Passing the junction of memory

Found Marilyn board under tree. Veering the end of night walk ocean side, a stroll induced by hazelnut mousse, a sugar amped enthusiasm; briskness of happenstance towards the first window. A peculiar tinged hue. Of course, inner document tore open not grasp, no missed opportunity; the segment of squared apricot against house shadow moon cast. Deafening current advice of less document, more being.

How long specific window had looted attention is unknown, until the light bulb switched off. Planting oneself in more dark. Temporary loss of cognition to the enveloped observation, realized only after, the semi- permanent negligence towards a lack of personal space had been revealed. It’s just, as I got closer to the window, the hue differed; curiosity knee deep in twigs, bent at an angle only the distracted mind could bear.

Trespass sought the shadows.

apricot window

The minimalist light beauties of night- home rows– had ocean drain ears with invisible abundance. Crash symbols. There’s something of the dark, near the shell encrusted body of water. What it does, the embrace, something that beach in light of day does not comply, yet seemingly differs by. A gender bias of situational accordance, same-same yet slightly different.

The lady bleated twice.

Before the window, before the mousse, before the car was even departed for the night walk ocean side whereby board Marilyn was later found, the lady with broken English walked by. Not to be confused with pleaded, bleated, this language of lamb. Ears underwent the surely not ordeal, until the second bleat reveled itself, quite clearly at the beginning of the very next sentence. The bleat directed itself towards him, the other being; the one she was sharing space and a walking exercise with. Two dogs oblivious to their ownerโ€™s temporary shape-shift. Even with given absurdity, the tick of approval toward temporary sanity granted a what of it.

What of it.

Were the waves given company, light-bulb juxtaposing moon, toward the spike in blood sugar; aiding walk, with a scent connecting maximum, light-hearted-ness or. The same walk, the same home, the same ocean, the same, seen, on many a similar occasion. Walking just wanted to continue on through, to keep looking, to keep watching, to keep listening. The overwhelmingly generous greet of a fat, brown- orange spotted cat and the warning barks of scared dog. Everything delightful. Even Joe’s Kiosk had been kissed by Magritte.


And there she was, resting under tree, Marilyn board.

Marilyn (close-up portrait) where found in dirt

Salvaging the little of her dignity, Marilyn tucked under arm. A perfect hand hold to pass the junction of memory; the once was excess of veins filled with numbing distraction towards self-loathe, a reality hard to bare. Illusory escape from a lifelong inadequacy of misfit within a lump sum of body. Acquaintance labelled heaps of chitter- chatter, not even talking about everything with no between. Repressed to a boredom, finally aloneness sought to relieve.

22 responses to Passing the junction of memory

  1. Amazing writing, Jessie, and really quite intense. You have a great capacity to extract feeling from the normally unfelt mundane.

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      Me, intense? No way ha-ha!

      Thanks heaps for the uplifting comment and your support in general Hariod ๐Ÿ™‚

      • I suppose I must’ve misinterpreted the tone then, but I read it three times carefully and there was, on each occasion, a feeling of intensity coming across. I don’t mean that in anything other than a good way, you understand? Perhaps it was suggested by the early inclusion of this brilliant line: “curiosity knee deep in twigs”. ๐Ÿ™‚

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        Yes, the sarcasm. I’m a quietly intense person ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. shenandoahbreakdown

    Yes, nice–the photos and the writing–so evocative. What you do stands out from the crowd!

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      To be honest , it’s one of my least favourite colours, but , it is demanding exploration nevertheless ! Hope your shopping till you drop and having a nice break Marissa ๐Ÿ™‚

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        Oh great, did you eat lots of pizza? It’s great that everyone has different colour tastes, the world would be quite boring otherwise ๐Ÿ™‚ what’s your second fav, after this one?

      • yes, we had our share of pizza! I’m not sure because this royal blue has been a fave of mine for as long as I can remember and it’s a pretty specific shade. After that, nothing as specific though I do like my pinks and purples.

  3. Totally agree with Hariod Brawn above. It is your eye for details and what you mine from the mundane that makes your writing so gripping, you are instantly in that world. Then there’s your prose especially wonderful lines like trespass sought the shadows… Oh yes.

  4. Is Monroe? Marilyn, I mean. Or is this a case of wishful, specific misidentification on my part? I notice Marilyn yearning, reaching for Steve, Was there any, you know, angelic music, or otherworldly ephemera at that moment.

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      Oh no, this Marilyn is not anywhere near a Monroe. Her profile is way to flat.

      Otherworldly ephemera for sure. But anything political, usually is!

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