Noodle's World

The images on the left promted a written element, with the idea that these short stories could act as inner monologues for the subjects of the photographs. The texts are currently becoming audio overlays to video footage, as in the video's to the left.

The texts appear below.

I am terrified of sleep – of what my mind will show me given half the chance to wander. So I lay awake. That is my life.

My body is tired; my mind exhausted, but the soothing blanket of sleep evades me once more. The fear overwhelms the want, but not consciously so. On the surface I crave what others take for granted. Their given human right. I am jealous of those people. Bitter and angry. I want them to take some of the strain from me. Feel the fear as I do.

My body protests...cries out for respite. It begins to shut down and I feel its pain. My mind refuses to cope. The manager of all my emotions sets down his tools and declared himself on strike. Their free reign causes chaos. Cerebral Warfare.

But nobody see’s. This inner angst, pain and turmoil is all caged within my person. I cannot let others see. It is a weakness I cannot afford to show. I will not be defeated.

This war, I fight alone.

Each passing minute feels like diamonds being swallowed by quicksand. Desperate attempts to save these precious gems are useless. They sink into the earth and I watch in horror, only too aware of the importance of what is slipping away from me. But diamonds mean nothing to me. Time is my jewel. The jewel I will soon lose forever. My time is slipping away.

Knowing this ‘thing’ is inside me is agony. I imagine it as a dark shadow, spreading through my body and destroying all in its wake. It eats, rips and tears its way into my life source, and I feel helpless. Completely helpless.

I cannot control this beast inside of me. This venomous creature, which has stamped a sell-by-date on my soon to be lifeless carcass. A death sentence in its most literal terms.

How do I begin to accept this fate? How can the fragility of life dance in front of me like this? Mocking. Teasing. While my mind is strong – this unwilling to die – how can my body surrender itself so readily?

You may claim my body you vicious disease, but my mind will never be conquered.

And suddenly they gather. As they always do. Just when a beam of light looked set to break through, the deep, devastating rumble sounds, and I know that the darkness is creeping in again.

The repetitive nature of this should make the process easier with every instance, but in truth the agony is as exhausting and all-consuming as it ever was.

My thoughts become as clouded as the skies. My emotions as dark as this atmosphere, being swallowed by the elements.

But when the clouds become too heavy; when the pressure becomes too much, that is when the rain falls, and the relief is instant. I envy this. I envy the release. I do not get such luxuries. The pressure does not desist.

My rain does not fall.

Love. Nothing more than a punishment for those who have wronged in this, or some life past. He is the ringmaster of pain; of hurt and jealousy. He plays with our emotions. Makes us puppets in his sadistic theatre of life.

Love is obsession. Those caught in his steely grasp are driven to crimes of passion; to sheer madness in his name. He is a devil in play.

Love is heavy, dark and lonely. A malicious flame, scorching our hearts with his fiery claws. Swallowing...enveloping, until it is caged like a bird. He is wicked. A tormentor, purging itself on vulnerable souls. He laughs at his subjects, and gazes upon his work with admiration.

Love claws his way into our very beings, and once there refuses to depart. Attempts to exorcise the Valentine Demon are futile, and merely make his presence stronger.

Love’s oldest and closest companion is Hate. Ever the tricksters, they will trade places for sport, making our passion spiteful and twisted.

He is the ugliest beauty in the world.

Yet, the malevolent Cupid can pierce me with his poisoned arrows. For there is nothing more beautiful than the pain of Love.

I spin fast, in the hope that my eyes cannot process the images fast enough. In the hope that when the last note sounds, my eyes will not adjust, and the blur will continue.

I do not want to see.

I do not want to feel.

Because their eyes crawl over my body where they wish their hands could. Ever revealing, I can see what they desire, but I am not here to oblige. My trade is illusion. I am a magician of emotion; a trickster of love. I will make them believe that I care. Believe that they matter to me. But to me they are nothing more than currency. The meals on my table. The clothes on my back. This curtained alcove becomes their bedroom, in which I am there by choice, because desire has lead me there. My skin to be sliding over theirs, our very beings melting into one.

But you cannot have what you desire. I tempt, I tease, and they leave unsatisfied.

At home I can shut the door on that life. I can cleanse all memories with the hot rain of the shower, and lay my head on my pillow to visit the life where true love breeds, and happiness prevails. My dreams are my own. Their money is worthless here.

Although my body available, my dreams are not for sale.

To watch, to follow. To be watched, to be followed.

When does the subject become the obsession? Today I saw you. Something gripped me; my very being, and it dragged me with you. Where your feet fell, mine rested just seconds later. My eyes on you with a macabre fixation, unable to sever the bond. Your movements etched in my brain with every step, and my hunger for more was insatiable.

A blood lust. A desperation.

The hunted unaware of the hunter, just as nature intended. The prey, although safe for now, is sensing danger as the hunger grows. My need for you is strong. I never want to break this proximity. The urge is endless, and the want all consuming. I am scarred by your anonymity, but terrified of what I might find by immersing myself in your life. In you.

Because you are perfect. And all you do is perfect. I see you in everything my eyes fall on. Your face, more beautiful than new blossom. Your silhouette, tempting me with every contour. The contours that my hands trace constantly in my mind. I know you better than I know myself, yet my existence to you is nothing more than a chill at your spine, a slight feeling of unease.

Do not be uneasy though. Do not let the chill disturb you. Because, my dear...I love you.

You meant nothing before. There were many of you, in many places. You served your purpose. You divided; set the boundaries.

Now you are everything.

Since the floral tributes appeared after that fateful day, clinging to the lengths of your body, your job to me and many others became one of vital importance. Now your responsibility is great, for now you are a symbol of the beautiful being that lay dying at your feet. You now are the place we visit in the hope of feeling some part of the soul that now will forever rest here.

Never break. Never fall. Never mould or rot away. When frost tries to conquer you, as it does today, do not give up.

Your strength now is imperative. You are so much more now. You are him.