Holy hell Jonathan. This one punched me in the gut. Right out of the gates, so much energy and connection only to realize its boozy source. And your uncertainty of whether you should be present to it, or become ghost, as if it can’t harm, but then, of course you smack me with the truth of invisibility, one I know all too well myself:
“Hovering away like a ghost. It felt safer that way. But it isn’t actually safer because people without weight eventually just float away.”
And then, like a cinematographer, you zoom out so we can see the town mirroring your mother’s plight on a socio-economic scale, how keeping up appearances is exhausting futility because the world doesn’t want to open up the box, doesn’t want to know the truth.
I could go on. I will return to this piece and undoubtedly discover new layers and meaning each time.
So sorry for my late reply Kimberley, been off grid :) and thanks so much for your spot on analysis, I was thinking of a kind of archeological dig with layers supporting layers, a bit like life and the way different aspects of life always feed into each other. Thanks for the cinematography analogy too because I do think there's quite a visually element to these sorts of pieces. I really enjoyed writing this one, lot's to play with :)
An enthralling read, Jonathan. I could see it all so clearly. Families, hey. I remember arguing with my mum about something or other when I was young, taking a dig at our dysfunction, and swinging the subject to how wonderful my friend's parents were, all the cool stuff they did for their kids, and what a happy family they were. Mum paused and looked me straight in the eye and said 'Well, that's not normal. There's something wrong there'. Oh how she gloated when my friend's parents separated a few months later!
That constant feeling of hyper vigilance when you don’t know who you will find! Very beautifully written Jonathan! Another example of your wonderful writing taking the reader through the eyes of young man struggling with his own version of normality.
Great analogy with Schrodinger's cat - you never knew what to expect when walking through the door, although you were always braced for it. I wonder if Pavlov's dog used to chase Shrodinger's cat? Really well written, I like the shift in tone. xx
Thanks pal, just playing with tones and shades. And yeah, the being on low alert is a challenging part of dysfunction. Although I guess one learns to read the world, which is always a gift.
As for poor Pavlov's dog, I reckon he didn't want to to chase Schrödinger's cat, he just couldn't help himself! Ba da boom. (I'm here all week ;)
I can hope this is creative invention but maybe not. All very recognizable and I know that cat too although he's hard to spot. Since this sort of profound disfunction is of the close-to-home variety it's tough to read. Good job.
Sorry for the late reply Weston, and thanks, that small word "recognisable" is so powerful when it comes to writing, I so want things to reverberate, so thanks pal :) As far as creative invention, I'm beginning to wonder if the categories fiction/non-fiction are themselves a fiction. Seems to me nothing is fiction and yet everything is made up!
Yeah, what fabric are we working with here since we can't create from nothing we are are casting out versions of ourselves and hoping for some recognition, as in, "Hey, I know you and I believe I know this pain as well." These are comforting things.
This is so well-written, Jonathan—incisively capturing the dysfunctional rhythm of both family and collective life. Your section about what love is seems almost biblical, perhaps echoing I Corinthians in a most beautiful manner. The impressions/memories from which this writing is drawn must have been very strong, closely observed, and deep. And it flows beautifully.
That great to hear Paul, the "well-written" is a soothing balm :) I love the "love" bit too, the speeding up and flow of the words, the long sentences and rhythm. Really appreciate you kind words here pal :)
Family fragrance of chicken hash smoked wings with wine. Run away to find that love is still there when you return home. Open the door. Mom’s okay for today. The cats alive and what’shisname stashed money in a purse. Most tasty read in the o’clock hours to relax me back to sleep. Reality sneaks like an envelope shoved under the he door. A good message or not? Don’t know until it’s open. Choices . Curiosity killed the cat. But reading your story is satisfaction and I’m brought back to life with a purr - fect feeling that all is right in the world.
I've got to say I love your comments Richard. Not just on my posts but your comments others
Stacks too. Always sharp and poetic and thoughtful and I don't know, just great.
Thank yo for this one too. Glad you read and settled back to bed feeling hopeful (there is a lot of warmth and hope wrapped in the agony of life here :)
Not quite back to sleep. Insomnia with a phone light that keeps me curious who’s writing what. I do appreciate your recognition and I feel if you read some one’s life blood spilled on a page; they deserve a thoughtful response,
The banter and camaraderie between the drugged fumes of a dysfunctional family, I feel like a bystander, an extra in a movie with no speaking part... this is brutal and tender all at once - another great piece of writing Jonathan!
