Jade Alyse Writes

COMING SOON | Specter: A Short Story by Jade Alyse

photo I had someone come up to me while visiting friends in Maryland this weekend and say, "I knew you wrote, but I didn't know you were an actual writer".  That was unbelievably flattering.  For the past year and a half, I have been patiently building a small empire of sorts.  I want to be a writer, I know where my future lies, I know what I want.  To hear someone say that they've read something I wrote and actually enjoyed it is music to my ears.

I've been doing a lot of writing lately. Blame it on the lovely weather we're having in North Carolina, my positive outlook on life, or all of the inspiration that surrounds me on a daily basis.

And I have something else very exciting to share with you all!  I've been developing this since the summertime, when I took a graduate poetry class at North Carolina State University (my alma mater).  I've been developing an entirely new way of looking at my writing, and I've investigated ways in which I could incorporate a new angle: magic realism and surrealism.   I've studied Chilean writers like Neruda and Allende for many years and wondered how their brains worked, how they cultivated these visions into words.

And do you remember that grungy rock band, Nirvana? While Kurt Cobain admittedly creeped me out as a kid in the '90s, I was always drawn to the song, "Where Did You Sleep Last?".  The macabre tonality of it mixed with Cobain's eerie, I-see-a-bright-tunnel-of-light-ahead-of-me voice, immediately made me think of decay, heat and death.  I did a little research to discover that it was actually a remake of a 1917 recording called "In the Pines" sung by a black musician named Lead Belly.  Being the history buff and research enthusiast that I am, I dug a little deeper to discover that the song dates back to the 1870s, believed to be of Southern Appalachian origin.

Cool, right?

Without further delay, I'm introducing yet another short story for my growing repertoire, appropriately entitled "Specter".  Without giving too much away, imagine an failed writer suffering from delusions and heartbreak, a old plantation reformed into a hotel, and a pretty, young stranger who doesn't remember who she is.  

Aren't sufficiently creeped out yet?  Check out these lyrics, and the accompanying music provided below.

I can't wait to share this with you guys! :)

"Black girl, black girl, don't lie to me Where did you stay last night? I stayed in the pines where the sun never shines And shivered when the cold wind blows"

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcXYz0gtJeM]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsfcUZBMSSg]

Reminds me of a dream I had last night: Because I Love You Last Night - e.e. cummings

because i love you)last night  

clothed in sealace

appeared to me

your mind drifting

with chuckling rubbish

of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and(before my

eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly

your face smile breasts gargled

by death:drowned only

again carefully through deepness to rise

these your wrists

thighs feet hands

poising

to again utterly disappear;

rushing gently swiftly creeping

through my dreams last

night,all of your

body with its spirit floated

(clothed only in

the tide's acute weaving murmur

In honor of Valentine's Day, here is one of my favorite poems by Pablo Neruda - "Here I Love You"

Here I love you.In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself. The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters. Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures. A silver gull slips down from the west. Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship. Alone. Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. Far away the sea sounds and resounds. This is a port. Here I love you. Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream. The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.