Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Brrriiinnnggggggg. Brrriiinnngggggg.
Thhp, thhp, thhp. Creeeaaak. Kshhhhhhhh.
Vwoommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Shhhh-shh-shhh-shhh. Vwahhhhhhhhh!!!
Tip, clunk. Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Rooommmmmm. Clunk. Tip.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Jingle.
Woosh, creeeak.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!
Bang, bang, bang. Eek! Crash.
Oh shi--Woah!!! Bang, bang bang.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrkrrrrrrrrkrrrrrrr.
ba-ba. ya-ya. Aglalala.
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Clunk.
Uh oh.
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ssshhhhppplllaaasshhhhh!!
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Clunk.
Uh oh.
Ka-shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. ssshhhhppplllaaasshhhhh!!
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!
Thunk. Bang bang bang bang.
Tip, tip, tip. Fwump, fwump, fwump.
Boom! Bang! Blam!
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
Creeeaaaakkkkkkkkkkk.
Whaaaa!! Whaaaa! Whaaaaa!
Kuhthunk, kuthunk.
Creeeeaaaakkkkkkkkk.
Woosh, creeeak.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Jingle.
Rooommmmmm. Clunk. Tip.
Tip, clunk. Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Ahhhh.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Laughing Out Loud with Nescafe
Browsing Craig's List and drinking Nescafe coffee, I find myself laughing hysterically, well silently really, at the job offerings in Rhode Island for writers and finding myself clicking on Sex Writer's Needed.
I suppose this should tell me something about my persona.
Also, Bridget Jones' Diary; still an epic movie even on VHS.
I suppose this should tell me something about my persona.
Also, Bridget Jones' Diary; still an epic movie even on VHS.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Childhood Memories
I recently purchased Disney's Gargoyles on DvD. For a while I had season two volume one and was unable to find the first season. Today my luck proved its worth. The first season is currently playing on the DvD player in my computer as I type this and I have a need to find the rest of the series. Unfortunately, VHS proves kind of useless in a world of high tech divises.
Man, I wish I was a child again.
Man, I wish I was a child again.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Adolescent Kingdom
Teenagers have to be the most miserable creatures in the human race. From ages thirteen to nineteen, all people are stuck in a sort of limbo. The kind that has a light at the end of the tunnel but enjoys teasing you with the freedom that it promises. Trying to figure out what is wrong with them, the teenager goes through a series of trials and tribulations in which they discover where exactly it is they belong.
Now, most of the American population believes there are main categories with multiple sub-categories that filter into them. That isn’t true. There are three, yes just three, categories: The Morons, the Intellects and the Everybodies.
The Morons are the popular ones among the Teenage Kingdom. They, meaning their parents, have so much money that they do not know what to do with it. Instead of putting that cash towards something productive, it is spent on drugs. Yet, shh, mother and father don’t know that. Quite lovely.
The kicker with these folks is that they travel in packs. Sort of like a group of deranged wolves that are mostly bark with a hint of bite. For the most part, the Intellects manage to stay away from the Morons while the Everybodies continue on with their days. Yet, despite the efforts of both the Intellects and the Everybodies, the Morons seem to bristle when they pass. In the end, the Moron’s greatest threat is ‘Don’t make me kick your ass.’ Loosely translated this means, ‘If I’m not feeling lazy, I’ll get you.’ The males of the Pack in a way to display their dominance mostly use that threat.
Now the females use a different threat to keep others in line. ‘We’re gonna bury you’ translates to ‘We’re going to bury you, bitch.’ The female is the more aggressive of the Morons. Usually, if the warning has been administered, it is immediately followed up and through. The threat is given to females that pose some sort of danger to the ranking within the pack. Especially if the new female will join the pack as the Alpha male’s new mate. Once the newcomer has entered the circle, the older females will put her through various tests, and, unfortunately, unless she proves herself a vicious bitch, she will more than likely fail the trials.
