On Painting & Writing

So I have just spent the last two hours panting for the first time in, if I remember correctly, probably a year now. I should really start dating my paintings. I love painting so incredibly much, the thing is though I am absolutely terrible at it – in fact I am sure without a doubt some of my paintings would be worthy of Pinterest fails. But like I said I really enjoy it and that is the main thing.

One of tonight’s work in progresses. A little bit rusty.

Since a young age I have always enjoyed art, in particular drawing. When I was in primary school I even had aspirations to be an animator, my dad even made me one of those light boxes that animators use. For a long period though I didn’t draw, not until after school when I was in tafe, when the classes were on the particularly dry side I took to drawing in the back of my notebook. In particular I developed a fascination with drawing castles and moonscapes, incidentally one of the projects in which we had to run at tafe was an art class out of a local PCYC – which introduced me to painting. Our group teamed up with a local artist and taught local youth how to paint. So then, some days later I bought home some cheap acrylics and canvas and gave it a go.

Around the same time a good close friend of mine was also tinkering with drawing, though he was experimenting with texter drawings, (he though unlike me has some genuine and incredible talent, with texter alone he was already producing legitimate high quality art – present day he is now a fully-fledged artist having exhibited award winning work and has also been sold to private buyers). So from time to time we got together and had an art off until one day he suggested we go to an art class. And so we did, he managed to track down a local artist that ran art classes a couple of times a week and before you knew it my friend and I were attending alongside a wonderful group of retirees and semi-retired. Our art teacher specialised in Australian landscapes in which I was instructed in, but he was also incredibly adept at portraits in which my friend was interested in.

Probably the first painting I produced in class in under the guidance/instruction of my art teacher.
What he would get us to do was choose from a photo from a large selection in which he had taken from his travels and paint it according to the style in which we were taught.
it was an incredible experience and he was amazing to watch when he did a demo for us.

One of the paintings I produced in class under the guidance of my painting instructor.

And so here I am today. Still painting from time to time. As I mentioned I was instructed in Australian landscapes yet am inspired by fantasy and space so I try to take what I was taught and incorporate it into my paintings, but as I mentioned before what generally results are nothing more than Pinterest fails. That being said though practice equals progress and progress leads to mastery, my dream is to be able to blend Australian landscapes with fantasy.

Our teacher taught us that all you need is roughly four to five colours and from that you can make any colour and that is what leads to genuine looking landscapers and portraits. As you can see from time to time I cheat and whip out a viridian hue, yellow ochre or sap green, and let’s not forget the cardinal sin of using an actual black rather than making your own. But it is good to experiment from time to time and given that I am aspiring to create fantasy-scapes such experimentation is sound.

One of my first paintings produced in class under the guidance/instruction of my art class teacher.
As you can see I had difficulty taking a decent photo without my shadow in it and poor lighting.

Painting though, is an incredible outlet. I always feel that when the pen or the keyboard fails you there is always the brush. For writing is like an intellectual, mental and emotional catharsis, it is a thoughtful catharsis, it is and this might sound strange – abstract and less tangible. Even though you have produced something, have outputted something, it represents thought coupled with feeling. It is dynamic in that it can be deep or can be shallow. Sometime I even feel that when one uses a computer to write it is almost less cathartic than if one were to write on the page. The catharsis is still there but perhaps it carries less weight that is why to do this day I still attempt to write on the page first before typing on the screen, for the words on the page are far rawer than the text on the screen. It is so easy to edit or to change a line and steal from the immediate ideas , thoughts and feelings and yet it is not without its merits. For those very pitfalls are also advantages.

Painting though much like writing is incredibly cathartic, and while it too can be intellectual, mental and emotional I feel that at the end of the day it is what is and that is purely visual. That is the beauty of landscapes. The construction and catharsis of painting is more tangible less abstract – in the sense that it is right there before you, it is visual (not to confuse with abstract paintings). You take it all in at once and then perhaps look at its individual features, writing is to be digested slowly, mindfully; paintings are to be observed and mulled over in tranquillity and meditation, they are purely aesthetic – regardless of agenda, be it political or simply artistic. Even the act of painting can be considered a form of meditation, for all you have is a vague image in mind in which you wish to see on the canvas. Even if what results is not quite what you envisioned, the process, the act of painting is a purely visual and physically constructive catharsis and mediation. That is the beauty of painting, even our Pinterest fails are good for the soul.
J.

An attempt at a more abstract style of painting.

Work in progress form last year.

Undecided as to whether or not this one is finished yet. Initially it was a work in progress, at present I am happy with the way it is.

One of my Pinterest fails. Inspired by space/fantasy.

Here again I was experimenting with a brighter colour scheme. Generally I am inspired by dark fantasy scapes, here though in order to break away from those colours I looked to desert style landscapes.

At one point I was feeling like as though I was trapping my myself within a certain colour scheme, and so in this painting and the next I was experimenting with breaking away from that colour scheme while still maintaining the processes that I was taught when painting landscapes.

Post Semester One

On Prac

Some time has passed since my last post. That would be because of prac, I completed my first teaching prac just last week. What an incredible experience and what a great feeling to finally get out there and get up in front of a class, as opposed to listening to dreary lectures that you know you will hardly recall once you are out there in the field anyway.

