My piece is based on a short story of mine that came out with the most morbid of tones. It talked about a man who found no joy in life whatsoever. All starting with his father's death and his mother's apathy towards his being and his future. He develops a rather destructive and lonesome lifestyle. It continued until he failed to find joy in anything. This story circled my head because some of this character's thoughts are similar to mine. So the 'point' was the acceptance of one's mortality but also how to deal with it. Not just rolling over in one's bed and falling into one's coffin but living life while we have it.My poem is in the form of 'lines' running down my cheek. There are two reasons for this. One, I couldn't get my face to look right (:p) and two most people cry because of death, either because they're frightened of it or because it came to someone they held dear.
Poem:
If I bothered showing you the rotten side of the fruit
you wouldn't bite it.
If you told me she was a good catch at least for the night
I wouldn't hear you.
If she pulled the curtains to cover the splotch on the wall
you wouldn't see it.
If he held his heart and confessed sincere feelings
you wouldn't care.
If I pulled my hair back to show you my face
you wouldn't see it.
Next to the poem was the one of my favorite quotes from Capote:
"Life is like a moderately good play with a badly written third act"
This quote served as inspiration for the short story this piece is based on.
My eyes/hair/shirt are made up of the words "he" "puzzle" "skin" "box"
because those words spell out the main idea of the story. The background is all one paragraph from the story.
Paragraph:
His skin would open up like a puzzle box and give way to dead nerve bundles,and then the gleaming finality of the skull. It wasn’t the concept of that sightless dark that troubled him so, nor that of being buried and degrading along with the days, but rather the notion of substance without sensation. The thought of death moved him very little, except for this one fact, and yet it was as silent an idea to him as the consistency of cracked concrete.
The character in this chosen scene is making love to one of his many lovers and in the middle of orgasm the thought of death comes to him and he tries to imagine what it would be like not to feel. To be numb. To be dead. People tend to avoid unpleasant things/situations. The way my character avoided such situations was by making love to sometimes complete strangers but always the thought of death came to him and he always ended up trying to imagine what it would be like. The poem describes people avoiding "unpleasant" things whether a dirty spot, undesired love, rotting life, jealousy, or a crying face.
