wounded in time- Part 2 Graveside monologue to the addicts -Copyright Robert Fullarton 2015

Graveside monologue
-Prose piece. Unfinished

-Copyright Robert Fullarton 2015




"I walked through the grooves, between the tombstones, beside the cypress trees that gently swayed in the wind. The heartbeat of the precinct has ceased to thud and all had fallen in reflective silence, it was almost a music to me!"

"That music was reflected to me in the names, the dates, the inscriptions and professions of the dead upon their tombs and it was to me like reading stories and probing into the lives of those departed.
I saw the graves of doctors, the written prayers to little children, messages written for the generations, from mothers wishfully to their dead sons, chiselled in stone. I remember the sight of a tomb for newly weds together, groped and buried together, I can imagine their bodies and perhaps their souls entwined forever!"

"Flowers adorned the gravel pits, where I read the words of our Lord on the resurrection and the judgment of the dead. I was hit with the thoughts of childhood and the innocence that had I lost in time."

"Eternity is the moment renewed forever, but man must not live forever in his present state, because- according to the theologians!- he is corrupt! In the body and that is why it decays, if you believe in the idea of a moral universe. I can see this myself in the passions and the violence that man is willing to administer, slaying brother for brother and he will give any excuse he can for the utopia he wants to call his own!"

"Dont worry lads! I will get to my point now in just a moment!"

"I have always believed the weightless soul lives on after the death of the bounded body! I felt this after I had given up "the sauce" myself."

"You see the world has always been a market, where all things are for sale, but the very reason you need to live and to love is willfully ignored. We are seduced in time, by the power of the marketplace and that is the end of childhood and the end of innocence. We can buy our vices, and sell our innocence and that is when one eats from the tree from the knowledge of good and evil!"

"As a young adult I was a frequenter of many drinking parties, where men gambled and drank until the early hours of the morning. Under the midday sun we resumed our drinking and left our stained mattresses to pay the "madam of the house" our bills and then we stumbled out in the stale world itself!"

" I remember one particular night at the Marquis Club over on F _ street.
 I drank beer after beer and in time it tasted like sulphuric acid to my system- as it had damaged my  
esophagus- the lava poured down into my stomach- and it burned with all sorts of gastric agony, the room spinned and spinned in circles where monsters laughed and laughed at my fearful disposition.
The journalists that I worked with and drank with abandoned me and went out the door that night."

"The drinking party had departed from the fluorescent lights of the Marquis, and went out unto the squalor and the seediness of the back streets where they crawled off into their own oblivion. Off they went in through a country lane until they came unto an old Anglican Graveyard."

Evening observations under the sun -Prose piece by Robert Fullarton Copyright 2016

Evening observations under the sun

-Prose piece

by Robert Fullarton

Copyright 2016

The streetlamps were glowing like candlesticks positioned neatly in a row that stretched out onto the seafront promenade. The evening time was departing; the orange glow of the setting sun sank behind the fine Georgian mansions that proudly stood on the hilltops above the sea. These fine mansions are the antiques of old English rule, eloquent and opulent in appearance, one has to gaze and imagine a secret life behind closed doors, a life of luxury, a life or privilege and comfort.

Evening parties were being hosted on this balmy late spring evening. Time passed into twilight, where amber reflections of the sun turned into an indigo imprint that painted the shadows of the horizon in a breathlessly beautiful impression. The sun could no longer be seen but a glowing twilight hung, like the last breathes of a dying sun over the rooftops of the township. The world of men, of trades, businesses and iron indifference to fellow man had been shed in the layers of the evening light.

The fishermen came in to dock in the last minutes of the light, to inspect their catch, hoping for a profit, yearning for home, after several overnight shifts. Such men were overstretched and felt over extended in their hearts, they were the weary men who laboured like dogs, with no college education, they relied upon their nautical knowledge of the sea, their manual skills and taut command of life itself.

A witness of the sunset who had been standing on a hillock had been transported to a beautiful memory, alive in the present, he became aware of his own life, its preciousness and potential in the face of the world’s anonymity.