It was tough, there is no denying that, the first two weeks were the worst – finishing lesson plans at 3am and getting up at 5;30 am. That being said I hardly had time to breathe. For the second part the remaining two weeks, they were not so bad, as you begin to get into the swing of things and many of your lessons continue on from last lesson so there isn’t as much planning involved, not to mention you are able to gage the sort of lesson to prepare for, for each class. Your sort of in the dark at first, so naturally you over prepare which is always a good habit mind you – regardless of whether your a pre service teacher or a teacher of 20 years experience.

I was placed at a great school and can only hope that my next placement is as equally as good if not better. It certainly affirmed my decision to be a teacher for the rest of my life that is for sure. indeed I cannot wait to get out there and have my own classes for that matter. Such a challenging and rewarding occupation. I could think of nothing better.

There is also no denying how fast it all went, and as many have said – you find yourself just getting the hang of things & just starting to form a connection with your classes when all of sudden bam its over, and certainly it felt that way on my last day no truer words could have been said. But I am thankful for my experience and have learned many things.

On TKD

Due to the hectic schedule of prac, with lesson planning an such I had little time for my other extra curricula activities, one of them being taekwondo. To honest I actually though I thought i would still have time for training amidst my first practicum. How naïve I was. I missed four weeks worth of training.

I currently hold a three tip blue belt and am up for my red belt grading next week. Last Thursday was my first night back after four weeks and let me tell you god it was good to be back. It came just in time as my body was steadily beginning to feel the affects of inactivity – my restless leg was beginning play up, my whole body was beginning to feel still and tight. My spirit was restless – it needed guidance, for when one is able to control thy body they are then able to control thy mind. Taking up Taekwondo has been one the best things I have ever done.

I was surprised at how well I was able to remember everything and I was even more surprised at the how well I done to keep up. I thought that I was going to die having done no training in weeks but alas as it turned out my body craved the release, just as the mind craves to express itself so too does the body – for they go hand in hand. Writing the catharsis of the mind and martial arts the catharsis of the body – together they form the catharsis of the soul – though let us not forget the catharsis of thy heart – Love. The most powerful catharsis of all, one that I could never experience if it were not for my beloved.

On other things – My lover, my daughter, Facebook and wanderings in the street.

I wont beat around the bush for this one – life is hard, but its even harder if you don’t have someone there to support to you, someone to love you – to encourage you, to help you, to be there when you fail and to be there when you succeed, and I owe many thanks to my partner in crime, my beloved. I Love you.

Our daughter is now 18months old going on 19 months, and she is as cheeky as ever! She has a beautiful personality, though cheeky to the bone she is sweet at heart. God we cherish those rare moments where she hugs us, or puckers up her lips for a kiss. Her vocabulary is building ever so quickly, I can hear and see a personality – a person forming, her very own person forming ever so rapidly. It’s frightening and yet is it is ever so exciting. Every day she seems to express new emotions and thoughts. She demonstrates news phrases & and new understandings of the world around her. it’s still feels so crazy to think that my partner and I have created life, and that this life is blossoming, flourishing, god how we love her. God how we are thankful.

So as the title insinuated I had some things to say about Facebook. Indeed I wanted to express my distaste for the damn thing. Though that being said come to it now I am lost for words and thus forget what it was I wanted to say. I think my major grievance with it is how insidious it is – not to mention it’s counterpart instagram.

Perhaps I am simply not utilising it to the best of its ability such as following pages that pertain to my interests and such. I cannot but feel as though Facebook is nothing more than major wank-fest that screams “look at me”, “look at me”. It has the power to change the world and yet at the same time has the power to enslave society. It is a digital double edged sword.

Most of the time though all I see is this sick insecure desire to validate oneself. I see this cry for validation, I hardly see the pro’s where people pose questions or instigate debates, I see only one side of the sword – tell me, am I not using it correctly? To see the other side of the sword, But then would I not be jeopardising my own image if I dared shared things that went against the grain. To challenge the status qou? To retaliate to the mainstream ideas that the majority of Facebook promotes; wether it be science or religion, to do so you would be ostracising yourself, for Facebook is a means to social networking amongst the wider community, thus you want to maintain an image that conforms to the status qou, an image that pertains to the status qou in order to fit in… so that one may gain acceptance, employment – things needed in order to survive in this modern world of the digital interface. Yet as I said Facebook and social networking in general has the power to change the world – take for instance the Arab Spring.

The point being is that social networking is a double edged sword and its up to you how you wield it.

JS.

Universtiy Life, and My Belovded Partner in Crime.

We all approach life at our own pace, and life has a way of dictating to us at what pace we should best approach life.

That being said, as of late, life’s approach has been intense. And so in order to keep up, I have had to adopt an intense approach to life. Most of this intensity though stems from Uni. It is hard to believe that we are already about to enter week seven after the inter session break – which is by no means a break at all rather a chance to catch up on assignments and study. On top of that I have already completed my five observation days and will begin prac teaching in roughly five weeks.

