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Where Eldwulm Left His Papers
Contributed by
Adam_Gaucher
on
Thursday, 14th November 2002 @ 05:30:00 PM in AEST
Topic:
Nostalgic
|
I remember Eldwulm, remember him
well. He was a soft-spoken man
who hailed from the upper states of
conscienceness. He'd been to
Luxembourg, and he'd seen Madrid.
He hadn't a nest to cling to, and he
was not the Isle of Wight, and he
wasn't Hamburg: he was something else;
something apparently nonexistent.
Some called Eldwulm a poet, a
minstrel, an artist. And his papers!
O how his papers could transform
any human being into a gawking
spectacle squinting in the light of
absolute brilliance. You see, Eldwulm
refused to call these works his
poems or his artwork. You'd always
find him refering to them as simply
his "papers."
He was certainly a traveler. I
met him myself in a small coffee
shop in Marseille, and if you'd have
ever known him, you'd find it
strange that he was the one who
approached me. We immediately
fell for each other as we talked
for several hours. Several hours
plumped with a manic discourse
that has yet to be matched by
mortal fiends. When the shop closed
we were put out into the cold.
I remember it was particularly cold
that evening because we'd gone for
a lengthy walk to continue our discussion.
Though he'd never admit it, I'd
always suspect that maybe his main
motivation in approaching me was in
finding a half-decent lad to live
with for a spell or two. Because
that's what happened. I invited him to
stay with me for as long as he
planned on being in town.
We quickly became very good friends.
We found him a job in some mom and
pop diner about five blocks along the
way. We were two artists, living up each
day for what it was worth, barely
getting by with what money we made. Some
nights we'd hit the streets with a
drum and a mandolin for a little extra
cash, usually for coffee and cigarettes.
Comfortably we lived this way for
a couple of months when Eldwulm finally
decided it was time for him to
move on. He invited me to come
with him.
We hastily gathered our things,
and from there we moved from
town to town, surviving much in the same
way we would back in Marseille.
Those were the loveliest days; the
loveliest times. We met so many
great people in the process, hopefully
an influence on them all, sharing the
happiness, sharing our love. And his papers.
I knew that if he wanted to, Eldwulm
could've been famous. But he always
said he'd never sell himself that way,
not even in starvation. Somehow I'd always
force the issue, maybe for my
own benefit, but I don't know. I just
wanted to see him receive that which
he deserved.
Every day we grew closer and closer as
the years past by. But not past like
the zombies on the streets. More like
that song; that one song that continuously
runs its fingers through your hair and
into your eye sockets; through your
skull and into your sex-ready mind.
The day came to move on once again,
but this time I couldn't go, because of
a girl that I probably didn't love as
much as I'd loved Eldwulm. It seemed
so normal at the time: to part with my
friend as if it were just another end of
another long work day; the nonchalant
"so long" we'd exchanged; the last
embrace and waving "see you soon."
Eldwulm would always tell me that I
was one of the "worthies." Possibly
the only one he'd ever befriended. But
this never stung me quite until I happened
to discover one of his papers singing
in the middle of a fairly prominent literary
magazine. This poem, which I had
heard so many times from his lips by
request, was sitting right there, without
his usual presence, staring at me, along
with only his name. How hungry had
he become? Was this some simple
jest, a simple hello to an old friend?
It was at this point I realized how much
I'd missed him; how much I'd love
to share my warmth if even it only
meant one more chilled night. I feared
that the great spirit withheld in a man
we knew as Eldwulm, had found its
ceasing of existence. Yes it was the
worst. And I was the only bastard on
Earth who could fear it.
The last time I'd seen Eldwulm
was in some mom and pop diner
about eighty miles along the way.
(A friend and I had stopped there
to eat during a trip up north for
a small gathering). At least I
think it was Eldwulm. He was quite
gaunt now, and hardly recognizable.
I kept a glance towards the kitchen
hoping he'd remember his old friend.
"Maybe he'd quit this job and come
with us, just like old days!" I continued
wishing. But his eyes never grew wide
like in the dreams. What was I
thinking, "Look at him! He's so
beautiful and content!" I knew then
that he'd never come with us, so I
did not interfere with his glory; I didn't
ever want to find out if it was really
him there or not; because I knew.
I knew that on my part, I'd never
be as strong as Eldwulm: strong
enough in being able to swallow another
goodbye.
Copyright ©
Adam_Gaucher
... [
2002-11-14 17:30:00] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Where Eldwulm Left His Papers
(User Rating: 1 ) by OreO on
Thursday, 14th November 2002 @ 10:05:19 PM AEST (User
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a Message)
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Well this was a beautiful story
I'd really enjoy reading more of
these if you have any, Bravo!!
Thanks for sharing this one
.::´¯`·..· OreO·..·´¯`::.
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Re: Where Eldwulm Left His Papers
(User Rating: 1 ) by LOWMAN613 on
Thursday, 14th November 2002 @ 10:42:13 PM AEST (User
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a Message)
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Wow! Very well written!
Great work! Christina |
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