Meanwhile, from the sidelines, the Intellects observe the Morons while the Everybodies quietly snicker at their displays of dominance.
We come to the Intellects now. Some are easier to spot than others due to their appearance. The common Intellect is seen to wear faded, hand me down jeans, or khakis depending, along with a black tee shirt. The standard logo on the shirt is normally a Star Wars, Star Trek or fantasy artwork of some kind.
The skin tone and the quality of the flesh itself would be considered poor. Caked with crevices and boils, most commonly known as the dreaded acne, the crowning feature seen on an Intellect is the spectacles. Not only do the glasses enable the Intellect to see their surroundings, and supply a perfect bull’s eye for the male Morons to hit, but they accent that oh so lovely Romanesque nose. Either way, the spectacles indicate the Intellect’s ranking amongst their own. The thinner the frame, the higher the ranking.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, these Intellects are actually the Elite among the human race. Deep within the bowels of the Tech room of the auditorium, they come together as one and converse of the greatness in which they have achieved that day. Most of the knowledge they exchange pertains to the maneuvers of the mathematical equation of the Chessboard, or the desire for a certain female that they have laid their eyes on.
Unfortunately for the Intellect, their greatness will not be seen until after their teenage years. Once they progress from the larva stage to the pupa phase of life, the Intellect will be seen as the hottest thing since sliced bread. Females will flock to them and strike up conversation as they sputter responses. Once they hit the final phase of their growth, the adult phase, the Intellect has now become the object of the female’s desire. A thing much wanted among the Elite at the larva phase. Smart, funny and charming the Intellect is now the crème de la crème of he human society. Not only would they make excellent partners, but also they would be the ones who discover how to run a computer on solar energy.
Here we come to the Everybodies. Usually of a more relaxed nature, the title Everybodies implicates exactly who they are. They are within both groups but part of none. They float between the Morons and the Intellects as if they were ocean currents, leaves on the wind or something equally spiritual. As a people, Everybodies observe the world around them with an open mind, willing to try new experiments and experiences. That, or they are content with what they are currently involved in. For the most part, the involvement is something along the artistic side of life. If one is ever looking to locate Everybodies, one need not look far. They can be found sitting on the ground reading Shakespeare, enjoying a quiet game of chess with an Intellect or even seen discussing hunting tactics with the Alpha female of the Morons.
Needless to say, the Everybodies are everywhere.
All one has to do is look in the mirror.
Now, most of the American population believes there are main categories with multiple sub-categories that filter into them. That isn’t true. There are three, yes just three, categories: The Morons, the Intellects and the Everybodies.
The Morons are the popular ones among the Teenage Kingdom. They, meaning their parents, have so much money that they do not know what to do with it. Instead of putting that cash towards something productive, it is spent on drugs. Yet, shh, mother and father don’t know that. Quite lovely.
The kicker with these folks is that they travel in packs. Sort of like a group of deranged wolves that are mostly bark with a hint of bite. For the most part, the Intellects manage to stay away from the Morons while the Everybodies continue on with their days. Yet, despite the efforts of both the Intellects and the Everybodies, the Morons seem to bristle when they pass. In the end, the Moron’s greatest threat is ‘Don’t make me kick your ass.’ Loosely translated this means, ‘If I’m not feeling lazy, I’ll get you.’ The males of the Pack in a way to display their dominance mostly use that threat.
Now the females use a different threat to keep others in line. ‘We’re gonna bury you’ translates to ‘We’re going to bury you, bitch.’ The female is the more aggressive of the Morons. Usually, if the warning has been administered, it is immediately followed up and through. The threat is given to females that pose some sort of danger to the ranking within the pack. Especially if the new female will join the pack as the Alpha male’s new mate. Once the newcomer has entered the circle, the older females will put her through various tests, and, unfortunately, unless she proves herself a vicious bitch, she will more than likely fail the trials.
Meanwhile, from the sidelines, the Intellects observe the Morons while the Everybodies quietly snicker at their displays of dominance.