My beloved partner and I are both working to complete our masters and much to our displeasure have not been able to spend much time together except for our dedicated date nights once a week (anyone in a relationship will tell you though this is not enough). Much of our time has consisted of early starts and late finishes; that is waking up at 5:30 – 6:00 most days and working into the evening until 1 – 3am. Three assessments down with three to go before prac teaching officially begins.

My observation days were incredibly enlightening, just as everyone I had spoken to had said – what you learn at uni is almost of no use, it is what you learn at prac that is of my importance and of most use. And I must say that I am in agreement with such statements. For starters uni didn’t even touch on lesson plans until a week before our assessment on lessons plans was due. There is also the way in which you conduct yourself in a classroom that they fail cover, that is they don’t teach you about the impact of where you stand in the room and how to project your voice etc. don’t get me wrong I don’t mind because it is the sort of stuff you learn on prac anyway but a few tips along the way wouldn’t go astray either.

My observation days appear to have gone well and I have learnt much. Most importantly though I have observed that teaching is indeed for me and I cannot wait until I secure that fulltime position. I can only dream and imagine of where that may be, should I succeed in my studies. I cannot explain it, only in that personally I feel that teaching/education is the foundation of any successful society/culture albeit that teaching be formal or informal – a society relies on good teachers for it to succeed – to be a part of such a process would be an honour of the upmost highest regard.

To think that you are responsible for someone else’s learning and understanding of the world around them. What an incredible and amazing feeling. I don’t mean to sound egotistical by the way, for that is by no means my intention; in fact I could think of nothing worse than being some pompous fool full of his own self-importance, blowing smoke up his own ass. Indeed, the very thought of teaching is a very humbling notion to me. The gravity and weight of the expectations in which such a title of ‘teacher’ entails is incredible, and should humble even the most inflated of egos, lest they be utter fools for the taking.

I imagine that the next few week will be tough, with three assessments due over the next three weeks and prac teaching to prepare for around the corner, the nights are only going to get longer and the morning’s remain early.  Not to fear, for as I said at the beginning: We all approach life at our own pace, and life has a way of dictating to us at what pace we should best approach life, that being said it is up to us to decide whether or not we meet the requirements of that pace lest be left behind.

Before I conclude though let me just say one more thing, if it were not for my beloved partner in crime in life I could never have made it as far as I have. Indeed I imagine that if it were not for my beloved other half I would be a complete and utter wreck. There is no way I could have come as far as I have if it were not for the support and love of my gorgeous girl. It is because of my beautiful lover that I feel the desire to push forward in the face of adversity, so that our future together may be bright and beautiful. I just want to say that I Love and appreciate her so much. Thank you for making my lunch in the morning when you are as tired as I am, thank you for serving me out dinner when you too are thinking about the assessments in which you need to get done. Thank you for always picking me up from the station when I know that is valuable time to you to use for study etc. Thank you for just being generally fucking awesome. Thank you for your kisses of good luck, your kisses of love, and your hugs of support. Knowing that I have you by my side makes every day that much easier to deal with. Every assessment that much easier to complete, every prac day that much easier to do, every day at work easier to get through. Thank you for being so encouraging, thank you for being so reassuring – your reassuring hugs and your reassuring kisses. You are my one and only, without you I am the earth with no sun, I am earth with no moon, you are my gravity that holds me steady, my atmosphere that helps me breathe.

JS.

University, Pt. 3

To think it’s only week three, yet the way I’m burning the midnight oil and how close the due date is for assessments you would think it’s week eight or something. Each night is a 2:30-am finish minimum, anything earlier and guilt and anxiety end up keeping me awake watching infomercials or re-runs of “Two and half men”, which is fine by me because my brain is so worn out the jokes are actually funny.

Getting out of bed is like rising from a 17th century grave, though I still seem to make it to UNI on time its about three hours before my brain catches up after me, I can almost pinpoint the moment – where all of a sudden it’s as though some one has turned the light on in a dank dark room full of mould. But its like fluorescent lighting that flickers for a bit and your eyes strain in order to adjust.

Last night I fell asleep at the desk, I was having “one of those nights”, where I couldn’t concentrate, my mind was in utter disarray at where to start or where to continue. So I reasoned that I would read a novel that had been allocated to me in one of my classes, alas it wasn’t long before I waking up with paper and food stuck to my face.

That all being said and done, I wouldn’t change it for a second. The thought of some dead end menial job is usually enough to wave away any feelings of self pity or second thoughts, however arduous the journey through UNI may be.

The days that I spend with my daughter in between UNI and work are such a treat, and ease my mind greatly. So far we have gone out for lunch with a friend and went to a wildlife park which was great fun. Without being too cliché it is indeed true what they say, they grow up fast. One week she is walking, the next she is running and throwing a ball. We have also gone down to a local park and swung on the swings together. Our time together is such a breathe of fresh after the confines of lecture theatres, study rooms and shopping centres.

They remind you that your hard work is for them, for their future. Because you want the best for them so you in turn do your best to ensure it.

JS.

University as a Mature Age Student (Pt. 2)

I am now entering the second week of my Masters Degree. There is certainly a different vibe compared with my undergraduate degree, though as I mentioned before that may simply be due to not sharing a class with a bunch psych students working through their issues. No offence to the well adjusted psych students out there.