Brutal and tender, that's an excellent description of so much. Thanks Susie, I'm quite pleased with the intimacy of this one anyway. Lot's going on. This writing thing is quite fun ;)
In response , I find myself writing something completely different today. You did too. Sometimes the beauty of a sentence or thought , can stop me in my tracks. Reading it over again, words become three dimensional , almost leaping off the page. I stop in awe. Each wonderfully brilliant line is a story within the story. Really ,I want to highlight paragraphs, the entire story . In honor of your art of story crafting , I’m pressing ‘Play’ so you can take a moment to enjoy your own work, from my perspective.
“I said nothing, entranced, caught like an intruder in a flashlight beam, unwilling to break the spell.”
“Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn, Trying to find a woman who's never, never, never been born, Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.”
“But it isn’t actually safer because people without weight eventually just float away.”
“As if brotherliness were measured by the extent of your mutual shame.”
“In this town I’m not me. In this town I’m just one of Them.”
“So I hovered around haunting life as an uneasy phantom with the twitchiness of prey…”
“…and I know the only reason you actually get out of the hole is because love clambered down there with you and got all covered in dark earth and still shone like a full moon in October.”
“…because she’d rather break me than look into herself.”
And then the entire last paragraph. Well done Jonathan!
Thanks so mush Lor, a mirror is sometimes the perfect reflection :)
I'm so glad you notice these craftings, and I know what you mean exactly, how a sentence can take on a life of its own. I love those little pulsating pieces of life.
I'd love to take credit for this one .- “Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn, Trying to find a woman who's never, never, never been born, Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.” - but it belongs to the lyrics of Led Zepplin (here's a cover I love -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEcoxUZnsMc ) The rest though I'll happily claim :)
Holy hell Jonathan. This one punched me in the gut. Right out of the gates, so much energy and connection only to realize its boozy source. And your uncertainty of whether you should be present to it, or become ghost, as if it can’t harm, but then, of course you smack me with the truth of invisibility, one I know all too well myself:
“Hovering away like a ghost. It felt safer that way. But it isn’t actually safer because people without weight eventually just float away.”
And then, like a cinematographer, you zoom out so we can see the town mirroring your mother’s plight on a socio-economic scale, how keeping up appearances is exhausting futility because the world doesn’t want to open up the box, doesn’t want to know the truth.
I could go on. I will return to this piece and undoubtedly discover new layers and meaning each time.
So sorry for my late reply Kimberley, been off grid :) and thanks so much for your spot on analysis, I was thinking of a kind of archeological dig with layers supporting layers, a bit like life and the way different aspects of life always feed into each other. Thanks for the cinematography analogy too because I do think there's quite a visually element to these sorts of pieces. I really enjoyed writing this one, lot's to play with :)
I know, incredible!
🙏🏽
An enthralling read, Jonathan. I could see it all so clearly. Families, hey. I remember arguing with my mum about something or other when I was young, taking a dig at our dysfunction, and swinging the subject to how wonderful my friend's parents were, all the cool stuff they did for their kids, and what a happy family they were. Mum paused and looked me straight in the eye and said 'Well, that's not normal. There's something wrong there'. Oh how she gloated when my friend's parents separated a few months later!
Ha ha I love that story, see what I mean, they keep the bloodlust behind closed doors!
So had you say “I could see it all.” That’s music to my ears 🎉
That constant feeling of hyper vigilance when you don’t know who you will find! Very beautifully written Jonathan! Another example of your wonderful writing taking the reader through the eyes of young man struggling with his own version of normality.
Thanks you Emma, I really appreciate your astute reading of this one. I love the idea of leading a reader along. Nice.
Great analogy with Schrodinger's cat - you never knew what to expect when walking through the door, although you were always braced for it. I wonder if Pavlov's dog used to chase Shrodinger's cat? Really well written, I like the shift in tone. xx
Thanks pal, just playing with tones and shades. And yeah, the being on low alert is a challenging part of dysfunction. Although I guess one learns to read the world, which is always a gift.
As for poor Pavlov's dog, I reckon he didn't want to to chase Schrödinger's cat, he just couldn't help himself! Ba da boom. (I'm here all week ;)
Beautiful, I could picture this so clearly, brilliantly written mate!! My nerves have not yet settled.
And thanks :)
Take it easy there mate, have a lie down :)
I can hope this is creative invention but maybe not. All very recognizable and I know that cat too although he's hard to spot. Since this sort of profound disfunction is of the close-to-home variety it's tough to read. Good job.
Sorry for the late reply Weston, and thanks, that small word "recognisable" is so powerful when it comes to writing, I so want things to reverberate, so thanks pal :) As far as creative invention, I'm beginning to wonder if the categories fiction/non-fiction are themselves a fiction. Seems to me nothing is fiction and yet everything is made up!
Yeah, what fabric are we working with here since we can't create from nothing we are are casting out versions of ourselves and hoping for some recognition, as in, "Hey, I know you and I believe I know this pain as well." These are comforting things.
