The Garden

Sorry about the lack of an update, I've been trying desperately to try and keep my grant and with all the phone calls and letters and forms, not to mention continuing my regular shows, I've been really stressed out, so stressed out, in fact, that I don't even think I have the energy to talk about how horrible a waste of space I am. Here's another story I wrote. I'm sorry if it sucks, I wrote it very early one morning while slightly drunk and listening to a CD my Granny Margaret sent to me.

The Garden

by Andrew Gerard Panjaka

As we looked out on the bay, the fishermen came back across the water. Their boats were empty of fish but their mouths were filled with words that roared across the cool divide, from where their lips parted to release them to where ours met to speak them without sound. Over the whistling of the wind as it blew through the bulletholes in their sails, they screamed of navy blockades and an approaching army.

The screams that erupted from everyone in that park except us were as piercing as your tongue as it entered my mouth. In that moment, passion overtook me and I pulled you close, holding you tight in my arms. In that moment, the entire city seemed to stop around us before exploding into an ever more cacophonous bombardment of the senses; the wailing of the sirens, the scent of burning oil and, somehow, through it all, music. Looking back, I can remember the tune and the words, but never the name or the singer.

I don't believe in an interventionist god, but I know, darling, that you do. But if I did, I would kneel down and ask him not to intervene when it came to you.

Somewhere, in the distance, just above the sound of that song, a man on a hill was calling out, telling his brethren to fight back and crush the enemy. There was a rumble of thunder from above, followed swiftly by every cloud in the sky opening like a flower and letting its tears spill forth. As the rain fell, I asked you whether the calling man was with the army or the rebels and you replied that you didn't know. But when we looked back at the smoke that was filling the sky above the burning city, turning the rain to acid, we understood, for just one moment, that it didn't matter whether he was a soldier of order or of chaos. Either way, anarchy prevailed.

Oh not to touch a hair on your head, to leave you as you are and, if He felt He had to direct you, then direct you into my arms.

The next day, peace was announced. To this day, I'm still not sure whether it was the army or the rebels that won. All I know is that, mere days after the city had burned, a million people were walking back to work while another great crowd left the city forever, walking towards the horizon. Maybe it was the rebels being banished, maybe it was the army retreating, I could find out if I asked but I didn't care then and I don't care now. To me, that day was just another day, lying with you in the garden, holding you close, caressing your thighs, running my hands through your hair, just experiencing you until, at last, our lips met again and, somewhere, that song played again, the singers deep, sonorous tones hanging in the air alongside our sighs of content.

Into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms.

And that's where you ended up. Whether it was fate or circumstance that guided you there, it was in my arms alone that you rested for the rest of your life, brief though it was. Even as I sit here in this house alone, I think back to those few days. The world exploding around us while we just lived. We lived as hard as we could, because we both knew we wouldn't live long enough to join in the victory celebrations. But at least, if nothing else, we went on our terms. Dr. Andersen wanted us to have chemotherapy but why drag out our lives in misery and pain when we could simply enjoy what time we had left together?

So, you and me, we just laid down in the garden and died in each other's arms. Our bodies held each other close as we grew cold under the night sky. Yeah, you and me, we just laid down in the garden. 

The Failure

My dad used to say, “There is no failure, there’s only stupidity,” and I’m stupid, but I’m also a failure, I mean I guess dad has what he thinks, but how could anyone think I’m anything other than a stupid failure, I mean I bet all of you do, what else could I be? I mean what happened today I just fucked everything in my life up and almost lost my ability to do the things I love and afford the things I love, like my puppets, I mean without the grant what am I supposed to do about the puppets? And oh god I’m not making sense again, so I’m really sorry for that, I’m sorry that I’m being so stupid right now, at least in writing this.

I was supposed to send in my renewal for my grant to make puppets by the twelfth and my manager kept telling me to but it slipped my mind and I only realized on the tenth that I was supposed to do it but I still put it off, so, well, I did really badly on the essay and I bet it doesn’t get in on time and I bet that I end up with no money because of my incompetence. So I told my manager what happened and he said “I told you so, barbosa.” or something like that but I can’t be sure because I don’t really speak Spanish, at least not very well, though I have some Italian but I don’t like to talk about it because I’m really bad at Italian I just learned it so I could learn more about masks.

But what kind of fool am I? I mean this sucks and I suck and if I don’t get money from the grant there’ll be no way for me to continue with my work and then I’ll be absolutely nothing at all of worth, I mean honestly without puppets all I am is a sad sack man all alone in his room, who’s only talent outside of puppetry and storytelling is tripping over and screwing everything up. Without puppets I’ll be exposed for who I am; a failure trapped alone with his stupidity.

The Brambles

Today was frustrating. Finances have been terrible recently not that you really want to know about that, I've been feeling unwell but I don't want to go to the doctor in case I can't afford it or I bother her, and shows have been booked less and less which I can't help but think has something to do with the party, I mean you know how rumours fly around and I made such a massive awful fool of myself I bet word has gotten around. You know how people are or maybe you don't or maybe I just made a huge assumption about people, I mean maybe I'm the only person who gossips, I mean I know it's rude and it's not supposed to happen but I do it so maybe I'm the only person who does it in the whole world and people have been talking about how rude and mean I am this whole time. Or something.

Then when I went to the park to clear my head I fell in I patch of brambles, which is silly I think because what if a kid fell in, but then I guess kids are smarter than that, and I guess that the gardeners probably have enough on their plates and some people might think it looks nice so I shouldn't presume it's silly just because I cut my finger. But in the brambles I found a puppet! It's really cool looking, you can't really tell by this picture though.

It's such a good puppet, very well made, and such contrasts. There's a streamlined, almost art deco, form, yes, reflecting our modern society I'd think, and it's contrasted with the natural materials used in the design. The arms and legs are roots of some sort I think, the extended fingers very thing, almost straw-like twigs. Each limb is riddled with very finely tuned hinges for the maximum of maneuverability. The strings are fine cloth, or maybe metal, it's hard to tell at the touch, and the control mechanism is magnificent. The control piece is so complicated- I'd rather the design not go onto the web for to avoid people catching onto the design, so I won't photograph it until I've unraveled its secrets. Oddly, it's got a perfectly blank head. Of course, that's the standard with a teaching puppet, since it shows you to move the body for to create emotions within the figure, instead of relying on a face. I just say it's odd because it's such a well made puppet...

Okay, I'm done here, sorry for wasting your time with my rambling again.