From the first lecture, first thing in the morning it’s all systems go. There’s no sitting there drifting off thinking it’s all good got 6 weeks until that assessment is due, there’s no buying your textbooks half way through the semester and just cramming like hell. No, you quickly get the impression that its on! which much to my great pleasure is a welcome change of pace.

Most of the classes are generally engaging and informative, still though I often think I would learn more at home just by simply listening to the lectures and studying the textbook. But, being a teaching degree classroom activities are no longer simply the labourious ice breakers I am familiar with from psych. Tonight’s class actually provided us with some useful insight in how to deliver a text to the students in a way that is engaging and fun.

Being a teaching degree, one cannot help but reflect back on ones own experience at school and wonder why lies in wait for you on the other side of the desk…

JS.

Short Story: High Stakes

New York: 1972

Sharp morning sunlight cut through the slits of brown and beige drapes onto a sleeping man. Suddenly the still morning air was sliced by an abrasive alarm clock stirring Harry from his deep sleep yet not enough to wake him, that is until the sound of crashing pots and pans could be heard in the kitchen downstairs. Harry’s eyelids fluttered as he groaned pulling a pillow over his face.

“Damn kids” Harry mumbled.

The noise downstairs then escalated to the sound of bickering and squabbling by Harry’s three sons. Sighing, Harry slithered out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown that bore royal flush embroidery on the top pocket and began trudging down the stairs to join them.

“What the hell is going on down here? Harry snapped at his startled three sons “Come on, anyone ed think you kids were loose form bedlam.” Harry added snidely. Harry observed that his three sons were cooking breakfast, egg shells could be seen dotted along the kitchen floor, the sound of sputtering oil could be heard in the background as his three sons greeted him with guilty silence. Harry’s youngest son Mark piped up.

“Charles started it” Mark said sheepishly. Much to his annoyance Harry also observed the pots and pans scattered about the floor that had initially stirred him from his peaceful sleep.

“Hey! I don’t care who started it, I’m finishing it kapeesh? Look at this fucking mess!  Come on Charles when are you going to get a girlfriend to do this shit?” Harry snarled, his furious eyebrows crossing into a violent v shape. Charles was Harry’s eldest and generally entrusted him to take care of the house and the other two boys.

Charles suddenly retorted in offense “when are you going to get remarried dad?”

“When hell freezes over you little brat.” Harry sat down at the kitchen bench and began eating a plate of breakfast that he could tell had been especially been served out for him. Raising his finger Harry continued the rebuttal.

“I didn’t just lose half my assets so some other broad can come in and take the rest alright?” Harry returned to his plate cutting his bacon as though it were his ex wife’s fingers only to raise his finger again, this time egg yolk dripping from his lips like a rabid dog.

“Not to mention thousands of dollars in a custody battle that so far has ended up in a trashed kitchen and shitty fucking food.” Harry said as Charles head hang low.

“We’re sorry dad.”

“Forget about it, what are ya sorry for anyway? Ya got nothing to be sorry for” Harry replied solemnly as he as continued to chow down on his bacon and eggs. The silence was cut short by dogs barking outside.

“Mark go get the mail”. Charles and Lee began cleaning up the kitchen. Mark returned with the mail handing it to his father, flicking through until a personalized deep red envelope caught his eye. Harry turned it over once, twice for any indication of who it was from before opening it. Lee noticed his father’s curiosity and inquired at its contents.

“What is it dad?” Lee asked. It was an invitation to an exclusive poker match with some of the world’s best. Before Harry could reply though Harry’s attention was diverted by the ringing phone on the wall. Harry picked up the phone with an arrogant hello.

“Who is this? What? Lucinda? The hell do you want?”

The kitchen fell silent as Harry listened.

“No! You get your mind right and you might have a chance of seeing you sons again ya crazy bitch, that’s even if they want to!” Screaming could be heard through the other end of the phone and Harry’s three sons stood motionlessly.

“Come on your killing me here. Hey! I’m not even going to dignify that, I might not be the husband anymore but I sure as hell am still the father.” Yelled Harry. This time Harry’s ex wife could clearly be heard yelling back.

“You’ll get yours ya dirty animal; hell hath no fury like a woman scorn!” Harry’s blood boiling at this point interjected before Lucinda could say anymore.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Hey, HEY! Do ya self a favour go light another candle and say a prayer ya crazy fuck.” Harry slammed the phone into the receiver and rested his head against the wall in dismay. His three sons had started bickering again. Harry, suddenly reminded of what he fought for turned, walking over to them he grabbed Mark by the scruff pulling him into a hug.

“Come here. You’re alright, You all alright ok. I love you boys alright; otherwise I wouldn’t have gone to hell and back to have you all, ok.” Harry said firmly with an undercurrent of fatigue and relief. It was the sort of fatigue and relief he felt after winning the long arduous custody battle with his ex wife Lucinda. She had been a good mother, a good wife but she was superstitious and after loosing her mother went on an unhealthy pursuit towards knowledge of the afterlife. Lucinda had become despondent and vacant, while Lucinda may have lost her mother, the boys lost their grandmother and Harry lost a great friend but that was life after all, we all have to move on in the end. Harry and the boys tried to help her but it was to no avail. She grew more and more distant as though Harry and the boys were not event there. So after three years Harry done what he thought was best for everyone. Filed for divorce and custody over the boys.