We come to the Intellects now. Some are easier to spot than others due to their appearance. The common Intellect is seen to wear faded, hand me down jeans, or khakis depending, along with a black tee shirt. The standard logo on the shirt is normally a Star Wars, Star Trek or fantasy artwork of some kind.
The skin tone and the quality of the flesh itself would be considered poor. Caked with crevices and boils, most commonly known as the dreaded acne, the crowning feature seen on an Intellect is the spectacles. Not only do the glasses enable the Intellect to see their surroundings, and supply a perfect bull’s eye for the male Morons to hit, but they accent that oh so lovely Romanesque nose. Either way, the spectacles indicate the Intellect’s ranking amongst their own. The thinner the frame, the higher the ranking.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, these Intellects are actually the Elite among the human race. Deep within the bowels of the Tech room of the auditorium, they come together as one and converse of the greatness in which they have achieved that day. Most of the knowledge they exchange pertains to the maneuvers of the mathematical equation of the Chessboard, or the desire for a certain female that they have laid their eyes on.
Unfortunately for the Intellect, their greatness will not be seen until after their teenage years. Once they progress from the larva stage to the pupa phase of life, the Intellect will be seen as the hottest thing since sliced bread. Females will flock to them and strike up conversation as they sputter responses. Once they hit the final phase of their growth, the adult phase, the Intellect has now become the object of the female’s desire. A thing much wanted among the Elite at the larva phase. Smart, funny and charming the Intellect is now the crème de la crème of he human society. Not only would they make excellent partners, but also they would be the ones who discover how to run a computer on solar energy.
Here we come to the Everybodies. Usually of a more relaxed nature, the title Everybodies implicates exactly who they are. They are within both groups but part of none. They float between the Morons and the Intellects as if they were ocean currents, leaves on the wind or something equally spiritual. As a people, Everybodies observe the world around them with an open mind, willing to try new experiments and experiences. That, or they are content with what they are currently involved in. For the most part, the involvement is something along the artistic side of life. If one is ever looking to locate Everybodies, one need not look far. They can be found sitting on the ground reading Shakespeare, enjoying a quiet game of chess with an Intellect or even seen discussing hunting tactics with the Alpha female of the Morons.
Needless to say, the Everybodies are everywhere.
All one has to do is look in the mirror.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Naked
“I don’t know.”
Those were the last words I heard behind my sister’s closed garage door while I slipped my flip-flops on. I knew what they were talking about. She asked about the guy he was referring to. My cousin replied with an honest answer. He didn’t know. In fact, no one knows, except perhaps my mother, who uses her mother senses to figure this shit out.
There is no secrecy in a family such as mine. We are Greek, born and bred from a proud race of intellects that some how got pushed to the back burner and get scoffed at for being full blooded. That’s inbreeding. I want to ram my head through a glass door every time I hear someone say that.
Being Greek means you have to know everything. There isn’t a time when I go somewhere when my mama asks as to what I was doing or who I saw. She can never ask me, “how was your night?” and leave it at that. She has to know what I was doing, who I was doing it with and what were they wearing at the time of whatever it was we were doing to begin with. You really wore those shoes? I half expect the woman to cross herself. If you go out without saying anything to begin with…well lets just say I hope whatever god you believe in loves you. You are not getting out of this one missy.
Romance is no exception. No matter how hard you try, someone always finds out because you decided you were tired of hiding your feelings for this other person and you tell someone who swears to keep their mouth shut. If a European says that they swear to keep their mouth shut, cut out their tongue right then and there and curse them for it. Europeans cannot keep their mouths shut. It is virtually impossible. And the men? Forget it! They talk more than the women do, and I tell you this now, word gets around faster through the male population than it does through the female one.
