Mall Santas: A Seasonal Rant

(I've been asked to write something for a friend, and have been told that I can write about whatever I want to. And well, um...this has been on my mind for about a month! Enjoy x)

Well, I have 350 words to make a good first impression. Here goes: Mall Santas.

What on earth is their deal? I have just spent nineteen consecutive days working as part of a small shopping plaza’s equally small Christmas campaign. I won’t tell you what I had to do exactly, but it involved glittery wings. So we stood there for three hours a day and watched countless people walk in and leave again, their trolleys brimming with cheap beer and enough Cadbury products to feed a small army. Every now and then, children would appear, as they often seem to do. Confidently, they would stride with their mothers and fathers towards the automatic sliding doors, eager to escape the sauna for the air-con's cool caress.

Much to their horror, however, they were greeted by an old man in a cherry-red suit (most inappropriate for our climate, might I add) seated on a fake gold throne next to something that was either an angel or a fairy or something potentially frightening with too much lipstick on. A curious exchange then seemed to occur between the children and Bill (I mean, Santa). First, the kid would alter their speed to about half the pace, then they'd cling to the leg of the closest available parental, hide behind their hands or hair (or both) and smile meekly in our direction before profusely declining any offer or invitation to go and sit on this stranger’s knee.

You know what? The kids have got the right idea. Who the hell even wants to participate in that? In case you are wondering, I am not so Bah Humbug about everything. But, if you were to run a survey on the number of children under the age of, say, nine, who decline their parents’ uncharacteristically stern and persistent insistence upon their meeting with someone else's rogue Grandpa, sitting on his knee and being close enough to therefore spy the elastic band of his fake beard, I think you might find the results would be enough to shut the whole operation down, globally. Alas, tradition!

Happy New Year kids, and I hope Santa was good to you!  ;)

Strings

In a vulgar exchange of thigh for mouth or lip for spine,

In the dark, it is so hard to spot the dotted "Sign Here" line.

Black ice slowly seeps through the floor and rests in my head

as I pick at the dampened seams of my dreams and sigh lies in your bed.

My breathing rattles by you as I fumble with my senses

There is no shocking list of unaccountable offenses...

But surely, something more than that.

Surely, something worse...?

Nights like this are not the kind of thing you can rehearse.

Whispered wants at the wishing well are lost to the wind this time.

The storm that's born inside you starts to rage and twist and climb.

I have no fire escape to hide on, no false-paneled wall to tap,

The strength of your elastic strain is a sign of when you'll snap.

You shackle soaring birds to feel control over their wings,

But you're as much a puppet as the fool who pulls the strings.

© Catherine Hamilton

23/09/10

A Lonely Chair

A lonely chair sits,
waiting,
just like that last step on the stair permits itself to be missed,
when children, too eager for the ground, bound forward
toward the back-porch door.
It does not creak as they squeal and squeak, mid-leap, above it.
Nor will the nearby chair, still waiting, make a single sound in protest.
The light makes fun of it's wooden frame,
the same way rain will tease the breeze that Mother prayed for.
"Washing's on the line," she'd whine, and straight away look sunward for the time.
The bitter cloud that spits upon her linen, white and useful,
also shifts to pass the pane the window's used for,
casting shadows on that grateful wooden chair,
bare, but crafted with more care than Grandpa's ever dared to share.
The children tag and chase, excitement stained upon each face;
no rain could ever wash these games of war or space exploring
clean from youth's eager embrace.
Each drop falls harder now and these trees provide no shelter
as plans of lands to conquer tumble down, all helter-skelter.
Ah, but now Father's here
and tricks and dares are quickly quashed in fear
Like ants we squash without a care.
Forgotten is the joy that sprung before
as little feet trudge wet across the floor.
Marching up that lonely bottom stair
to where, no doubt, a shower's been prepared
so as to wash the leaves and twigs and tangles from their hair.
One floor below, Mother sighs and rests back
in her lonely wooden chair,
The one her Pa made,
but never quite finished it's pair.

Q&A:

What is time?

What is the sun?

What are seasons?

What is in space?

How big is space?

What is beyond the end of space?

Why are things, like the universe, so big?

Why are things, like germs, so small?

What is it to be human?

What is it to be inhuman?

Why is wealth relevant?

Why is poverty relevant?

Why does war exist?

Why is peace a fantasy?

Why is inequality accepted?

What is God?

Why do followers of God commit the most ungodly acts?

Why do followers of God help people that others refuse to?

Why are there so many translations of God?

Where is God?

Does God exist?

Why do people pick and choose which parts of the Bible they accept?

Why do people pick and choose which people are superior?

Would you survive in the 1600’s?

Are you gay?

Are your poor?

Are you a woman?

Are you white?

Are you an illegitmate child?

Does it matter?

Why do the stars never move?

Why is there no oxygen in space?

If there was oxygen in space, would we be able to conquer the universe?

Why doesn’t one country, if capable enough,

just blow up another one instead of warring the way they do?

What happens when we die?

What happens when we are conceived?

What happens to us when we are abused, assaulted, molested or ostracized?

What happens inside our brains?

Who created a brain?

If animals spoke as humans do, would we still own pets?

If trees had rights, would we let them grow for longer?

Why is suicide the only option for people sometimes?

Is revenge the reason we will never know Utopia?

Would inventors and pioneers of the past laugh or cry at our world today?

If you got hit by a car, or your plane crashed, or someone murdered you tomorrow,

how many people would care?

If the world ended at midnight, what would you do today?

Are you proud of who you are?

Snakes & Ladders

Life's just one big game of snakes and ladders, right?

You invest so much of yourself into pulling your weight up each rung,

only to trip up

and slide down a long, nasty, slithery python.

And it doesn't matter how many snake bites you get, 

you have to keep rolling the dice in spite of it all.

Some people shoot up more ladders, and faster than you ever could.

Some people trip on meaner snakes and slip further than you ever might.

And some people can somehow manage to avoid both.

Yesterday was another of my snakey trip-ups.

But it's people like her that help me to climb back up the ladders.

Time to roll the dice again...

And, in the words of Regina Spektor, "I'm so cool."

You'll Have To Swing It

Well, children.

The day has finally arrived.

For the first time in around four years, I am going to start blogging again.

This year has taken me on a pretty rough ride so far, but the silver lining seems to be starting to appear somewhere in my sub-conscious.

I can safely say that, at the moment, I am happy... at least, the happiest I can remember being in a very long time. I know there are two specific things in my life that have helped this happen;

• Singing (but most importantly, being lucky enough to sing with Caitlin Smith every Sunday. Somewhere in my youth & childhood, I must have done something good. Cheese!)
  
  
• My friends (I can't really go listing names because that's both inclusive and exclusive and I'm not into that) but, rest assured, you know who you are (I hope) and thank you, thank you, thank you.

This is just a little starter post because, well, you've got to start somewhere, right?

Thank you for taking the time to read :)

I (probably) love (nearly) all of you, haha.

xXx

Numb

As the tension in this room

Can no longer bounce bullets off the walls,

The windows give up with a shattered sigh.

I begin to float through the doorframe.

My eyes slowly leak over the mess we’ve made.

While one foot reluctantly follows the other,

Crystal hail sparkles beneath me in the refrigerated glow.

Slipping and sliding over these tiles,

The light cannot settle on anything.

My resolve is wearing paper-thin

As the glass cuts through my skin,

The shock of pain is beautiful and cathartic.

I crave more of it, and so take another step.

Eyes closed, breathing in sharp contractions.

This numbness is ecstasy like never before.