Mark’s voiced muffled a reply from the headlock his father had him in.

“We know dad, we know.” Mark said. Harry released him, looking into Marks eyes he was filled with love. Mark had peaked at the letter in the deep red envelope while his father was on the phone so gently pried at his dad.

“So are you going to the poker match dad?” asked Mark

“Can a duck swim kid” smiled Harry.

While Harry was a successful stockbroker by trade he was also a pro poker player and so the court proceedings took a little longer than anticipated despite their mother’s instability. The courts wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to squander the three boys’ future away because of some poker game.

One Week Later

The foyer of the casino walls were littered with fish tanks full of carp, coy and every other kind of extravagant fish you could think of, fish tank filled walls gave the impression of a moving rainbow.

Pity not many people found there pot of god at the casino thought Harry. He was never too fond of casino’s even when they hosted poker games, in fact he hated them more. Harry felt as though they stank of mafia dons and corrupt cops. In the distance Harry could hear pokie machines and roulette wheels interwoven with laughter and cries as he approached the reception desk. A stout looking girl with a perm and leopard print dress obnoxiously chewing gum greeted Harry as he approached the counter.

“I’m here for the poker match” Harry said assertively tapping his fingers arrogantly on the counter with one hand, the other held the invite still enclosed in its envelope.

The lady behind the counter looked up at Harry nonchalantly, then looking over his shoulder still chewing her gum arrogantly nodded towards two men in beige suits and chequered ties standing at a far wall.  In a rather robotic manner they approached Harry on either side as though they were about to escort him to a prison cell.

“This way please sir” one of them said leading Harry away into the depths of the casino.

***

Harry was lead into a small dank, smoke filled room at the back of the casino, all that the room beheld was an old oval oak table seated by three men. Harry recognized two of the men from previous tournaments and thus was not surprised at their presence, especially given that this was meant to be some sort of private tournament for the best of the best. Harry recalled nearly loosing half his fortune to one of the men back in 62 at Las Vegas. That was one hell of a poker match. One Harry would never forget. The man looked up at Harry as he entered and Harry nodded, Gary was his name, he was wearing his usual brown corduroy flares and denim jacket. The second man Harry had played a few tournaments with, was also sporting what Harry figured was his poker uniform, blue and white velvet sweat suit with accompanying St. Christopher chain, afro and sunglasses. The third man though Harry had never seen before. Harry took the remaining seat at the end of the table opposite facing the mysterious man.

While both the familiar men to Harry smoked it was the mysterious man’s cigars that filled the dank room with thick heavy smoke nearly suffocating Harry. Something about the man’s demeanor made Harry feel uncomfortable. The mysterious man was dressed in a dark purple suit accompanied with a black tie, if Harry had seen him on the street he might have mistaken him for some sort of pimp. Sitting in a rather slouched position as though the chair were a couch a poker chip danced mechanically between the mysterious man’s fingers as he puffed away. Looking up at Harry as he seated the poker chip disappeared and like a slide of hand magician reveled a deck of cards and began shuffling as he begun to speak.

“Shall we gentlemen?” the mysterious man said.

Harry felt perplexed and out of sorts by the arrangement, something did not sit right with him. “Where’s the tournament director? Or at least game organizer? Who’s sponsoring this match?” Harry jabbed

“No need for one, this is simply at match between the best for the best” the mysterious man replied, the other two men didn’t seem fazed by the odd or rather dodgy circumstances of the game. Harry shuffled in his seat uncomfortably as he awaited his hand to be dealt, all the while the mysterious man grinned puffing away at his stogie.

***

Only Harry and the mysterious man remained, Harry’s stack of chips was dwindling causing a subtle bead of sweat to fall from his brow. The mysterious man grinned ever so slyly at Harry almost knowingly. Harry fiddled with his cards nervously contemplating his next move. It wasn’t like harry to lose his nerve in a poker match, this was meant to be where he shined – but something didn’t feel right. Harry glanced up briefly at the mysterious man trying to read his face.

“What’s a matter? You look all squeezed out” said the mysterious man. Harry replied awkwardly, “I’ve seen some poker faces but yours is just downright creepy”. Harry folded his cards and placed his next lot of chips in the pot as Harry began questioning the man.

“Why haven’t I seen you before if this is for the best huh? I aint ever seen your face before.” Asked Harry as he took the cards dealt out to him.  The mysterious man replied factiously. “I’ve been called many names, I’m a known man across all the world.”

“Ya full of shit, what’s ya story? Harry snapped

“My business takes me near and far, I guess you could say I’m a jack of all trades.” The mysterious man replied.

Harry sniggered in response as each man reveled their cards. Harry slammed his fist on the table, he had lost again.

“Looks as though the gods are not so kind to you tonight Harry.”
“What are ya talking about? Gods, come on, don’t give me that crap, aint no such things as gods; we can gain anything in life by simply knowing the odds and having a damn good poker face.” Growled harry, his voice steadily rising.

It was Harry’s turn to deal out the cards.