You cannot tell a cousin or a sibling anything. Once you open your mouth, you have signed your own death warrant. Would you like a cigarette before we hang you in the gallows? No? Carry on then. I normally try to keep my life private and to keep things to myself until I am absolutely ready to explain things to someone. Even then, it falls to the wayside. They corner you. As if they were some pack of hyenas closing in on a wounded gazelle that some how managed to escape the pride of lions it was running from earlier with a minor injury. Death is inevitable and right now I am waiting for mine because of those words I heard after I left from my sister’s house.
I have been naked before, splashed with acrylic paint, sharpie and god knows what else, in front of a camera modeling for all to see. I can do that. However, I can’t deal with what will happen over the next few days, for this is how the clock will tick. My sister will talk to my mother for one reason or another and I will enter the conversation for one reason or another. Once my name is mentioned she will ask mama if I have been talking to anyone on the phone. Of course mother will say yes because of course she knows I have been talking to someone on the phone. She is my mama and she has that weird voodoo magick that all mothers possess. I think you inherit those powers as soon as you sign the marriage contract; the investigation is on going in that department. From there either my mother or my sister will question me indirectly, if not directly, about this so-called male in my life.
This is where they get me. It is here I am standing naked for all to see, bare as the day as I was born, despite the heavy sweater and jeans, squirming and twisting out some sort of response. I would rather be in front of the camera naked, than talk about my heart.
When the hyenas come cackling out of the darkness, knowing the kill is moments away, you are stripped of all your barriers and all you can do is wait for the jaws to lock around your throat and the world to go black with self doubt and loathing because all you wanted was a shred of happiness.
Those were the last words I heard behind my sister’s closed garage door while I slipped my flip-flops on. I knew what they were talking about. She asked about the guy he was referring to. My cousin replied with an honest answer. He didn’t know. In fact, no one knows, except perhaps my mother, who uses her mother senses to figure this shit out.
There is no secrecy in a family such as mine. We are Greek, born and bred from a proud race of intellects that some how got pushed to the back burner and get scoffed at for being full blooded. That’s inbreeding. I want to ram my head through a glass door every time I hear someone say that.
Being Greek means you have to know everything. There isn’t a time when I go somewhere when my mama asks as to what I was doing or who I saw. She can never ask me, “how was your night?” and leave it at that. She has to know what I was doing, who I was doing it with and what were they wearing at the time of whatever it was we were doing to begin with. You really wore those shoes? I half expect the woman to cross herself. If you go out without saying anything to begin with…well lets just say I hope whatever god you believe in loves you. You are not getting out of this one missy.
Romance is no exception. No matter how hard you try, someone always finds out because you decided you were tired of hiding your feelings for this other person and you tell someone who swears to keep their mouth shut. If a European says that they swear to keep their mouth shut, cut out their tongue right then and there and curse them for it. Europeans cannot keep their mouths shut. It is virtually impossible. And the men? Forget it! They talk more than the women do, and I tell you this now, word gets around faster through the male population than it does through the female one.
You cannot tell a cousin or a sibling anything. Once you open your mouth, you have signed your own death warrant. Would you like a cigarette before we hang you in the gallows? No? Carry on then. I normally try to keep my life private and to keep things to myself until I am absolutely ready to explain things to someone. Even then, it falls to the wayside. They corner you. As if they were some pack of hyenas closing in on a wounded gazelle that some how managed to escape the pride of lions it was running from earlier with a minor injury. Death is inevitable and right now I am waiting for mine because of those words I heard after I left from my sister’s house.
I have been naked before, splashed with acrylic paint, sharpie and god knows what else, in front of a camera modeling for all to see. I can do that. However, I can’t deal with what will happen over the next few days, for this is how the clock will tick. My sister will talk to my mother for one reason or another and I will enter the conversation for one reason or another. Once my name is mentioned she will ask mama if I have been talking to anyone on the phone. Of course mother will say yes because of course she knows I have been talking to someone on the phone. She is my mama and she has that weird voodoo magick that all mothers possess. I think you inherit those powers as soon as you sign the marriage contract; the investigation is on going in that department. From there either my mother or my sister will question me indirectly, if not directly, about this so-called male in my life.
