The brown smells like wet cardboard and soggy Rice Krispies languishing in a stodgy bowl in a dirty sink full of dishes.
The black smells like licorice flavored liquor and settled smoke obscuring my vision on a deathly autumn night that seems to last forever.
When I smell colors, this is what I hear.
The whitesmells like vanilla candles burning special, on vanilla birthday frosted cakes, too, too sweet.
The red smells like angry acne and sweat from a sleepless summer nights of rejected sexual advances, festering in a marriage bed growing toward displeasure.
When I smell colors, this is what I taste.
The blue smells like the mystery of a shadowed ocean being overlooked by a winter’s dark starry night above.
The orange smells like corporate cubicles during rushed at-desk lunches, peels peeled of pride and dead inside, cleaning the clogged dreams with citrus solutions.
When I smell colors, this is what I feel.
The green smells like the verdant vegetative estates of spring sprawling out into the forever, ground up for health drinks consumption.
The purple smells like mountains majesty and spiced plums bruised by vascular varicose varieties.
When I smell colors, this is what I smell.
The peach smells like generalized skin tones of nude pantyhose on a Kmart shelf hanging suggestively from a plastic egg packaging.
The greysmells like the ashes of dead relatives left on counters at mortuaries and funeral parlors sealed with precision so all that is left materially cannot escape order.
Welcome to my effort. Yes, as a great procrastinator, it requires great effort to stay focused on something productive that matters to me. I’ll find any old excuse to traipse from project to project, and I rarely end up at the place I started. I find this maddening, and exhaustive. So it is with high hopes, and a greater grasp of self-awareness, that I embark upon staying the course so to speak.
I enjoy writing. Be it blogs, fiction, poetry, etc. I love the craft and the act of creation, the art in and of itself, for it’s own sake and end. I am happy to be able to do it.
Some stats:
Born: March 1974
Education:
St.Francis de Sales, Charlestown MA
Don Bosco Technical High School, Boston MA
University of Massachusetts at Lowell, Lowell MA
Bunker Hill Community College, Charlestown MA
DePaul University, Chicago, IL
North Virginia Community College, Arlington VA
Harvard Extension School, Cambridge MA
Place of residence: Somewhere in the land of metro Boston. It’s vaguely familiar and becoming home more and more by the day, but when you come from “The Town” all else fails by comparison.
Favorite Color: I’m partial to all forms of blue.
Favorite Author: c’mon! don’t expect me to answer that, there are too many.
I enjoy memories of playing 80’s Atari better than playing any advanced gaming system that exists today.
Some day:
Hope to be recognized for my paper clip collection. As well as my 27 rejected applications to Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailiey Clown college.
View all posts by Christopher Hickey
It’s a bit of a transition from eggs over easy to serious writing, but this is good. I always appreciate use of the senses in writing, and color here too. Sad issues are sad, but part of life, I guess.
Actually for me, this may be my favorite piece to read by you. I’ve reread and reread eating it’s wholesomeness like stick to your ribs southern food, till full and burping. Knowing it is time to quit, I save the rest for a midnight snack….
Only to start again at the beginning again. Or maybe line 16 or whereever my finger lands.
Cormac McCarthy waves hi, with a trout in his other hand
It’s a bit of a transition from eggs over easy to serious writing, but this is good. I always appreciate use of the senses in writing, and color here too. Sad issues are sad, but part of life, I guess.
Always. Thank you for your words. Always appreciated.
Actually for me, this may be my favorite piece to read by you. I’ve reread and reread eating it’s wholesomeness like stick to your ribs southern food, till full and burping. Knowing it is time to quit, I save the rest for a midnight snack….
Only to start again at the beginning again. Or maybe line 16 or whereever my finger lands.
Cormac McCarthy waves hi, with a trout in his other hand
Hugely appreciated. Means the world.