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February 08, 2009
This is my creative non-fiction of the interview which had to take place in another "world" that was inspired either by the house or the copse around it near the Capital Centre. I have modified it a bit though now for dramatic effect lol.
I sit in the dark kitchen on a tiled floor with glass shards sprawled out across its surface. I can feel them beneath my legs but I am safely cushioned by my coat, though understandably I am put on edge and a nervousness permeates my line of questioning.
I face the cupboard, the memory vault of his mind; its dark and scarred; and I'm enveloped by the scents of a thousand badly smoked cigarettes and spilled drinks. A light glows dimly from the broken cupboard; a memory glinting on the slanted shelf.
"Where have you been?" I asked, off-hand.
"What do you mean? Like, on holiday?"
"Yeah, I mean have you ever been overseas, been to the continent, or Africa or something?"
The memory glimmers brighter, shining with greater intensity and gleaming off the glass pieces. "Ah, yes, the last time I went on holiday was probs to Amsterdam. Few years ago now though."
"Amsterdam? Cool, I've been there, city of freedom," I shift my body and feel the shards slide and hear a crunch as the move against the tiles "What did you get up to?"
The light flickers, struggling, then splutters out in a disjointed stutter of words "Um...to be honest...I can't really remember."
I sit in the suddenly pitch black kitchen, lost as to where to go or what to say, and unsure of what to ask except for the obvious "Why?"
The light shines again, this time behind the glass paned kitchen door; its a deeper darker glow, yet it penetrates the gloom and catches my eye. A harder memory to access, perhaps, but still possible to catch. Its only half remembered and hidden half in shame. "All I can remember, if I think hard, is that I went into a coffee shop when I first got there...the next two days are kinda a blur."
"You were stoned for two whole days!"
"Yeah," he gives a laugh "Crazy times."
"And you truly don't remember anything?"
The light at the door flickers out and I'm left in pitch blackness again. Suddenly it burns again in the cupboard, right before my eyes, as he illuminates a further detail, a piece he thought was forgotten. I watch the light flicker, his struggle to decide what to reveal, and patiently sit in the cold kitchen world surrounded by glass and polite barriers. "Well I don't remember it as such," he pulls up his sleeve "All I knowis that at some point during those two days I got this done," he shows me a swirling tatoo "though to this day I don't know where or when." He gave a grin.
"Pretty crazy times indeed."
"Two of the best days of my life most probably," he adds "Just wish I could remember them!"
The light dies down and I stumble to my feet, careful not to get injured or rip my clothes on the glass. "Thanks for the chat."
"Anytime." he replies with a smile, and once again his mind is dark, littered with scars of time; littered with glass and full of broken cupboards where on the shelves his memories glitter dimly; faint beautiful lights in a forgotten landscape brutally destroyed by misbehaviour and abuse.