This is where they get me. It is here I am standing naked for all to see, bare as the day as I was born, despite the heavy sweater and jeans, squirming and twisting out some sort of response. I would rather be in front of the camera naked, than talk about my heart.
When the hyenas come cackling out of the darkness, knowing the kill is moments away, you are stripped of all your barriers and all you can do is wait for the jaws to lock around your throat and the world to go black with self doubt and loathing because all you wanted was a shred of happiness.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Brother
Dark eyes, so much like my own, gaze at me with death.
They were never like that, never so lost within themselves.
An inner turmoil, darkness overwhelming you, taking.
Such fragile chalices of deep, dark chocolate, shattering.
Your body is fragile, wasted, nothing. Long I remember
What you once were such a short time ago.
Strong, yes, unbending an adamantine rod unwilling to
Break.
Now, your soul atrophies before me, slithering silently,
Slowly to pool at your feet.
Intimidation surrounded you like miasma
Frightening me, causing awe as you passed.
A cloud has covered your entirety, Fate woven
With unknown Darkness, uncertainty.
Your sires fade into the distance
Your siblings lost to Time.
Remember us I call to you, remember.
Your back is already turned, ridged.
Remember us, I call to you, remember.
You’ve already gone away.
Dark eyes, so much like my own, gaze at me with death.
They were never like that, never so lost within themselves.
An inner turmoil, darkness overwhelming you, taking.
Such fragile chalices of deep, dark chocolate, shattering.
They were never like that, never so lost within themselves.
An inner turmoil, darkness overwhelming you, taking.
Such fragile chalices of deep, dark chocolate, shattering.
Your body is fragile, wasted, nothing. Long I remember
What you once were such a short time ago.
Strong, yes, unbending an adamantine rod unwilling to
Break.
Now, your soul atrophies before me, slithering silently,
Slowly to pool at your feet.
Intimidation surrounded you like miasma
Frightening me, causing awe as you passed.
A cloud has covered your entirety, Fate woven
With unknown Darkness, uncertainty.
Your sires fade into the distance
Your siblings lost to Time.
Remember us I call to you, remember.
Your back is already turned, ridged.
Remember us, I call to you, remember.
You’ve already gone away.
Dark eyes, so much like my own, gaze at me with death.
They were never like that, never so lost within themselves.
An inner turmoil, darkness overwhelming you, taking.
Such fragile chalices of deep, dark chocolate, shattering.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Of Vinci
( This was my psychology final for Psychology of Art and Creativity)
The room I stood in was carpeted and silent, books lining the walls from top to bottom. They were old books, leather-bound and I could smell the musk on them. In the center of the room were three deep, crimson, leather high-backed chairs that you would see in some sort of old home or movie. I cocked my head to the side. Rollo May, Sigmund Freud and Leonardo da Vinci sat in those chairs, quietly looking at me as if waiting for something. Alright, I thought, this has to be a dream.
‘Come and sit young lady,’ May said, pointing to another chair directly behind me. ‘We were just about to discuss with Signore Leonardo here his process behind his work.’
‘I still think that you are repressing your emotions towards your sexuality, Signore,’ Freud spoke, his accent thick. ‘I mean, look at the paintings that you have done. All of them contain a woman, either with or without a child. Not to mention the fact that the way the woman is positioned is very sexual in nature. Your childhood must have been repressed. You have a strong connection with your mother, wanting to have the comfort of the womb once more.’
Freud nodded his head as if he had just explained everything and the discussion need not happen. Both Leonardo and May stared at him, silent. May laughed first, breaking the awkward pause.
‘So, Sigmund, you think you have me all figured out, eh?’ Leonardo chuckled, shaking his old head. ‘Maybe it is that simple, maybe it isn’t. Yet, I am sure this young woman here has a few words to say.’