“And how is that working for you Harry?” asked the mysterious man snidely as he took up his cards, a smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. Harry was beginning to get frustrated at the mysterious man, his arrogance was steadily making Harry’s blood boil to such a point he was nearly shaking.

“I see you ya know! I see you.” Said harry angrily. The mysterious man replied smoothly which done nothing but cause Harry’s blood to boil ever more.

“You see nothing! Your chips are running Harry and the game is almost up… lest you want to wager more, something else perhaps… otherwise you must soon admit defeat and walk out of here with your tail between your legs like the other two men before you.”

“Come on, what are ya talking about the chips are the wager. And who says I’m losing anyway? Huh? It aint over until the fat lady sings”.

“Come now Harry don’t be coy, lets us raise the stakes. You are a gambling man after all and like you said everything can be won by simply knowing the odds, do you know the odds Harry?” asked the mysterious man. Harry looked at his cards sheepishly.

“What did you have in mind? Harry asked.

“Whatever it is that’s most dear to you” the mysterious man replied.

Harry peered down at his cards and smiled briefly.

“What are you going to wager then?” Harry asked. The mysterious man smirked with confidence.

“The Cobra you no doubt seen in the car park on your way in.”

“I reckon that jewelry you got on is prolly worth more” Harry remarked. The mysterious man lit another stogie.

“I’ll throw it in too. I take it your no stranger to high stakes Harry? The mysterious man quizzed.

“I wagered more in my divorce settlement and with less odds than this lousy poker game.”

“Well how bout it then?” the mysterious man puffed away. “Whatever it was you were fighting for in your divorce lay it on the table Harry. What was it? A son? A daughter perhaps?”

Though Harry felt furious at the man’s suggestion he looked down solemnly at his cards before quietly responding.

“Three sons, my three of a kind”

“What do you say Harry?” the mysterious man gently prodded.

Harry snapped out of his reverie.

“Forget about it, you’re crazy! What are you some sort of wise guy? Huh?” The mysterious man looked pensive and patient before he replied. “What have you got to lose if you know the odds Harry? How about I throw in a beachfront house, for you and your sons.”

Harry stared at his cards and took a deep breath. The mysterious man was right. Harry knew the odds, he had played worse hands like this before and won. Harry had been on the brink of losing far worse than this and still came out on top just by simply keeping a cool head and maintaining a steady poker face. That was what the game was all about right? What was he kidding getting all worked up by some freak in a purple suit, this game was his.

“Alright lets’ do it.” Said Harry and the round played out, Harry now appeared confident, no longer ill at ease. The mysterious man prompted Harry to reveal his cards. One by one Harry placed his cards down on the table with a satisfied grin.

The mysterious man smiled softly as he spoke.

“Four of a kind, not bad – in fact statistically it’s quite hard to beat.” The mysterious man grinned for a moment before revealing his own cards. By now a thick haze of smoke filled the room dulling the effect of the overhanging lights.

“But I’m afraid it does not compare to a royal flush” said the mysterious man proudly.

Harry stared slacked jawed and shell shocked. The mysterious man simply lit another cigar as silence coveted the smoke filled room.

The mysterious man put his feet up upon the table in triumph and puffed away. Hat sat motionlessly as the gravity of his loss began to sink in. Then out of the silence high heels could be heard approaching from behind the mysterious man. Out of the smoke laden depths of darkness appeared Harry’s ex-wife, standing behind the mysterious man she placed a hand on his shoulder staring at Harry intensively before she addressed him.

“Guess you didn’t know the odds after all Harry. I knew your ego couldn’t withstand the challenge a poker game. And I knew the higher the stakes the better!”. Lucinda said. Lucinda leaned forward over the table and in a near whisper said to Harry: “So I took your advice, I lit another candle and said a prayer, lo and behold someone answered.” Said Lucinda turning her head motioning towards the mysterious man.

Harry suddenly jumped sporadically from his chair knocking poker chips everywhere and began to scream.

“LUCINDA!” before Harry could reach her though two security guards appeared and began dragging harry away, kicking and thrashing Harry screamed again as they dragged him through the double doors he was brought in through back into the depths of the casino.

“Lucinda YOU CUNT, THEYRE MY SONS!” as the double doors slammed shut on Harry the smoke filled room fell silent.

Lucinda sat down in almost disbelief at what had transpired. She had her sons, she had won back her precious sons. Regaining her composure she looked up at the mysterious man. Her voice rang with gratitude as she spoke.

“My god! I cannot thank you enough.” The mysterious man almost exploded.

“God? God has nothing to do with this you fool, have you forgotten whom you are speaking to? DO not ever mention that name.” Lucinda hung her head in fear as the mysterious man began to cool down and continued.

“You called upon me, not god. That’s blasphemy in my eyes. Let us not forget your payment now because unlike god I come with a fee.” Lucinda looked up with pleading eyes.

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry, please, anything you want. Anything at all.”

The mysterious man leant back in his chair, placing his feet upon the table he grinned broadly pondering the ex-wife’s’ payment. Leaning forward again the mysterious man slowly and gently slid his hand across the table. Lucinda stared in wonder as just like magic a book appeared before her eyes. The mysterious man rose from his chair and lit another cigar. Puffing a few times he addressed the ex-wife one last time.

