My Hands

[Obs]

My mother wrote a description of the things her hands had done once. It was a life story from the point of view of her hands. I read it and probably said something disconcerting about it, because I was a teen and reacted in the way teens do, pretending the fact that it was moving was somehow boring etc.

She told me, "When you are my age you may want to write about your hands every decade or so."

So here it goes...

My hands were seen as a clasped ball in an old ultrasound. They were large like my fathers. My hands were glad to find my mother and could not reach around my fathers finger.
I am sure he stared at my hands at some point after I was born and was proud that they were identical to his.
My hands grew in good conditions. Good enough conditions I had scarred them up well beyond most boys in my tinkering stages. They learned things at a young age most today will never know.
My hands learned work at a young age. They developed upon this fact, very stong and very articulate.
My hands have squeezed a lot of triggers, butchered many animals, caught many passes, welded, turned wrenches, stretched wire, milked cows, cut thousands of acres of trees, built many things, and been beaten and broken.
My hands have done good and bad things. They have held the hands of people as they drew their last breath and my children as they took their first.

My hands are aging quickly. They are arthritic and my knuckles have known the sting of cortisone. My hands have developed habit. They have failed many times but never quit. My hands have been cursed by my brother and praised at times.

They will always be ready to protect and provide. They are at full service to someone deemed worthy and in need. My hands have been a life saver for a few and a thump for others. Hurting some mornings, I have to work them to get the blood flowing.

My hands are soft for one woman, and a firm handshake for a new acquaintance. Dirt under the nail unless I have just clipped them, I have held millions of pounds of wood from hitting homes from many feet above. My hands are perfect though I am not. They are a blessing for many and try their best.

These hands know love, like a father his son. They have known hate and anger nearly as well. My hands will get more scarred, more arthritic, stronger for a time. They will age into something more, but mechanically less.

My hands are and are not a lot of things, but they always tell the truth. May the things I do with them be just as honest.

[Kimbo Almond]

I wanted to write a poem about shame, guilt and condemnation, and so I used the idea of having dirty hands.

This poem is supposed to be spoken in the first person by the person responsible for the Chernobyl disaster.

-

My name is Vikoli
And I am responsible for what happened

We were testing the fourth reactor
And I disabled the safeties
We wanted to see if the turbines
would still run in a power outage

Two dead at the scene
Four dead within a day
Thirty-one dead in the first 3 months
Six thousand cancers within a year
An estimate of 4,000 deaths in total

Four thousand people
-- that's twenty thousand litres of blood
That's how much blood I have on my hands

I've washed my hands with soap,
with turpentine, with oxidizing
and deoxidizing bleach
They're still not clean

I dug a flower bed by hand
and made a snowman
My hands still aren't clean

Valium, Zanax, Codeine, Vodka
My hands still don't feel clean

I've wandered into temples,
mosques, churches,
ashrams and fetish parties
in search of an emotional bleach
No matter what I chant,
No matter where I pray,
No matter who I fuck,
My hands still don't feel clean

I'm due to see Dr Rowan at 2 today
I saunter into the room and open with,
"Have you ever done MDMA-assisted psychotherapy?"
She leans back and begins "Well...."
until I interject sharply with,
"You're doing it right now"

I chose to tell her that day
that I was very badly damaged by devestation
(perfectly understandable considering what I caused)

Dr Rowan must have told Derek
because Derek didn't seem at all surprised
when I showed up off my face
for counselling on Thursday

By the way, an addiction counselor
will never send you away
for showing up high
Don't ask me where he pulled this trick from
but he told me to give
the nuclear plant back
to the Universe,
which didn't seem a bad idea
when blasted on molly

So I did, I gave it back
Now I live in the naturist town
Cap d'Agde in France
and I make balloon animals
out on the street while
I busk on my guitar
singing David Gray

Ich liebe mein Leben

[AR's King Silabolin]

Just shut up Sil... Dont!!!.... No no no... Go prepare a meal or something. Sil.... I warn u!!!


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[Capebuffalo]

That’s a great read Obs. Really makes you think about your life and what you have done. I see where you get your descriptive writing from.




Kimbo keep you shit to your own threads please. Why would you feel it necessary to post that here except the need for attention.

[AR's King Silabolin]

That’s a great read Obs. Really makes you think about your life and what you have done. I see where you get your descriptive writing from.




Kimbo keep you shit to your own threads please. Why would you feel it necessary to post that here except the need for attention.

At least he posted. Total silence is worse than bulliying.
I red the prisoners in Assads torture chambers actually looked forward to the daily one hour torture. Just to leave the totally dark quiet cell for a while.

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[Cowboymike]

My mother wrote a description of the things her hands had done once. It was a life story from the point of view of her hands. I read it and probably said something disconcerting about it, because I was a teen and reacted in the way teens do, pretending the fact that it was moving was somehow boring etc.

