Aleatory Writing:
“Aleatory means depending on the throw of a die, and it here refers to writing (as well as to the composition of music, sculpture, and painting) achieved by some random means, by leaving things to chance or accident.” (Dictionary of Literary Terms & Literary Theory, pg. 18)
Aleatory Write #1:
Reticence
Information gets jumbled together like pick up sticks.
All of them, red, but there’s a noticeable difference: positive and negative space, creating this vision of “oneness”. Gestalt’s Theory. Upon this, knowing that what I see is not there, i pick up sticks, shaping and forming. free hand drawing, scratching and erasing, even changing directions on the page. Shaping and forming, observing and learning to be the thing i see. this vision of oneness, where there are no gaps, and the edges are in unity. © 2009 by Koren D. Madpeace
i am hiding in the bushes, watching their boots pass by. their quick steps indicative of them not sensing me or seeing me when i jumped head first, out of their vision. my face is stinging and bleeding, i’m sure, from the skinny branches of the near naked bush. i want to cry but that will make my nose run. i will sniff, and they will find me. the night’s chill rushes through my thin clothing, the strong wind cutting, adding particular sensation to the wounds on my face. a sensation in contrast to the warmth of my blood flowing, i’m sure it’s blood, because i am not crying.
the scent of cat piss suddenly sharpens in my registry, and i allow the aroma to take me some place else. to the morning, before this all happened. i began to wonder if the stray cat i fed tuna and water to had made such a stench in these bushes. quite possible. i allowed myself to see her silky black coat, her piercing green eyes, and her human like gestures of gratitude as i placed her breakfast before her. she looked into my eyes, then followed my hand, sticking out her pink tongue to barely touch my skin. she let me touch her behind the ear. that is exactly how she got me dedicated to feeding her every morning, allowing me to show affection.
their voices break into my nostalgia like a cannon. i cover my own shriek and faithfully try to make myself one dimensional in the bush, the sound getting closer...i’m hearing their soles scrub against the concrete...i am still. they’ve stopped.
“lalllal ilahla i alh al ah chka lal i ala h aalhaahac lil ahha lilahc,” one of them shouts to the others. i can’t understand a word but the sound of the tongue, the tone...sent electricity through me, i began to sweat. they are quiet. i stop breathing.
“shelaklak alkelgah lallilah,” one of them says. they walk away from the bush. i am still. not breathing. i can see their steel toe black boots, the ends of their rifles, and their pants are dark olive camouflage. they are facing me. i see the motion of the rifles taking aim and suddenly i’m dashing out of the bushes. my eye sight is ground level but i’m on my feet. i’m agile and covering ground, a steel gate is on the side of me, i dart through it and find myself curled up under a wood staircase in total darkness.
i hear them laughing. their voices are getting closer. i am still. “alka hillaha” says one. “shelak alihal” says another. they are laughing again and their voices are thinning into distance. i am going to be right here for a long time.
©2009 by Koren D. MadPeace
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