I think maybe the poor animal was bored, pent up and in need of a release. As she was there and, unlike me, old enough to remember, I guess I’ve always taken her word for it. “Oh, go on mum, tell the story, he’ll laugh I promise!”Įssentially it all hinged on that chocolate ice cream.
I’ve pretty much dropped it at uni, the scar has almost faded now. The unhealed gaps between each loop of thread popping with every yank.Įven into secondary school it was still a great ice breaker. In the weeks after it was perfect for show and tell, they all cringed at the stiches as I tweaked them and lifted the scar. I don’t see the issue, it’s funny, I mean not everyone can say it happened to them after all. I trace the fading scar on my arm and she rolls her eyes. Stop bringing it up” mum whines every time I tell someone new. I know I was a bit of a chubber and probably looked like a good chew, but why me? Maybe I looked especially tasty or exotic with my bright orange hair, perhaps I resembled a mango or an exceptionally moreish carrot. I always ask myself, why me? Out of the thousands of kids there on that day, I must have done something to single myself out. But it did happen to me, it is my story and I love hearing it. I can’t say I blame her, if it hadn’t happened to me I’m sure I’d feel queasy too. My mum doesn’t like to tell the story, she gets embarrassed and a little queasy as the gory details come out. One minute I was sat with all the other kids licking my triple choc ice cream in the French sunshine and the next, chaos. To this day, I still don’t know exactly how it happened. The only issue was, it wasn’t all inside of me. And the vivid red river of blood.īlood is the bodily fluid that is pumped around the body carrying necessary substances, such as nutrients and oxygen. Why is it that we can only be naked in certain spaces or for certain reasons?Īll I can remember are the screams. It was the adults that walked on who were straying from nature, their instincts warped by the culturally encouraged prudishness towards nudity in this over sexualised world. They had not objectified the mundane acts simply because they were done in the nude. They had got what the others had missed: these people were not doing anything unnatural or strange. As a small crowd formed the oddly mundane performance came to a close and three small children led the crowd in a cheer. The Neo-Naturists absorbed themselves in their own little community as passers-by walked on with uncomfortable bafflement. The almost ritualistic scene was topped by the blue male shouting the prose of absent Neo-Naturist Wilma’s book, Surf Mama, in an animalistic cry. To their mud smeared bodies the others added bold swirling lines of pink and blue paint. In something of an evolution, they were transformed. Next came a young man, painted with jeans a t-shirt and following him were the stars of the show, Jenifer and Christine. His blue body was smeared with neon hand prints, smudged and dripping in the rain.
Following her was a man in sandals and nothing more. Her body paint looked tribal and raw, contrasting her preened 60s bouffant hair. Dropping the robe that covered her, she began to set up home on the Art School stage, busying herself with tidying. And I thought I’d share a snippet of the work I created with you all…Īgainst the sound of the falling rain came the operatic voice of the first Neo-Naturist.
For three days we created a daily newspaper that was researched, written, edited, printed and hand folded on site. Over the past week, I attended the Port Eliot festival and put my writing skills to the test by trying something new, journalism.
Here’s a couple, eat your heart out Mr T. So for a laugh (and a bit of procrastination) my friend and I have been making silly ‘post-post-modernist’ poems to try and wrap our heads around it all. So far in my third year I’ve been trying to get my head around modernist poetry, me and poetry aren’t the best of friends anyways so I’ve been struggling. With dissertation and final assessments I’m definitely going to need some fun! I have been so slack with posting since summer but I am determined to get back into it this year and really have fun with writing in my final stages of Uni.
0 kommentar(er)