“See to it that your youngest son Mark reads the book. The mysterious man puffed some more leaving a trail of smoke behind as he disappeared through double doors back into the casino.  The ex-wife peered at the book on the table, gently picking it up she read the title in wonder, “The Catcher in the Rye”.

1980

A man in a dark purple suit sitting at coffee shop grinned broadly through a thick halo of smoke that emanated from the stogie hanging from his lips. The mysterious man was grinning at the front page of the newspaper that he was reading. In thick bold letters the header read “John Lennon homicide inspired by Salinger novel”.

 

End.

Inspiration – On Writing and Life

What inspires you? It seems like such a generic question, in fact in my opinion it is but that doesn’t take away from the weight of the answer. Whatever you’re creative pursuit or interest may be, in my case its writing, inspiration forms the cornerstone, the foundation of that pursuit. Personally I feel that writing cannot be forced, that’s not to say you have to sit around waiting to be inspired, heavens no otherwise I’d never get any writing done, well no serious writing anyway. What I am getting at is that often we hit that wall, that damn brick wall that you can really run hard into. As you pick yourself up to look at the damage, all around you is stale material and old debris from the last time you brought down the wall.

When I look at the debris, I am reminded of what it was that brought down that wall time and time again – that wall that says your material is dry or uninteresting, that wall that prevents you from coming up with anything new. That wall that says “you aint good enough”, you see writers block isn’t just not being able to come up with anything new or an inability to continue a piece of work its more than that, it’s everything negative that impedes your ability to write at all – what brought down that wall time and time again is inspiration, passion for what you do, the captivating feeling of imagination and wonder at the world around you. Wonder and imagination for the creative pursuit you love and hate.

Personally, the trick to bringing down that wall, to writing, is continually being inspired, always finding something new you want to try out, something new to express or explore. Creative pursuits are often a means to understanding or expressing ones feelings and thoughts about the world around us. If we are not inspired by what surrounds us, if we are not at all in the slightest caught up in the wonder of the world; how at all can we write in a way that will affect other people or at least write in a way that stays with a person? Even if that wonder or inspiration comes from the darkest corners of the world or the brightest stars of space, inspiration comes in many shapes and forms and often we do not even realise when we are indeed inspired we simply feel and urge. An itch to engage with our creative passions, or even our passions for life itself, so when I hit that wall, that ever high and mighty wall that looks down on me with contempt, I look around at all the debris before me, all the debris that I have left behind me and I think to myself what inspires me?

Sometimes we are inspired by anger, love, hatred, compassion, empathy, jealousy or envy. Sometimes we are inspired by injustice, equality, progress, science, inspirations touch is inescapable; for it’s not just a cornerstone for creative pursuits, inspiration carries us throughout life. We are inspired by books, movies, poems and art. The best way to bring down that wall, is not just remembering ones creative inspiration such as ones materialistic and aesthetic inspiration, we need also look to life, and remind ourselves of what it is in life that inspires us. What is it about living that inspires us?

You can see how that creative wall we hit, translates also into life itself. Often when one is facing writers block, writers block isn’t the problem, writers block is the symptom of an uninspired life.

JS.

University as a Mature Age Student (Pt. 1)

With two weeks until I begin my Masters Degree I cannot help but reflect on my time during my Bachelor of Arts (Major in Psych I will proudly add, if only the peaice of paper said that) and wonder what lies in stall for me over the coming year and a half. Prior to my BA I done a couplt of certificates at TAFE and without sounding cocky it was a breeze, i was able to not only work fulltime and study part time I still managed some semblence of a social life. UNI though was to be completly different. I stepped down from my management position so that I could study fulltime and not jeapodise my studies incidentlythough my first semseter at UNI was something of a holiday, after the years at work and having aleady done three  at TAFE I found it hard to concentrate, among other things. nevertheless I studied hard and eventually leanred the ropes of the system and got through it. Most importantly though it was where I met my wonderful partner whom I am incredibly head over heels for, a love that has given us the most beautiful little girl / but that’s another story for another time.

As I reflect on my time during my BA I consider what it was like to be a mature age student. Uni as mature age student is thinking your special because you have gone and lived in the “real world” or some shit. Reality is knowing your just that annoying old guy who says something stupid because his so high on the idea that hes going to UNI he dosent think before speaking. While I like to think I wasnt that bad I sure as hell seen a few who were, that is one of those mature age sudents who think that their life story not only a valid answer but is empirical evidence to a teachers question, one of those mature age students who use class as opportunity to tell their life story regardless of the teachers question. Don’t get me wrong we we’rnt all like that, nah, the ones who wernt were the ones perhaps a little more like myself, still young, but a little cynica because of that so called “real world experience”. You find yourself telling jokes that no ones gets, your young enough to get along with the other students but too damn old to care what your wearing. Too damn young to care if your drinking before class, what? i thought that’s waht UNI was all about, *laughs* I kid, I kid. Still though, I often found myself too olf for the younger students and too young for the mature students, but perhaps that was just me being a snob… nah, one of the things I found hard at UNI was that no one really wanted to talk. I dont speak for all UNI’s and all people at UNI when i say this but some people just seemed too busy being cool to really have a good chat about UNI or whatever, as though they were still hanging on to the politics of high school. You find yourself generally talking about the same thing with most people, I mean I admit it is hard as you often find that as you finally get to know people your in a new class in a new semester, you talk about what your studying what thier studying ,what teachers they have liked and what ones they haven’t, what subjects they have enjoyed and what they havent.

