When I started sharing my inspiration books and trashion projects on the web, I thought they could be used only on crafts. But inspiration is so much more and I should know that! It can be the driving force to any kind of creating and creative thingking, in this case writing.
"Trashion passion", is a short story written by
Merc aka
Sylvia Petter. She is an "Australian in Austria" who writes fiction, essays and poems. Finding her short story today really made my day because I think it captured so well the feeling I have when making my trashion projects and the trashion ideology. I felt like reading my diary. Thank you Sylvia for this story!! I love it. My favorite part is: “Why?” they asked. “She needs them,” he said. They shook their heads.". You know exactly what my husband has to endure daily... :)
TRASHION PASSION by Sylvia Petter
She recycled him. Right from the first question: “Got any old jumpers?”
“They´re for the needy,” he said.
She looked out at him from under her fringe. “They´re fashion conscious, too. Give me what they wouldn´t want.”
“Anything?”
He gave her his teabags and ties, old jeans, zippers and ski gloves.
“More,” she said, and so he set off to ask all his friends.
“Why?” they asked.
“She needs them,” he said.
They shook their heads.
“All this enough now?” he asked with arms laden.
She nodded and arranged piles on the floor.
“Why?” he said softly.
She winked, shook her head, just said: “Wait and see.”
She worked for hours on end, days and weeks, and all the while he sat cross-legged and watched her.
She frilled all his ties and sewed them together and made them into a long shiny skirt.
“You´ll need a bodice,” he said, his eyes caressing her breasts. “Better still. We could stay here forever.”
She blew him a kiss and arranged all the tea bags, strings hanging down like Swarovski pendants.
“A necklace perhaps?”
She blew him a prfft! And proceeded to triangulate all her zippers until she had a collar like Comme des Garcons.
“What if I take you walking in the snow?”
“Can’t catch me,” she said and slipped her legs into faded legwarmers that covered her Moon Boots and were made from his jeans.
“But your shoulders. It´s cold outside.”
She gestured to him that he remain seated while she arranged hundreds of ski gloves in a pattern over old jumpers. She sewed and she stitched hands, wrists and fingers until a cuddle-warm cape was completed.
He clapped his hands. “My princess,” he said.
“Trash is my passion,” she said proudly.
He held out his arms. “My trashion is you.”
Inspired by Outsapop
Tekstit