The three men gazed at me again and I panicked.
‘You’ve been studying psychology, yes?’
This from Freud.
‘Yes, sir,’ I felt awkward. ‘I am currently enrolled in Psychology of Art and Creativity.’
This had to be a dream. You don’t talk with three dead men, two of whom are psychologists, and not feel you’ll need to go to a therapy afterwards.
‘Well,’ May said, smirking, ‘What have you studied?’
Silence.
‘Here is an easier request then,’ Leonardo said, ‘Tell me what you know of me and use what you learned to psycho-analyze me.’
May was smirking and Freud crossed his leg, holding his knee.
‘Alright, well…Your full name is Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci and you were born April 15, 1452 and died on May 2, 1519. You were sixty-seven years of age. You were an illegitimate son of Piero and Caterina both from Vinci, I think it was said your mother was a woman of…ill-repute.’
‘You mean a whore,’ Leonardo chided.
‘To put it nicely,’ I replied.
‘You see?’ Freud barked excitedly. ‘He does have repressed feelings for his mother due to her prostitution.’
‘It isn’t a solid fact though,’ I retorted, ‘So your theory isn’t valid in this point.’
May let out a laugh as Freud huffed at me, glowering. When did psychologists huff? I snickered at my own thoughts; Freud was known to use cocaine as a prescribed drug to his patients.
‘Let the girl continue, gentlemen,’ May said.
‘Um, Leonardo was educated by Verricchio, a painter in Florence. You worked in Rome, Bologna and Venice and the
last years of your life were spent in France.’
‘Hated the weather there.’
The men laughed.
‘Right…your best known pieces are The Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and The Vitruvian Man.’
The old Italian nodded at me, smiling.
‘Sounds about right.’
The three of them sat there in silence for another minute.
I twitched.
‘Leonardo certainly shows the Ego in his work,’ Freud nodded. ‘Take for example, The Vitruvian Man. The image shows a man with after images of his limbs about him in a circle. Now, the Ego, as you well know, is a balance between the Id and the Super –Ego. The Id being the childish portion of the psyche and the Super-Ego is the moral code of the psyche. From the image you have the sense of the impulse there from the stroke, yet, because of the tightness of the piece, the Super-Ego comes forth. Combined, the Ego balances out the image, allowing the viewer to accept the piece as it is.’
‘You make a valid point, Sigmund,’ May replied, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘But what of good old Mona Lisa? I must commend you, Leonard, for the courage that you showed the viewer in that painting.’
Leonardo waved his hand in dismissal, but May continued.
‘Honestly man. The creative courage that you show in the painting of Mona is fantastic. Take, for example, the horizon line in the painting. The right hand side is slightly higher than the left hand side. So much symbolism comes from this minute detail alone. The right hand of God, good and evil, right and wrong.’
‘Well, according to you, May, isn’t creative courage the discovering of new forms, symbols and patterns?’ I asked curiously.
‘Yes, exactly. From these new ideals a brand new society can be built and expanded.’
‘But how can a new society be built on an old painting?’
May stopped talking for a moment, Freud snickering.
‘That is the girl’s Id, my friend,’ the old Austrian said.
May snorted in annoyance but continued on.
‘Mona shows an innocence about her that causes the viewer to stop and stare. Now, Innocence is the pre-egoic part of the mind. Let us say the infant stage of the mind. The painting shows a woman, yes, but look at the way she gazes at the viewer. Her eyes are looking directly on, giving the illusion of watching the viewer as they move from side to side. The Innocence that Leonardo displays here is only what he must do. Yet, there is a will there as well, the sense of drive that the Innocence portrays at times.’
‘So,’ Leonardo said, ‘What can be told of her smile then, on a psychological stand point.’
‘Ah, the smile of a woman holds many secrets,’ May said, nodding.
‘In the case of Mona,’ Freud replied, ‘The smile can be seen as seduction. I believe Leonardo here was expressing the Life drive, or the Libido. The Libido would be survival, propagation, hunger thirst and, of course, sex.’
