And I guess the story is ending for now. Those of you who will understand it, I will yell loudly for. Those of you who don’t, well maybe you will get it better next time. This is my first attempt at putting out a complete mixed media recording along with its literary pieces. I don’t think any part of it stands solely on its own – it takes pieces from each other to fill in all of the spaces between the lines. I know that sometimes I look back and I see everything outlined in a little bit of crazy here and there, but you know that’s ok. It takes all kinds of unsettling things for me on the inside to write about things that seem to follow some crazy on the outside.
All in all, when creating fiction in music, art, or writing – I still have to return to translating the things that I know. It makes no sense to me to write about nothing, but I can write of something derived from other things I have experienced. I can’t say I know what it feels like to plunge an ice pick into someones ear, but I can say I know that sometimes words spoken and unspoken can destroy one another just as much. It just seems easier in my made up world this time, that instead of yelling about things you can never change – creating a character that can react in ways hoping to find her own level of absolution, may broaden ones discretion of understanding. I don’t necessarily agree with some of the graphic actions that this story paints, but I do find it colorful in projecting the parts of what some of all us may have on the inside.
Stitched emotions are rough, some of them linger on for years. Some wash away when we replace them with something else. Some scar up large enough that even though you cover them in new clothes they still find ways to edge through the seams. It’s just like that, I can’t write enough about the fingerprints people leave. And not just in one case, but in several as my story tells.
We are not programmed to control that, we only know that we accept different levels of impressions. Some good and some bad. In this case, Ava’s reactions are not all the same. In the song “Hearing the Fall” she greets one of her encounters with speed and finality. She has little to no regret and remorse for the killing that she carries out. It’s also reflected in the music, aggressive and direct. She walks away denoting that this was a door that was easy to close. But as in the arrangement of “Sight For Sorrys” her emotions are obtusely inverted. She actually finds a lacquering of sadness that seems to almost preserve the emotions that were good from that relationship, by using his removed eyes to try to see the things that she had done wrong.
It’s all relative, in extreme terms of course. We each probably have acted out scenarios in our head that were less than commendable at times. Sometimes we snap in our own ways, carrying out our own justice in our head that we deemed was necessary. And that’s what she did, and of course a little more. Ava Grace’s terms were the terms of unconditional love that were breached upon. She felt taken, so she chose to take. She felt written over, so she decided to rewrite on. In lieu of again being walked on, she redefines the rules of how she should be the one to walk out.
And usually those rules were echoed by the sounds of heels atop a long hardwood floor. A splinter of thought here and there, some easily removed, some not as much. But none the less her red remains the color that we all bleed. The color that gives us all life, and in this case – that still color that takes it all away.