Writingpoetry

[ Join Free! ]
(No Spam mail)

dotsdots
nav
  • RolePlay
  • Join Us
  • Writings
  • Shoutbox
  • Community
  • Digg Mashup
  • Mp3 Search
  • Online Education
  • My Youtube
  • Ear Training
  • Funny Pics
  • nav



    nav
  • Role Play
  • Piano Music
  • Free Videos
  • Web 2.0
  • nav



    << | >>
    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Andre Vaerinidots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Myopic
    Elite Ratio:    2.31 - 31/58/63
    Words: 730
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 909
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3967



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsAndre Vaerinidots
    -------------------------------------------


    I was sitting, staring, at this painting in my living room. It’s leaned against east side of the room, to the left of a large sliding glass door with light brown curtains that are all around my childhood house. They are usually unkempt, dusty, and look like an opaque portal into the seventies. The painting is about 3 feet tall and 2 feet wide, is pretty minimal, and is in very solid shades of blue, white, and forest green, with hard black outlines. It was the side view of a very important looking woman who looked something like an Egyptian queen, goddess, or something, sitting, facing to the left. Her shapes and colors looked very geometrical and almost crude. The solid blue shades hugged her face and body, giving them the look of war paint, but looked more like something being silhouetted by the blue morning sun that was making a shadow on her face and body, creating strange shapes. It contrasted well with her ghostly, surreal face. Her eyes were wide open and her hair streamed down in a straight bundle. She was wearing some article of clothing that gave the impression that she was wearing something with a lot of cloth, but it looked very inexplicable and surreal with the “shadow”.

    My Uncle, Andre Vaerini, painted this for my dad about 2 years ago - in the winter of two thousand and three. He was a very experienced painter who liked cubism, albeit he not very famous at all. He left a note with it that said something along the lines of, “Sorry I couldn’t catch you. I painted this for you. I want you to know that I am sober.”

    My Dad was at work; I came home from school and found it leaning on the weathered bench outside of my front door. I took it inside quickly. I never saw any reaction from my dad. Andre lived in Los Angeles about an hour away in a humid, bustling city.
    Lived.
    My uncle struggled a great portion of his life with drugs, alcohol and women. He was an alcoholic, divorced two times, broken hearted, lonely, and had hepatitis in the last moments of his life.

    I noticed my dad standing still behind me in the corner of my eye. His smell wafted over to me.

    “Do you miss him?” he said
    “Yeah. Yeah I do. Our whole family exiled him for being who he was. He was married and divorced and married and divorced to so many things, he must have felt so alone and hopeless. I was too young to do anything but notice and learn, before he died. I think he was a beautiful person, Dad. A beautiful person who got crushed under social obligation and addiction.”

    He was still, silent.

    “Is it strange or scary that he reminds me of me so much? How neurotic, yet silly he was. You could tell there was something under him. He carried himself so sloppily, like there was something else he cared about much more. He was lazy – God was he lazy. Me turning up like he did is definitely possible and honestly I would rather come out like him than like those successful bastards that exiled him from our family.”
    I stood up and turned around – looked directly at him. There was a light tear in his eye. He had never shown any real emotion for Andre being dead. Both of his brothers are dead and he is all alone, now. I bet he feels a little bit like him and misses him as much as I do. He came over to me, took my head in his hand and hugged me close and intimate.
    “I love you, Jon Paul. Let me make you dinner.”
    Tears in my eyes, I smiled and agreed. I had never seen my dad show emotion like that. He had always been the silent, brooding one. In the past, I have been sincerely afraid of him exploding some day. That night, we ate and talked about small things that mean so much to an American father, as his son politely listens, interested, interjecting every now and then. There was emotion and it was palpable in the air, in the food bursting with flavor, chemicals in our head, and it tasted– it tasted good.




    Submitted on 2007-07-14 15:15:26     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      i am seriously impressed. i can see why Lackie liked it so much. it could be a book. a really good book that even i would read (not a big reader). anyway this was an incredible write. unfortunately, i will never be deep enough to talk about another's work in such a passionate way as Lacrimosa, but this was brilliant. really.
    | Posted on 2007-07-15 00:00:00 | by freddybuzzkill | [ Reply to This ]
      Have you ever read one of those stories where the content is so deep that it almost loses its meaning and is there because it's... there?

    I haven't. But this one is really, really close to that sort of story. Ten centimeters more. Favorite, mein fruer. I salute you.
    | Posted on 2007-07-14 00:00:00 | by Lacrimosa | [ Reply to This ]


    Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

    1. Be honest.
    2. Try not to give only compliments.
    3. How did it make you feel?
    4. Why did it make you feel that way?
    5. Which parts?
    6. What distracted from the piece?
    7. What was unclear?
    8. What does it remind you of?
    9. How could it be improved?
    10. What would you have done differently?
    11. What was your interpretation of it?
    12. Does it feel original?



    146696

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Day 6 written by TheStillSilence
    going,,,"Skin." written by teika5
    None the Wiser written by endlessgame23
    FamiliarDemons ©™ written by kyserin
    Not the Devil, but the Wind written by endlessgame23
    Adoration written by TheStillSilence
    Florida's Autumn Solstice written by closetpoet
    Twin Intercept written by Daniel Barlow
    Delicious Stews written by elephantasia
    no sky on the other side written by teika5
    Things They (Don't) Say written by TheStillSilence
    Mystery Read written by kyserin
    The World written by jjd
    Johnny's Cock written by endlessgame23
    Relentless. The Visceral Fracture. written by Daniel Barlow
    Dream written by closetpoet
    Loop-di-Loop written by endlessgame23
    Honeymoon written by TheStillSilence
    Compartments written by TheStillSilence
    Untitled written by Daniel Barlow
    The Human Harmonic written by Daniel Barlow
    Beauty Rest written by jackz
    Ciggarettes written by Poetic_tragedy6
    Coversheets written by TheStillSilence
    Day 5 written by TheStillSilence
    In a Corner written by jeniecel
    Across the bed written by expiring_touch
    Keep written by TheStillSilence
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth written by endlessgame23
    A Sense Of Things written by Daniel Barlow

    Google
     


    poetry

    dotsLogindots

    User Name:

    Password:

    [ Quick Signup ]
    [ Lost Password ]


    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

    I have 14,000+ Subscribers on Youtube. See my Video Tutorials

    [ Angst Poetry ]
    [ Cutters ]
    [ Famous Poetry ]
    [ Poetry Scams ]



    FontSize:
    [ Smaller ] [ Bigger ]
     Poetry