The Sunstone City » RJ

Love is…

RJ — Sat, 01 May 2010 03:34:51 +0000

I looked at him, his eyes brave and stony, stared back. ‘This is not the right side of the river’, he said, his words tumbling forward and rolling about on his bare chest. He took out his tape measure and began to beat away the catfish as they swarmed. Catfish hate to be measured as a sign of their vanity, but he was a tasty treat and they began to eat away at his elbows and knees regardless. Soon he was gone altogether.

Days later I was clearing the dust for his funeral at the gallery. He always liked to surround himself with fine art and a favourite of his was the lady Venus, carved in marble. He fell in love with her and for a time would not leave her side. I brought him sandwiches and biscuits every day, but could not persuade him to let go. I wish he had felt the same way about me, even if only for a moment.

As I began spacing the chairs for an angular reception, I placed a small model of his Venus on his coffin. In the end, all we could find of him was a few sprinklings of soggy breadcrumbs. My gingerbread mans coffin was empty, like my heart.

Haikus

RJ — Sat, 01 May 2010 03:31:42 +0000

The violent ibis

Spies us, beside us, silent

Soundless and saves us

—

Butterflies inside

Behind my eyes, surprise me

Die slowly into lies and drown me

And all the way surround me

Dragging slowly down

—

The shadow cast along

The wall behind me, silent

Belongs to my cat

—

Words that don’t make sense

Scrawled down every page I see

I might be in France

Observations on the versatility of the everyday carrot

RJ — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 05:56:31 +0000

While pondering the food I had before me on a recent trip to a small beach town on the coast of New South Wales, I began my observations in the versatility of the everyday carrot. I said to myself as I sat, relaxed, on my wide spread beach towel, under the shady trees on the sandy banks of Nelsons Lagoon, in the Momosa Rocks National Park, watching the bright sun peep through onto my soon-to-be-browner skin, ‘the carrot really is the most versatile vegetable I can think of.’

As I gnawed my way through the whole, unpeeled, orange root that was my food, I delighted in dipping the end of it into a small tub of tzatziki, making it taste of garlic. Later on that day while partaking in a more substantial meal containing said flora, a discussion arose between myself and my peers on a topic of my own instigation; the many ways the daucus carota (in the Latin) can be prepared for consumption. The result of this conversation concluded in a long list of several categories detailing the carrots supposedly unintentionally resourceful nature.

Now filled with the fear that the humble carrot has achieved a certain degree of involvement in the downfall of humanity by subliminally taking over the world one dinner plate at a time, the time had come for myself to either sit back and accept what was happening around me and put it down to paranoia or to take arms and fight against this seemingly unstoppable force.

My friends, all that I ask is that the next time you find yourselves in the presence of the carrot, do not take its modest appearance, nutritional worth and delectable savour lightly. Devour the carrot at your own risk, but I implore you keep in mind constantly that things are not always as they seem.

Mowing

RJ — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 05:43:11 +0000

Surrounding and engulfing; a thick intense aroma

Floating and skimming along the breeze

Buzzing and bumbling away

A mouth full of razors a head full of cogs

Chugging along, humming, away

Tiny green men falling behind

Left along on the earth to die

Millions of fallen soldiers

A think mist of blood, obscuring the horizon

Broken bones lay waiting for un-expecting giants

To crush them deeper into the ground

Releasing souls, taking their remains to the heavens

Warm and fresh, the process is calming, to me

Sweet and smooth as lightly falling summer rain.

The Secret Life of Honey

RJ — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 03:47:28 +0000

Sometimes I feel like Goldilocks from Goldilocks and the Three Bears except there are no bears and all I want is some porridge and a nice place to nap but I’m in someone else’s house and I don’t know where to find the honey or if they even have any soy milk. This bothers me as I am always having to drive into the abyss that exist between Blackwood and Trentham to buy some more honey for $6 a kilo or send my mother to go and get it and I am always on edge when my supply is running low. But that is just the price I have to pay for the best honey in the state. Sometime I wonder if my life revolves around the sweet sticky goo that is magically produced by tiny buzzing insects in the back blocks of the Wombat State Forrest. But then I remember that eating something every day is not the same as worshiping it. There are so many better things in this world that comes in slabs than beer – like honey – but also mangos, as I discovered yesterday. A slab of mangos at the Coles in Bega was only $19.95. The four of us could each consume a mango every day for five days and still have two left over to appease my parents. The mangos themselves were from Queensland which is where sunshine is made. What else comes from Queensland? Roller coasters and strange men who live in tepees and only come out at night to utilise their vast collection of dried herbs – but that’s another story altogether. Sarah tells me that the honey comes out of the bees feet and they stomp it out (she demonstrates this theory quiet matter-of-fact-ly), which is strange to me as I always thought that it came from their bum (or bee-hind), which never stopped me from eating it, but what do I know about it anyway? I recently watched a movie about bees and perhaps I would have more knowledge on the topic if I hadn’t been mixing honey into a cup of hot chai at the time they explained all that. So I guess the bees get to keep their precious secret from me in the end after all. But now I’m Goldilocks again and I feel bad asking for the honey because the porridge I’ve been given should be enough to sustain me, why should I need anything more? They don’t have honey at all and now my gracious host feels bad that the meal they have spared me is not adequate. And then I remember that I need to be a bit more grateful and a bit less picky. After all the world is not here for us; we are here for the world.

Welcome

RJ — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 22:11:02 +0000

Hello. My name is Renee J De La Rue and I write stuff for you to read. I am currently working on my first novel called “Nosc - The Sunstone City”. I have made this blog so that you can follow my progress and for you to read some of my stuff.