Jodine's Art Space: Creative Writing

Live Journal Blog Entry 252

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 09:15:14 GMT

In the Sun's Nest

"AAaaaaaH!"

"Shut up Nick!" Its me, said Darren, putting his hand across her mouth, "I've hurt my ankle in this bloody hole, help me up!"

Nicki could just make out Darren's outline in the moonlight, and relaxed, wrapping her arm around his. "God Darren, you scared the crap out of me!"

"Ha fucking ha" said Darren, rubbing his foot gingerly before adjusting his undies. This was all they needed, two walking wounded and a Nucear Bomb!

Nicki and Darren half stumbled, half crawled along the path.

Nicki was certain her plan would work. She just had to convince Ben. Darren saw it differently. As soon as he was back in Auckland, he was hitching down to Hamilton!  This was not what he signed up to major in. Espionage and random freakin' bullets whizzing past his head, made the new C1 channel feel like the Sunday Matinee'.  No way jose'! This boy wants outta here...

Up ahead, they could see torch lights flickering in the tree's.

"We need to get closer Darren, how many are there?"

"Five or six I think" said Darren scanning the horizen. "Since when did you become the New Detective anyway?"

"Since I had to carry your ass" Nicki chuckled under her breath.

"Oh shit! They're coming out way, what are we going to do?"  said Nicki, feeling thick panic rising like a nauseating dry wretch...

The Stalker

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 02:47:02 GMT

I imagine his pale face, distorted in forceful pleasure. His hands firmly grasping his bulging penis, blood flow constricted, his shaft a deep purplish red. I imagine his computer screen focussed on her pictures, the blue screen staring images out of reach, always out of reach. I imagine his mind's eye, playing out story's like a movie. He does her, undresses her, holds her, pierces her. He loves her. I see his hand pick up the phone and dial her number, his eye's close as her voice echo's in his ear. I feel his anger and rejection. I almost hear the words in his head, and his frustration turns to rage as he ties the rope around his neck. He imagines her neck, his fingers curled around her throat, squeezing the last breath from her lungs, watching as her eye's roll back, and her lips turn blue, crack and split apart. His own penis engorged, excited and ejaculating impulsively in fits and starts in time with her convulsing body. Her life slowly being drained, his lust sated. His forceful lust, his powerful lust quenched for the moment. The ultimate love hate affair. He stalks her relentlessly. He knows she is afraid. He loves her.

The Window

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 21:16:17 GMT

The Window

Jodine Derena Butler

(13/08/2007)

I remember sneaking out of my bedroom window when I lived with my grandparents for the second time, the Mescaline cactus was chopped off at the bottom which surprised the wall and held the house up lasting so long over the years. It was an old house but not prickly when the juice drained and my first boyfriend knocked, I had to be very quiet except for the old metal blinds that didn’t work and I could hear them talking amongst themselves in the bedroom too. I didn’t think they would hear me then together snuggled under their feather duvet, warm as I was soon to be most of the time when Nana would bring me a cup of tea in the morning like soup but after she read the tealeaves so I knew I had to be quiet. I remember the house built by his own hands after the war it was farmed and raised by the family at the time, the steps are gone now replaced and the house has sunken with age like grandfather buried at the RSA with Nana soon when the results come back outside the window. I remember climbing back in easier than outward appearances and a lot quieter than at night with the still, crisp morning light over before it had begun again ahead of its time at breakfast with sweet leaf toast. I was fifteen and I liked danger when the grass was much sweeter than the Mescaline and the sex of two young lovers defying gravity on the window ledge of lust, giggling and groping for the branches scraping the side of the house beside the hole. Giggling because I might catch the altered perspective and succeed with silence impossible with the teapot pouring. I remember the pink bedspread sneaking into something paling by comparison more like crimson and stained like the window he once said to me but could not decide what it was about when the window slammed shut and I was angry for a moment. The front door was easier than tiptoes being bruised, seeming to yellow past the bedroom door and the feathers were warm and soft cocooning them in embraces when I smiled I could hear their listening thoughts. I remember the days when chairs sat in reclining positions side by side, rocking by the fire looking out onto the front window like a doorway. A much bigger window than mine was wiser than the cactus planted on the side of the road in season. The windows were necessary to see into the future and the night and the teapot arrived as expected when I sat up in bed…

An Interpretation of Gustaf Klimt's painting - The Kiss

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 23:00:06 GMT

An Interpretation of Gustaf Klimt's (1862-1918) painting of 'The Kiss'

Jodine Derena Butler

(30/07/2007)

His long fingers caressed her tenderly. Her face flushed. Pink. His soft lips lingered, brushing her soft cheeks with sweet scented breath. Warmed by comforting caresses, they languish together in harmony, held up. Daisys cascade and create a tapestry upon lily skin, held tightly bound. Feminine and masculine entwine and two hearts beat as one momentarily. The lover kisses. She responds with requited love. Their embrace is not lost to worldly things. Moments in time are shared and savoured, and ethereal gold threads weave and comfort them. Wildflowers like jewelled glass beads, circle. Cycles and senses soar, and smells languish long and lofty. The maiden surrenders and beauty bursts forth. Broad shoulders assure with grace and strength, barefeet firmly grounded. Toetips on tiptoes, and painted nails balance. A bed of daisys cushion dreams and other places warm and inviting. The lover kisses and her heart beats steady like a drum. Shrouded and wrapped, held lovingly. Colours dance like butterflys, flitting joyfully among the daisys. Desired. Sweet and familiar, deflowered and dying gracefully.