‘It’s always sex with you, Freud,’ I replied to him.
Leonardo and May laughed as Freud rolled his eyes and ignored me as well as them.
‘As I was saying, Mona’s smile can be seen as a seduction, which in turn can be tied in with the fact that Leonardo’s mother was a prostitute.’
‘Still yet to be proven.’
‘Hush child, let the Austrian finish.’
Freud sat for a minute, eyes closed as he pressed his fingers together, lost in thought.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I have lost my thought.’
A clocked chimed somewhere in the distance catching my attention. One, two, three chimes I heard.
‘Is that an a.m. chime or a p.m. chime?’
May listened for a minute and nodded.
‘That, my dear,’ he said rising, ‘Would be three a.m. Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
Leonardo stood and stretched his old bones.
‘Come along gentlemen, let us return to our bed pans,’ Freud said, catching a chuckle before turning to me. ‘Next time you come, we shall talk more about the instincts of Life and Death.’
‘Oh, don’t forget the dreams, Sigmund,’ Rollo May called from the door that I hadn’t noticed before as he escorted Leonard from the room.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said as Freud turned to leave. ‘Isn’t this a dream?’
‘Of course it is. How else would you be talking to three dead men?’
The room I stood in was carpeted and silent, books lining the walls from top to bottom. They were old books, leather-bound and I could smell the musk on them. In the center of the room were three deep, crimson, leather high-backed chairs that you would see in some sort of old home or movie. I cocked my head to the side. Rollo May, Sigmund Freud and Leonardo da Vinci sat in those chairs, quietly looking at me as if waiting for something. Alright, I thought, this has to be a dream.
‘Come and sit young lady,’ May said, pointing to another chair directly behind me. ‘We were just about to discuss with Signore Leonardo here his process behind his work.’
‘I still think that you are repressing your emotions towards your sexuality, Signore,’ Freud spoke, his accent thick. ‘I mean, look at the paintings that you have done. All of them contain a woman, either with or without a child. Not to mention the fact that the way the woman is positioned is very sexual in nature. Your childhood must have been repressed. You have a strong connection with your mother, wanting to have the comfort of the womb once more.’
Freud nodded his head as if he had just explained everything and the discussion need not happen. Both Leonardo and May stared at him, silent. May laughed first, breaking the awkward pause.
‘So, Sigmund, you think you have me all figured out, eh?’ Leonardo chuckled, shaking his old head. ‘Maybe it is that simple, maybe it isn’t. Yet, I am sure this young woman here has a few words to say.’
The three men gazed at me again and I panicked.
‘You’ve been studying psychology, yes?’
This from Freud.
‘Yes, sir,’ I felt awkward. ‘I am currently enrolled in Psychology of Art and Creativity.’
This had to be a dream. You don’t talk with three dead men, two of whom are psychologists, and not feel you’ll need to go to a therapy afterwards.
‘Well,’ May said, smirking, ‘What have you studied?’
Silence.
‘Here is an easier request then,’ Leonardo said, ‘Tell me what you know of me and use what you learned to psycho-analyze me.’
May was smirking and Freud crossed his leg, holding his knee.
‘Alright, well…Your full name is Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci and you were born April 15, 1452 and died on May 2, 1519. You were sixty-seven years of age. You were an illegitimate son of Piero and Caterina both from Vinci, I think it was said your mother was a woman of…ill-repute.’
‘You mean a whore,’ Leonardo chided.
‘To put it nicely,’ I replied.
‘You see?’ Freud barked excitedly. ‘He does have repressed feelings for his mother due to her prostitution.’
‘It isn’t a solid fact though,’ I retorted, ‘So your theory isn’t valid in this point.’
May let out a laugh as Freud huffed at me, glowering. When did psychologists huff? I snickered at my own thoughts; Freud was known to use cocaine as a prescribed drug to his patients.
