(in the lands before ACME)
Part eight of my ten part creative writing project, “ACME - A Tale of Woe and Waste in Realities Unconsidered”.
Part One - “An Introduction”
Part Two - “An Explanation”
Part Three - “Written in Stone”
Part Four - “Sally O’Malley”
Part Five - “The Douglas Anvil™ Shower”
Part Six - “Seasoned Immortals”
Part Seven - "The Mothers, The Fathers"
With two left to go, i’ll also give you all a sneak preview of my upcoming follow up, mini-project - “Luftmensch” :
"‘You are the universe.’ He always told me that, my grandfather, like I was the only thing that mattered to him. But I unequivocally knew that wasn’t true, even before his obsession with puzzles and games in his last two years of life. So what exactly did he mean?
Sure, he would always quote it back to me when I came to him with my latest depressions and insecurities. Of course it wouldn’t be all he’d impart but he would always end on it, like it was some over-arching truism against which I couldn’t argue. I originally imagined in my younger years that it simply meant I was the princess I always wanted to be (this delusion of pre-pubescent girls being frighteningly prevalent). It seemed to speak assuredly of the fact that the universe was mine, my kingdom.
Making me feel as if I could shape existence’s lands - both cosmic and hard beneath my tiny pair of pink jelly-shoes – it gave me confidence as a child to run into the fog of experience, hot-headed and thick skinned. For me as a little girl the phrase helped show that, despite the size of the universe and my apparent place within it, I could still hold clout. I wanted to help shape the world in which I lived. In my naivety I wanted to rule it.
Thinking about this now, it must be the most conscious and intense I’ve thought of it ever. A replaying of past unspoken insights… perhaps I’m merely trying to find some of my grandfather’s mystery still alive in the lifeless space of his death. Maybe coffee and cigarettes work as an aesthetic, but causes far too much thought for lunchtime. Back in the now, with the ruffle of an unread newspaper closing in my hands, work beckons – and the universe, with its nebulous beauty and masterful quantum brushstrokes, seems far from my office politics and adult aggravations.”