B is for Stealing

A few shots on the road. Stock video. Free library music. And a narration by Ayodhya Ouditt. Here's a short piece of something, "Till The Tank Runs Dry" [because with no budget comes great responsibility]. Take it in. Be Well. #wearetracy #wearetracyfilms

"Sick. Leave." chronicles the mental exhaustion one realises when the physical body breaks down. Sick Leave [sick. leave.]: A Tracy j Hutchings Short. #wearetracy

--> I first felt it in the shower. Nostalgia. Creeping up my leg and resting on my shoulder. Bony fingers caresses in that sickeningly sweet way nostalgia often does. It was the end of September or the beginning of October... That night in the shower when I remembered an old October, reading poetry at a wine factory; with sandwiches as big as your face. And I remembered two tables. Friends and a girl. And it was October. The sealing of fate. 2008. Days passed but not before the memory of darkness and a knife. The surgery that changed me... And it was October. October or go to Heaven. 2007. Time passed and so did my expectations. Fluctuations in blood flow in the head causes heart to flutter for another. Infatuation of the highest order. The beginning of tears and sighs of   "it's not fair" and the wandering nature of soul; I'm done, turn me over. And it was October. All my queries I vowed to shelve. 2012. And Sunday. When I threw the scroll and ...

Do people still hold hands? Does anyone even crave to be touched any more? To casually brush up on fingers Like the wind herself wanted yours and theirs to meet To find some excuse to touch In a way that doesn't find you paying a fine for the things that we do in the bedroom... Or on carnival day. Do people still hold hands? Hands clasped tightly in prayer to a god reflected in each other's eyes. Pray to me, he says Pray to me, she says Pray that fingers ache when eight hour shifts separate us. Pray that they never find a keyboard enough. Enough? ...  Enough. The whispers of a dreamer is all that remains A pen twirling between fingers that should be twirling strands... Twirling hands. Twirling. Wondering. Pondering if... if...  If maybe somewhere, in this age of independents, people even bother to hold hands. TjH 08:05:15

I placed the pillow over my chest... In an attempt to drown out the noise... Didn't work... Didn't take. I could hear the scream and mauling anger beating against my rib cage yet when it finally got to my throat... hollow. I took the pillow from my chest and stuffed it in my mouth; month old saline gripped my tongue yet when I opened my mouth... nothing. None. No scream. No mauling anger. No rage escaped. No evil fled. Instead, I got the nurse saying my pressure was high. A state I often pondered on. I figured, "since you won't come up, I'll send something down..." To drown your arse. Four shots, five wines, three schnapps, one rum punch; the bottle not the glass. Still, BANG BANG BANG BANG... (one) BANG BANG BANG BANG... (two) BANG BANG BANG BANG (three) The pounding of racy heart on rib cage continued. "Would you please shut up?!" I say to my chest. Deep breaths; in and out and in and out of this hellish mindset, or heartset. It won't c...

The first bang. I didn't realize it then, but the feeling I had upon seeing the first explosion of light; the first act of creation, that was love. It made me catch my breath. My ears rang out for HOURS! Maybe days. Even now, when I take my mind back there, to the first bang, I feel... No, I know that THAT was love. I didn't know it then. All I knew was that I had to touch it. I had to touch that light. I had to touch that sound. I had to touch what my eyes knew to be a miracle (this was BEFORE the word got overused and under-known). I felt love. Even if I'd be sucked into it; even if my head shattered on every passing 'streroid.... Even if.... Because at that moment, at the first bang, THERE was something magical. I pulled back or else my hand was pulled back. "Let the noise form first", the hero said. The one who made this.... Noise to begin with. So I waited and waited and eventually settled on this blue green rock, waiting for that noise to form. The hu...

“You ever thought of getting a trial separation from God?” The question was unexpected given the nature of the evening but I immediately knew exactly where he was going with it. Nevertheless, I played along. Why?” “Maybe, so you can see other people.” He was starting to sound like the American TV drama we were watching. Drama is relative; more like a soap opera. “That’ll never work.” I said “Yes. I forgot. Jesus is the only boy you could be in a long term relationship with. Irony abounds.” I shot him a dirty look. It would have been more powerful if I had long flowing locks. And was Farrah Fawcett. “What. Don’t give me that ‘Satan-be-gone’ look. I’m serious.” I stopped pouring the Pringles and turned to him proper. “HE is not the problem. That’s not…” three pages of retort swam in my head with no actual direction. “And that’s not irony okay that’s….” still, no actual direction. I graduated top of my class in English Language and Lit; I can debate the merits of ...

I started to groan the second the mobile started ringing off. I could ignore it but he’d call. And call. And call. He’s a boy like that. I roll my eyes as ‘Barely Breathing’ continues to play. It seemed like a good idea at the time to have that as my ringtone. “Hi,” He stretches it out. He always stretches his ‘hi’s’ like some strange game show announcer, “listen, I’m so sorry, but I’m gonna be… I don’t know, fifteen minutes late. Max.” He sounded contrite. He kept rattling off what the day was like and why he’d be late; the wind, whipping into his mobile as he spoke. I felt horrid about what I was going to tell him. “I’m not going.” I said after a breath He said nothing. All I heard was the wind; followed by the honking horn and the screaming. “Sorry, bad drive. What were you saying now?” “You heard.” “I hate you, you know that.” I smiled. It wasn’t funny but it was. I knew if I was near, he’d probably throw something or a few 'somethings' in my direction. Gym w...