That being said though I met some great people and made some great freinds that I still talk to. I have often surrmised though that it was just down to being a psych student, all the psych kids are too busy working through their demons to be able to talk to you, as I found whenever I took up electives in other schools it was a whole other vibe. People conversed, they spoke up, they spoke out, that being said it was usually the mature age students.

But, I look ever so forward to the year ahead, I know that it will be differnt and I cannot wait. I hope to keep up the posts about my experiences as a mature age student not to mention a teacher in training.

JS.

 

The Daily Grind

How I Reatin a Sense of creativity after the nine to five daily grind

As inspiring as the nine to five world can be to a would be writer, as we seek to escape the monotony of the daily grind, it really can have a stifling and suffocating effect on ones creativity. Yet the train ride home almost always invigorates my imagination, my wonderment at the world around me. Today an icy change has set in and brooding grey clouds blanket the vast sky above as the train sleepily traverses homeward bound, steadily I am inspired again as they stretch beyond the endless suburbs. I am reminded of the wonderment at which may lie beyond it all, again I am inspired. Towering factories, extensive junkyards and downtrodden fields float past like fading echoes of a once full life, yet they are flecks of dirt beneath the expanse of the sky above. Again I am inspired and I wonder what stories I have to tell of what lie beyond it all…

 

JS

Short Story: The Pack

The Pack

Harry stared into the reflection of him ‘self in the dull water and sighed. It was just one of those days where he wished he could have just slept the day away. What was Harry kidding for the past two weeks, every day were like that. Clouds incessantly hung over the river and Harry could feel rain approaching from the north. He could feel the air and humidity changing; he could feel it changing through his skin. He sighed again and turning away from the slow ebb of the river he heard kids laughing and chanting in a nearby village causing his ears to tingle as he padded away quietly into the woods.

“Harry” said a voice quietly, “Is that you?”

“George, it is I Harry, come forth” Harry replied in an equal whisper. Geoff crept forward from around a tree. “May the moon light your path brother” George said solemnly

“May the moon light yours, where is James and Fenris?”

“South and west side, we are to come in from the north and east, we initiate our attack when the sun has reached its zenith as planned, there isn’t much time, we must take our place”

“Good, then let us take our places, move out” said Harry, George quickly turned and darted into the woods toward the south. Harry’s pack were tired, they hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks, If not months and they had lost two of its members due to the Wolfsbane clan they were about to raid. Which meant this raid was personal. It wasn’t just about food. It was about reminding everyone who owned this neck of the woods. Because of the losses within Harry’s own clan if this raid didn’t go well Harry was looking at a challenge from Fenris. That was the last thing he needed, he wasn’t sure he had any more raids left in him let alone face a challenge. But they had stalked this village for days if not weeks. The hunters were always furthest away when the sun reached its zenith which meant they had ample time to move in take what they needed and move out.

The little boy joyfully and clumsily chased the squirrel, giggling and toddling towards it as it darted into the foreboding forest. The little one stopped and peered into the darkness beneath the towering sun. A young woman’s voice could be heard calling from behind him.

“Charlie! Charlie?”

The little boy glanced over his shoulder then heard a rustle in the forest before him, then suddenly darted foreword into the darkness.

“Charlie!” the voice called out again more frantic this time. The young woman approached the forest looking around desperately.

“Charlie”, then she seen it, its dark eyes peering from behind a tree. Then from the right she heard a rustle.

“Oh god, Charlie!” she ran into the forest, there she seen her little boy, sitting hunched over the squirrel in his hands inspecting it studiously.

From the bottom of her lungs the mother cried help, running towards the boy she seen the dark figures close in speedily, she dived towards her cub but fell short as she felt a wait stamp her down into the dirt, her jaw cracked as she hit the ground. The two dark figures sprang from the bushes onto her child.

“Charlie” she cried, still she couldn’t move as an immense weight held her down reaching out into the abyss of forest before her a tear fell from her face as a sudden piercing feeling shot through her back. Darkness.

Harry and George approached a clearing where James was waiting for them. Dropping the wolf cub on the ground he began snarling at James.

“You were not there at the attack, why? Tell me now?

“Relax brother, there were scouts, I couldn’t get past. They were sniffing around everywhere, something isn’t right” he replied

“Then we mustn’t be idle, we must make haste for the marshlands, they will not come there.” Just as Harry finished Fenris arrived behind them, slouching with the weight of the mother wolf over his shoulder he sounded panicked.

“They have sounded there alarms the men will be back and on the hunt for us” he said, “then lets move” replied Harry.

The four men made there way off into the dark forest for the marshlands. Behind them from the village a cacophony of baying wolves could be heard, it was as though they were grieving interwoven with a calling to arms. The night was yet to begin and the night would be theirs.

END