Thursday, 31 January 2013

Abandoned Playgrounds.

I love stories.

  Fables, Tales, myths, peoples recollections (even false ones), anything! I just enjoy glimpses of things i haven't experienced. However,  I like stories not to end. So 
it is rare for me to completely finish a book, even one i really enjoy. I relish filling in the gaps myself, and letting the characters created by other people, but adapted by myself, live on in some area of my mind that i can revisit whenever i wish.

 I figure this is why i enjoy abandoned spaces so much. Places that were once occupied, left standing empty. They are usually left due to some uninteresting tale of lack of funding, but most of the time I'm not interested in why they were left. Even as a young adult i like to play 'pretend' and an empty space that still has the stains and dents of occupancy, are playgrounds for my imagination.

Here is one, particularly intriguing, abandoned playground:

The towers. Through one, of several, broken windows is the view of the towers on the surrounding buildings that used to form together as a functional mental hospital. They, even now, look foreboding. Still the green moss softens its oppressive nature, just a little.

Windowsills are weather eaten outside, and more disturbingly chipped away at from inside. 

An empty cupboard, with empty hangers, once filled with bed linen and  coats.

A place both alive, and dead. 

Some old salt and pepper jars. 

I am not so good at exploring my thoughts and stories i create. But here is a grand story teller indeed. 

"Sleep is not, 
Death is not.
Who seem to die, live.
House you were born in,
Friends of your spring time
They are all vanishing
Fleeing to fables."

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