‘Let the girl continue, gentlemen,’ May said.
‘Um, Leonardo was educated by Verricchio, a painter in Florence. You worked in Rome, Bologna and Venice and the
last years of your life were spent in France.’
‘Hated the weather there.’
The men laughed.
‘Right…your best known pieces are The Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and The Vitruvian Man.’
The old Italian nodded at me, smiling.
‘Sounds about right.’
The three of them sat there in silence for another minute.
I twitched.
‘Leonardo certainly shows the Ego in his work,’ Freud nodded. ‘Take for example, The Vitruvian Man. The image shows a man with after images of his limbs about him in a circle. Now, the Ego, as you well know, is a balance between the Id and the Super –Ego. The Id being the childish portion of the psyche and the Super-Ego is the moral code of the psyche. From the image you have the sense of the impulse there from the stroke, yet, because of the tightness of the piece, the Super-Ego comes forth. Combined, the Ego balances out the image, allowing the viewer to accept the piece as it is.’
‘You make a valid point, Sigmund,’ May replied, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘But what of good old Mona Lisa? I must commend you, Leonard, for the courage that you showed the viewer in that painting.’
Leonardo waved his hand in dismissal, but May continued.
‘Honestly man. The creative courage that you show in the painting of Mona is fantastic. Take, for example, the horizon line in the painting. The right hand side is slightly higher than the left hand side. So much symbolism comes from this minute detail alone. The right hand of God, good and evil, right and wrong.’
‘Well, according to you, May, isn’t creative courage the discovering of new forms, symbols and patterns?’ I asked curiously.
‘Yes, exactly. From these new ideals a brand new society can be built and expanded.’
‘But how can a new society be built on an old painting?’
May stopped talking for a moment, Freud snickering.
‘That is the girl’s Id, my friend,’ the old Austrian said.
May snorted in annoyance but continued on.
‘Mona shows an innocence about her that causes the viewer to stop and stare. Now, Innocence is the pre-egoic part of the mind. Let us say the infant stage of the mind. The painting shows a woman, yes, but look at the way she gazes at the viewer. Her eyes are looking directly on, giving the illusion of watching the viewer as they move from side to side. The Innocence that Leonardo displays here is only what he must do. Yet, there is a will there as well, the sense of drive that the Innocence portrays at times.’
‘So,’ Leonardo said, ‘What can be told of her smile then, on a psychological stand point.’
‘Ah, the smile of a woman holds many secrets,’ May said, nodding.
‘In the case of Mona,’ Freud replied, ‘The smile can be seen as seduction. I believe Leonardo here was expressing the Life drive, or the Libido. The Libido would be survival, propagation, hunger thirst and, of course, sex.’
‘It’s always sex with you, Freud,’ I replied to him.
Leonardo and May laughed as Freud rolled his eyes and ignored me as well as them.
‘As I was saying, Mona’s smile can be seen as a seduction, which in turn can be tied in with the fact that Leonardo’s mother was a prostitute.’
‘Still yet to be proven.’
‘Hush child, let the Austrian finish.’
Freud sat for a minute, eyes closed as he pressed his fingers together, lost in thought.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I have lost my thought.’
A clocked chimed somewhere in the distance catching my attention. One, two, three chimes I heard.
‘Is that an a.m. chime or a p.m. chime?’
May listened for a minute and nodded.
‘That, my dear,’ he said rising, ‘Would be three a.m. Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
Leonardo stood and stretched his old bones.
‘Come along gentlemen, let us return to our bed pans,’ Freud said, catching a chuckle before turning to me. ‘Next time you come, we shall talk more about the instincts of Life and Death.’
‘Oh, don’t forget the dreams, Sigmund,’ Rollo May called from the door that I hadn’t noticed before as he escorted Leonard from the room.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said as Freud turned to leave. ‘Isn’t this a dream?’
‘Of course it is. How else would you be talking to three dead men?’
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