Exactly. Comfort in shared recognition is secret sauce of writing/reading :)
This is so well-written, Jonathan—incisively capturing the dysfunctional rhythm of both family and collective life. Your section about what love is seems almost biblical, perhaps echoing I Corinthians in a most beautiful manner. The impressions/memories from which this writing is drawn must have been very strong, closely observed, and deep. And it flows beautifully.
That great to hear Paul, the "well-written" is a soothing balm :) I love the "love" bit too, the speeding up and flow of the words, the long sentences and rhythm. Really appreciate you kind words here pal :)
Apologies for the late reply too Paul, been away from the computer, always a good thing :)
Love how this moves from punchy, micro dialogue to expansive social commentary Jonathan. The rich characters— real and raw.
So well evoked to second life in this compelling piece.
Me too, I love the close up then wide angels shots almost :) Thanks so much Síodhna 🙏🏽 sorry for the long wait for a reply, been off grid a bit :)
Yes, that's it. And that astute social commentary. On the fumes of the last post. Beautifully done.
Off grid is good and needed. Enjoy this day Jonathan.
Told you this would be my favourite yet.
I'd like to think that the smell of roast chicken is keeping the "cat" alive in there, somehow.
Such a good smell :)
So glad you liked this one Sha, it's slightly different but still works I reckon :)
Oh it works!
Family fragrance of chicken hash smoked wings with wine. Run away to find that love is still there when you return home. Open the door. Mom’s okay for today. The cats alive and what’shisname stashed money in a purse. Most tasty read in the o’clock hours to relax me back to sleep. Reality sneaks like an envelope shoved under the he door. A good message or not? Don’t know until it’s open. Choices . Curiosity killed the cat. But reading your story is satisfaction and I’m brought back to life with a purr - fect feeling that all is right in the world.
I've got to say I love your comments Richard. Not just on my posts but your comments others
Stacks too. Always sharp and poetic and thoughtful and I don't know, just great.
Thank yo for this one too. Glad you read and settled back to bed feeling hopeful (there is a lot of warmth and hope wrapped in the agony of life here :)
Not quite back to sleep. Insomnia with a phone light that keeps me curious who’s writing what. I do appreciate your recognition and I feel if you read some one’s life blood spilled on a page; they deserve a thoughtful response,
One’s life blood, spilled on a page ..
The banter and camaraderie between the drugged fumes of a dysfunctional family, I feel like a bystander, an extra in a movie with no speaking part... this is brutal and tender all at once - another great piece of writing Jonathan!
Brutal and tender, that's an excellent description of so much. Thanks Susie, I'm quite pleased with the intimacy of this one anyway. Lot's going on. This writing thing is quite fun ;)
These are my kind of people. I love them. I love this piece. It capture home and social interaction perfectly. Great writing.
I really appreciate your saying that, thanks so much, Kevin :)
Captures*
Perfectly!
I too talk about Schrödinger's cat in _Who by Fire_!
He's a popular guy :)
Cute 🤣
In response , I find myself writing something completely different today. You did too. Sometimes the beauty of a sentence or thought , can stop me in my tracks. Reading it over again, words become three dimensional , almost leaping off the page. I stop in awe. Each wonderfully brilliant line is a story within the story. Really ,I want to highlight paragraphs, the entire story . In honor of your art of story crafting , I’m pressing ‘Play’ so you can take a moment to enjoy your own work, from my perspective.
“I said nothing, entranced, caught like an intruder in a flashlight beam, unwilling to break the spell.”
“Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn, Trying to find a woman who's never, never, never been born, Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.”
“But it isn’t actually safer because people without weight eventually just float away.”
“As if brotherliness were measured by the extent of your mutual shame.”
“In this town I’m not me. In this town I’m just one of Them.”
“So I hovered around haunting life as an uneasy phantom with the twitchiness of prey…”
“…and I know the only reason you actually get out of the hole is because love clambered down there with you and got all covered in dark earth and still shone like a full moon in October.”
“…because she’d rather break me than look into herself.”
And then the entire last paragraph. Well done Jonathan!
Thanks so mush Lor, a mirror is sometimes the perfect reflection :)
I'm so glad you notice these craftings, and I know what you mean exactly, how a sentence can take on a life of its own. I love those little pulsating pieces of life.
I'd love to take credit for this one .- “Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn, Trying to find a woman who's never, never, never been born, Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.” - but it belongs to the lyrics of Led Zepplin (here's a cover I love -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEcoxUZnsMc ) The rest though I'll happily claim :)
Hold your anchor, kid.
Two hands, feet on the ground :)
And one more thing...
This is superbly written. This plays in my head like a movie.
(two things, actually :)
Love that. Superbly written she says. Thanks :)