He forewarned me, the playlist is gay. At least that’s how he called it. I didn’t see it though. I scanned through the player looking for the stereotypical trance music and show-tunes [thanks America] and saw nothing of the sort. Wait…. No, still nothing. “Look closer”, he said smiling and I, not wanting to be that guy, looked again. I laughed so hard when I saw it: -           Take it on the other side [red hot chilis] -           Grinding [Clipse] -           Happy [Pharell] There was even Mos Def's ‘My Umi Say’. His latest…. I don’t know what to call him, was called Umi. There WERE a few Kylie in there but then that’s not gay, its 2am-club. What struck me as odd was the series of classical tracks in the ‘gay’ folder. I pondered on the tracks as I held his player in my hand. I guess you can say, ‘O Fortuna’ is the sound one makes when...

He. She. It. Is. With. Out. Labels. And beyond that Is the stuff of fables. He. She. It. Is. Simply on the Earth Plain. Dealing with their own pains. And trying... To decipher yours. Because somewhere, in there, is a soul fighting wars. And they know, that to survive, they need yours. alive. So. He. She. It. Is.  Fighting for your life. As well. So hell. Fight for theirs! FIGHT for theirs!  Instead of crabbing up the barrel. Try to act more Supernatural. FIGHT for theirs. FIGHT for each other. There is simply no hope fighting each other. Please. Place all labels in he fire pit. Love is not a cliche when you understand it. He. She. It. Is.  Searching... Searching...  For you. For me. For Sanity. Don't hide your data stream. Crash into this sea of me. I will download you (no labels) You will download me (no labels) Till all of us is one with us  Like. The Divinity Three. No fussing....

Mom - pulling the provolone from the sandwich: "STRING THEORY!" Me looking at her and laughing. Mom: What you think only you know about Science? ... Happy Every Day, mothers. .......... Let's hear it for you The Miracle Worker Soul Shaper Wisdom's daughter who grew into a mother. This Lady of Perpetual Help. Ma, help! The project's due. Help! I can't find my shoe. Like some kind of psychic,she knows where all things, to whom it belongs And the condition in which it came... The side kick's calm refrain: "thanks... mom." Problem solved. Peace reigns. She from the line of Eve May not have had the chance to leave and cleave And while some think her weaker WE know better. A Mother. Made stronger by her God whether or not Adam stood beside her. A perpetual  help in times of chaos Walks another mile so that you could take the bus. Silencing storms is the norm So we think being superhuman IS... THE NORM! But even heroes get ...

i declared the silver moon a wafer put it in my mouth and said, "bless me father" since you know the sin i live in is monumental only this moon will make it absolvable. bless me father and take my confession and bathe me with the rain to ease my condition since you know the sin i live in is monumental only this rain storm will make me absolvable. i lift volcanoes to my tongue it's the only way i can speak peace to old and young and since you know the sin i live in is monumental only hot coals will make me absolvable. the highest trees could not prepare an incense that would take away the stench or the incense but since you know my sin is monumental i will burn the tree for me to be absolvable. i built a room outside of creation sitting in the void; the silence is my meditation for since my attitude is high and irresponsible only exile will make me absolvable. i would take the tears of all the world's haunted baptise myself in all that pure li...

Of all the colours that stepped up to heal the heart of man Who would've thought that RED would've held the Master's plan? Who would have guessed red would have the notion; That red would be the solution. Too passionate, too vibrant, too.... 'in the face' Stains every place. Blue is friendly; White, universal and yellow is built to save face. But RED.... red was the solution from the beginning. Red flowed past the evil, to cover (and give grace) to the simple Red made itself free of the body, to save a soul. One drop for you. One for me. One for the child not yet born  But somehow.... His destiny already crippled with thorns. Red was the key that led me in, to see... Blue Skies... And green pastures.... And golden streets. Ordered by the Father. Paid by the Son. Poured over heart shaped stones that began to beat again. Began to feel again Red did that.  More than animal fat, Red... did that. Drop by glorious drop. Red was the solution. ...

The First Lover looked on. Arms Out; voice raised; heart moved my compassion. What part of “I Love You”, do you not see? You and I are supposed to be. What part of “I Love You”, do you not know? Only I know the way to go. What part of “I Love You”, do you not hear? I tell you I, can erase your fears. What part of “I Love You”, do you not feel? My love. My love for you is real. There you are, standing there. Wondering if somebody cares But when I told you, that I love you You just scoff and throw your hands in the air. There you are, getting by. A little make-up, a lot of lies I see those tears and your fears But when will you realize. That.... My love is forever. But you don’t have forever.  Your breath is so finite, why go to sleep alone each night? When I told you, I need you and you need me. What part of “I Love You”, do you not see? You and I are supposed to be. What part of “I Love You”, do you not know? Only I know the ...

monkey swings from the idol his hand, a tropical breeze monkey swings from the idol "monkey, do as you please." monkey laughs at devotees monkey laughs at the child monkey laughs at his own heart who begs him, 'stay for a while' monkey see, monkey doux doux darling ran away with his life monkey heart was the next to go and with it, all monkey's strife. monkey waits for the night's fall his eyes are wide like a well monkey talks to the cold wind on the idol where they both fell idol asks, 'what you want, boy?' monkey just shrugs his head cold wind asks, 'what you need, boy?' monkey just swings instead flightless bird climbed the idol's frame and brought monkey some hot tea monkey drank and then fling the cup nothing satisfies he. cold wind stole for monkey a coat and plopped it right on his frame monkey draped the idol monkey's face was the same. idol sighed and the cold wind smirked while monkey curle...

the stranger sings to the goddess not knowing what else... how else... if ANYTHING else can work. his intelligence is gone. his witty repartee, dried up. all he can muster is "maybe you should dial 100 for customer service". she, warm to the touch like heaven and pleasant like the hidden coves on earth. and he should tell her all this but for nought. so he plays the coldplay he sings. softly. maybe she'll like this; maybe she'll hear it's all he can say... .... pax tracy j h 03: April: 2k14