Surely he thought to himself,“both God and fate itself know my name by heart, despite the general indifference of other people in this world!” 

His heart was like that of an artist's, filled with inspiration,  but he only had to look at the encroaching city to feel downtrodden for a world that would not listen to the warnings in life, nor ever know people like him. For he was an alien in his very own city, and though it felt like he had ascended a mountain, he was in reality only descending from a hillock into the cool evening din. Still the memory was moulded on his soul and it felt like love, and it bore the desire in him to share such love with his fellow human beings, in charity and servitude.

Render onto God, the heart Extract of a piece.. Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016 by Robert Fullarton

Render onto God, the heart
Extract of a piece..

Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016
by Robert Fullarton

It was pride that made the boy into a man that beat his dreams of love into an iron cast system of cynicism. Pride made him mad, that made him wild; allowing him to forget his happy childlike heart, rendering it useless, he tore it off, like the infantile layers of a wild animal. Pride was the reason for his cast iron makings, cast iron brain that could not love with power, for the love that was as common as the circling birds above him. He pretended to be proud because the world was proud, and he became aware of it and the more aware of it, the more he chased its invisible rules, he ran through the murky quarters of the invisible fortress, he ran miles and miles in his racing mind each night into sleeping darkness. He went further and further, as the night is long and man is mad to follow the mechanics of the world in chaotic rumbles, as anarchy makes a cacophony in the absence of order.

------------------------------------------------------------

A young man sat at a dinner party, all spruced up, dashing, with a red cravat and cream coloured suit. After several conversations with his hosts and fellow guests, he learned that no speech came forth, nothing was learning or acknowledged from either side of the reticent party.

The young man had joined with the ranks of the world, where boys and girls are part of a metamorphosis, where they became cogs and circling wheels of human nature, where they go round in frivolous rancour, cementing masks in their worldly initiation, they acted out in the loudest haunts of the world, lit up lanterns, adorning the candelabra of man in illumination but where the lustre was lacking, while stone hearts chilled their bodies and a little voice whimpered out for help.

He began to think, for all the parties, for all the offers of promotion, the Games of subterfuge played out with treacherous so-called friends and societal beauties, all he had been taught since adolescence was a lie, to him something had to be unearthed or uncovered. His life's story opened up as a book before his eyes, his selfish ways, his emptiness became more apparent like a throbbing wound that would not cease in telling him that something was certainly wrong!

He stared at meals on fine mahogany tables, the haute couture of dinner parties bore the emptiness of a grave and he imagined his soul was dying as he stared almost bewitched at the spinning dancers, hearing the hollow laughter, the echoes of pretty women in these porcelain chambers, that rung out, until an image of his youth came to him and something was revealed to him. His chest hurt, a considerable agony that would not cease, until he left the party, running out like a mindful patient in the lunatic asylum, or abattoir of the soul! He desired, willfully and without restraint to escape from the company party, he did not even consider where he would go, but simply grew in pace.

He sprinted through the white Collonaded hall ways, the vulgar Romanesque parlours and ante-rooms of the mansion, over the chequered marble floors, past the stunned guests that stood on either side, as a shallow ensemble of futile existence. Some of these characters were drunk, some were laughing and some trying to restrain him with outstretched arms.

Having flown the coop, the young man ran through the heavy rain, his heart beating ferociously, brandy too had made it accelerate along with the sheer adrenaline of what was going through him. His arms moved like pistons against the wind. The rain grew heavier, he fell against the oncoming traffic, was blasted, cursed by an unseen driver, like a mysterious assailant that lives within the midnight shadows.

Like a drenched rat in a city composed of hallucinations, the man collapsed in the wooden door, which was slightly ajar, he fell down onto the floor, he knelt and prayed his first prayer since childhood, a simple prayer from a big heart. The entire world of faith and a wholesome desire for change, beckoned him to question the old life, the rituals of city life and the human race itself. He prayed in silence and out of the darkness there came a momentary peace in which he remembered his bedside prayers to God and tears began to fall just as the storm had passed outside the little church. The minister watched in silence, moved, confused and emotive, he tugged at his own vestments and cautiously decided to approach the saddened youth.