit:

"When I killed the cat,
I lost my timidity and fell,
Eyes first, into flesh. Opened;
"aware," I told myself; red core
of fruit in my hand to fill
my peeled chest. With this
skeleton dripping its blood,
sweet between my fingers,
I slaughtered the creature.
Its dying howls echoed
Ecstasy through my
nerves. Yearning curves
of white teeth scarred the
tender skin of plucked,
torn, picked innocence. Sinking
in, the supple taste of the experience
dripped down my lips, licking
as rigor mortis slipped its hand
slowly into the spreading
dead."

I imagined myself as the attacking cat/cougar/lion with the "yearning curves of white teeth". I liked that. (Although I imagine it would take a while for rigor mortis to set in.)

After that I lost it a bit. I sensed "Disappointment on the part of the attacker", for sure. A desire to retreat to a safe place. Regret, even. I was not quite sure where you were heading, but I did pick up on a "theme" I think. Maybe that which was desired so intensely, turned out not to be so great after all, but there was no going back. The cat... was dead.

That could be an allegory for all sorts of things.
Ranging across the spectrum, from achievement to failure, and from the loss of purity of intent to the loss of virginity! All good stuff. The joy of writing, and playing with mixed intent I guess!

Interesting....


We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
Posted on Wednesday, December 24, 2008 at 07:01:52

 
Alister Flik

Eh...I think I was going for a kind of Eve eating the fruit/Fall type of thing. The killing the cat was supposed to connect with curiosity and the cliche' that goes along with that.

What you said about "loss of purity of intent to loss of virginity" did fall into the spectrum I was trying to cover. Also, you said, "maybe that which was desired so intensely, turned out not to be so great after all, but there was no going back." Spot on, sir, spot on.

I am interested in where and how the images get muddled and the message just falls...flat or maybe it's going in too many directions to make sense...or maybe...there's some other issue. I don't know.

Thanks for reading and commenting!


"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
Posted on Saturday, January 10, 2009 at 16:52:23

 
Francis Meyrick

Well, firstly, you can always assume total "higgerance" on the part of the reader. There is such a thing as a moronic fan, who gets wildly excited about his totally wrong interpretation of your creative efforts...!

"I am interested in where and how the images get muddled and the message just falls...flat or maybe it's going in too many directions to make sense...or maybe...there's some other issue. I don't know."

I have long since learned that you can't please everybody, and I sure don't even try. Rather, I write across the whole spectrum I think. Sometimes, simplicity, few words, and you can conjure up just the right picture or emotion.
At other times, I like to treat writing like a symphony. I weave in all the different emotional instruments, in a very impressionistic manner.
Almost existentialist. Probably VERY hard for somebody to follow, unless they are on the same wave length.

The best... discovery, is the feedback from honest friends. Friends are there to say, gently, "I didn't quite get it..."

Message. Um. Does there have to always even be a message? I doubt it. There can simply be a joy of writing, a joy of life, a joy of thinking, a joy of experiencing...

I didn't pick up on the "Eve" theme, but now I re-read it all, I see it.
Maybe you could have left me a clue, and helped my leaden mind fly with yours. Lemme think.... see what you think of some my tiny changes:

When I killed the cat,
I lost my timidity and fell,
Eyes first, into flesh. Opened;
"aware," I told myself; red core
of forbidden fruit in my hand to fill
my peeled chest. With this
skeleton dripping its blood,
sweet between my fingers,
I slaughtered the creature.
Its dying howls echoed
Ecstasy through my
nerves. Yearning curves
of white teeth scarred the
tender skin of plucked,
torn, picked innocence. Sinking
in, the supple taste of the experience
dripped down my lips, licking
as rigor mortis slipped its hand
slowly into the spreading
dead. Mouth open,newly naked,
I froze; shivering and
uncovered, I burned
in shame for a naked tree.
I bloomed an
empty fruit.
Exposed
bare skin blistered under
the Sun. I had my answer, but
the cat was cold.

Yo! Clapping


We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
Posted on Saturday, January 10, 2009 at 18:34:27

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