furtherfield on Mon, 27 Aug 2001 15:54:37 +0000 |
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Syndicate: Marc Garrett's St Valentines Day |
Marc Garrett's St Valentines Day It was St Valentines Day and I was about thirteen years of age, may be twelve. At break time at Cecil Jones High School I frantically searched for the one and only girl who I believed I was in love with. What made it feel so urgent was the possibility that she fancied me. After all we did seem to get on, we laughed and talked with each other nearly everyday. Which was a miracle in our school that anyone actually managed to communicate at all. Looking back to those days makes me feel very ill. Remembering all the boys posturing, creating gang territories, dictating their parents' bigoted opinions into the gladiator's awesome arena known as the playground. A terrifying place harbouring pure survival, emotional and psychological warfare. The night before I had spent hours in my bedroom painting and drawing a rather large, very expressive picture for her. It measured approximately A3 size, give or take a few inches. After wasting some crucial and valuable minutes fighting through the chaotic heaving throng of manic children. I noticed her about to go back inside to her class. I rushed over to her and greeted her with a polite good morning in a nervous and gentlemanly manner and she responded courteously. As I handed the image over to her I could feel the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. Because I had created the picture myself it felt more real. Not like all those sad mass produced efforts that people generally buy. This was a real gesture of love exuding from the depths of my frantic heart, made from my own hands. She took it gracefully with an excited smile. This made me feel warm inside. She then looked at the image that I had lovingly painted and drawn for her and only her. Then her her smile gradually disappeared. The image was of me as a robot pulling my heart out, becoming human and offering her my heart as an ultimate gesture of love. She said it was sick and then threw it in the bin and never talked to me again... dido diary extract... http://www.dido.uk.net/mgarrett/index.htm -----Syndicate mailinglist-------------------- Syndicate network for media culture and media art information and archive: http://www.v2.nl/syndicate to post to the Syndicate list: <syndicate@eg-r.isp-eg.de> to unsubscribe, write to <majordomo@eg-r.isp-eg.de>, in the body of the msg: unsubscribe syndicate your@email.adress