United States

Ridiculously self- pressured, hopelessly (and unsuccessfully) in love for three years, and scared to write the things that matter. And that’s me on a good day . Good luck.

Message from Writer

“Here’s some advice- stay alive.” Haymitch Abernathy
“I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if ... But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”- Marilyn Monroe
“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.”- Coco Chanel

Watercolors Fade

May 22, 2021


Watercolors swirl around me, as I watch them sing and dance. They have learnt more than I, their creator, could have dreamed was possible, but they are still not ready. Not yet. 

I lay awake in my studio at night sometimes, watching the swoops and swirls on my bedroom ceiling. They play with me, those archaic dots, morphing into creatures unimaginable by day, but somehow right by night. Like when you love your mother’s comfort food, but it doesn’t taste right eating it out of a microwaveable pouch. Even if that’s where she got it from. Irrational but perfectly justified, as it involves evoking feelings, which is always easier to do when the circumstances are mimicked. I show it in my art, when I paint what I know, and I show it in my life, as I relive the past years of my life. It may seem strange to an outsider, but luckily, I have always enjoyed my solitude. Pursuing art is the perfect occupation for a bygone man like myself, lonely- but happy in his loneliness. In a world dominated by machines and productivity and endless consumer appeal, I find sanctuary in my small abode, with Wacky Wally comic book pictures on the walls and lava lamps on my bed, testament to my brief stunt with psychedelics. Ahh, those were the good ol’ times. 

It’s harder to find relief now, when before it came in a brightly marked can with a dinosaur shooting fireworks out of his mouth, and now is offered to me in nothing but paint and colored water. Escaping to my secret place is becoming more and more rare, and on the times I do get there, I spend more time observing my surrounding, trying to memorize every reflection off the waves, every grain of sand’s changing colors. No matter how much my mind changes, with my mood shifts (No, I will not be assigned for mood displacement serum, you bloody monitor! *Input deleted due to relevance and profanity*) and my lapses in judgement, this part of my hidden world is always the same. A beach, with starfish and bubbles and twinkling sand that glistens like stars with glass, all perforated by a shiny mist that sends me into ecstasy. I am lucky that I received a secret place, although the government calls it a “Mind Alcove,” I try to weed out all of that propaganda and enjoy it as much as I can; after all, this is my ideal paradise. The government may have created the brainwave technology that allows this to materialize, but I make it my own, and when I am here, this is the only blank space in the entire land of Amendum, a clean space where 
I can live and laugh and love myself without my thoughts monitored or altered. 

That’s not to say it’s all frolicking and rainbows. My thoughts are reflected in my mirage world, and often, just as I am about to bite into a luscious coconut I’m pulled away, back into this lonely life, with its powdery whitewashed walls that I’m not allowed to paint on, and food that comes in tinfoil packets, meant to be dissolved in water and consumed every twelve hours. Amendum is the realest, most vivid part of my day, and I look forward to it, even as my visits become shorter and my mind foggier. I feel that it’ll be taken away soon, the mechanics to make it that is, not my imagination. Probably passed on to some younger artist who creates “acceptable” works more frequently than I do, works that the government can use as propaganda. I hesitate to call such rubble art, as it doesn’t make the viewers feel anything besides lacksadaical peace and emptiness. It’s anti- art, meant to force people into submission, and while I will do it, if only to keep my solitude in my small corner of the sky,  I tremble to think of the effects is has on the children (But are they really children? More like mechanical toys and puppets to be ground up and spit out in the means of productivity...*Alert= must be deleted upon re-entry, or citation for sedition will be sent.*** Submission deleted at 1:19:85.) of this new world. 

I remember when I was a young artist, just setting out in the world, not assigned a vocation, but instead choosing to take a “gap year.” Such things are forgotten now, and if brought up they are only whispered about in hushed tones; the government doesn’t want to seem like it ever allowed people the right to choose. In their words, it wouldn’t be fair to the people of the present to be aggravated, and the past should remain cubby-holed away. In the government’s eyes, it is a fuzzy Cola gone flat, still sweet, but muted and funny- tasting after too many sips. I understand why they did it, to ease us out of war and conflict, and bring about an illusion of idealistic paradise, but this isn’t paradise. People still suffer and do mundane jobs that no one else wants to do, only they do them willingly because they don’t know any better this is their idea of peace. My old head hurts, when I remember the worst part of it all, that I wanted this at one time, a hotheaded Anarchist with plans for the perfect world. Hah. I scoff at myself now, because with the naivety washed away and hands gnarled prematurely from work done too quickly and too soon, I was a child put in charge of changing the world. I know better, I know how to stay the tide after inserting a rudder that should not have been used, but by now it is too late. The ripples in the watery eyes of time cannot be undone, and now I rest in peaceful oblivion, content to watch the world destroy itself in its own way. It is the only way, and while I often look back fondly on my revolutionary spirit and rush I received for my efforts, I am not foolhardy enough to enter back into the fray. No, I am a retired radical, too old to fight for change in a clearly fallible system that I designed, too tired to help those that I brainwash with my work. 

My only redeeming quality is my lack of pride, which I am content to say my arrogance has never ceased to interfere with.
    People are so quick to judge the system that enslaves them. But they fail to understand why they are enslaved. People are the government. And the government is the people. Any dictatorship we consign ourselves to is our own doing. And my revolutionary spirit never took that into consideration, as millions after me will fail to do. Now, I paint landscapes and propaganda. I am the government’s pet painter. (***But watercolors fade. Remember that. And remember me.*** 10.002. 2023 Submission deleted and User 2390432 terminated. Reassignment eminent.)


See History
  • May 22, 2021 - 8:44pm (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.