She told me, "When you are my age you may want to write about your hands every decade or so."

So here it goes...

My hands were seen as a clasped ball in an old ultrasound. They were large like my fathers. My hands were glad to find my mother and could not reach around my fathers finger.
I am sure he stared at my hands at some point after I was born and was proud that they were identical to his.
My hands grew in good conditions. Good enough conditions I had scarred them up well beyond most boys in my tinkering stages. They learned things at a young age most today will never know.
My hands learned work at a young age. They developed upon this fact, very stong and very articulate.
My hands have squeezed a lot of triggers, butchered many animals, caught many passes, welded, turned wrenches, stretched wire, milked cows, cut thousands of acres of trees, built many things, and been beaten and broken.
My hands have done good and bad things. They have held the hands of people as they drew their last breath and my children as they took their first.

My hands are aging quickly. They are arthritic and my knuckles have known the sting of cortisone. My hands have developed habit. They have failed many times but never quit. My hands have been cursed by my brother and praised at times.

They will always be ready to protect and provide. They are at full service to someone deemed worthy and in need. My hands have been a life saver for a few and a thump for others. Hurting some mornings, I have to work them to get the blood flowing.

My hands are soft for one woman, and a firm handshake for a new acquaintance. Dirt under the nail unless I have just clipped them, I have held millions of pounds of wood from hitting homes from many feet above. My hands are perfect though I am not. They are a blessing for many and try their best.

These hands know love, like a father his son. They have known hate and anger nearly as well. My hands will get more scarred, more arthritic, stronger for a time. They will age into something more, but mechanically less.

My hands are and are not a lot of things, but they always tell the truth. May the things I do with them be just as honest.

I’m such a fan of your writing... I swear you need to write a compilation book.. with pieces like this in it... just all your writings compiled into one book... I’d own the digital, hardcover, paper back and the special leather wrapped bound first edition that must be signed... you have a way with words brother.

[Obs]

That’s a great read Obs. Really makes you think about your life and what you have done. I see where you get your descriptive writing from.




Kimbo keep you shit to your own threads please. Why would you feel it necessary to post that here except the need for attention.

I’m such a fan of your writing... I swear you need to write a compilation book.. with pieces like this in it... just all your writings compiled into one book... I’d own the digital, hardcover, paper back and the special leather wrapped bound first edition that must be signed... you have a way with words brother.

Thanks you guys.

You both have some great stuff too. Similar minds of people that work wirh their hands I suppose.

[Obs]

Attachment 176421

You see the drooping skin around my middle and ring knuckles?

It is fused to the bone on my ring ring finger from european smartasses I caught.

[Proximal]

You're a wonderful writer Obs.

I admired my grand-father's hands as a child. He was a bricklayer. Big & thick hands (called them mitts back in the day). I always thought those are what defined a man & they formed a large part of my work ethic.

Even if your hands can't lift one day Obs, they can still transfer your thoughts and ideas to paper. You have a gift.

[Obs]

You're a wonderful writer Obs.

I admired my grand-father's hands as a child. He was a bricklayer. Big & thick hands (called them mitts back in the day). I always thought those are what defined a man & they formed a large part of my work ethic.

Even if your hands can't lift one day Obs, they can still transfer your thoughts and ideas to paper. You have a gift.

I will be using one of those Stephen Hawking things by then lol
Thank you prox I appreciate that

[Proximal]

I will be using one of those Stephen Hawking things by then lol
Thank you prox I appreciate that

But, you will have YOUR mind.

My pleasure Obs, it was sincere.

[Kimbo Almond]

At least he posted. Total silence is worse than bulliying.
I red the prisoners in Assads torture chambers actually looked forward to the daily one hour torture. Just to leave the totally dark quiet cell for a while.

I hear they had one day without torture and the prisoners were pounding on their cell doors demanding stimulus

[Kimbo Almond]

I’m such a fan of your writing... I swear you need to write a compilation book.. with pieces like this in it... just all your writings compiled into one book... I’d own the digital, hardcover, paper back and the special leather wrapped bound first edition that must be signed... you have a way with words brother.

I actually think you should do this too. Start a document on Google Docs and start copy-pasting your stuff over. I do my poetry book on Google Docs.

[AR's King Silabolin]

I hear they had one day without torture and the prisoners were pounding on their cell doors demanding stimulus

Yeah exactly. So i dont see why Cape adressed u like a child

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[Capebuffalo]

Yeah exactly. So i dont see why Cape adressed u like a child

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You may want to go back to your castle. No one even you has posted there in a week.

[AR's King Silabolin]

You may want to go back to your castle. No one even you has posted there in a week.

Thats because im occupied with the v aliant summercycle. We re also rebuilding the Castle Great Hall walls and roof. As you commented yourself, the Castle hasnt been upgraded since 1695.

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[balance]

Great read Obs. You have a gift with writing. Hands say much about people without speaking a word.


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