Jazzy Hawley
Bio
Hey I’m Jazzy, I’m an actress and writer based in Los Angeles. A quote I think about a lot is “We are so little but we’re all we think about”
Stories (2)
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"I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process." Vincent van Gogh In the middle of a blossoming garden sits a sunny room surrounded by windows. However the light is subdued by sheer, tall, white curtains, and fruit trees that clutter the outside of the windows. Flattened tubes of paint sit around the room while brushes scatter the creaky hardwood floor. There are half-finished Van Gogh look-alike paintings that decorate the room. In the corner is a partially complete copycat of the “Vase with Twelve Sunflowers” but instead of rich yellows the flowers are brown and lifeless. Nearer, on the floor lies a version of “Starry Night” without the deep blue sky, and in the center of the room there is an easel, with a perfect copy of “Blossoming Pear Tree.” Every detail is exact. The tree is drawn to scale of the original. The colors were borrowed from Vincent himself. The painting is mathematical not a stroke out of place. This painting is like Fitzgerld’s Gastby, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, it’s masterful. Next to the painting is a stool, and a table that is covered in tubes of yellow paint.
By Jazzy Hawley4 years ago in Fiction
The Teddy Bear & The Beast
Hi, I’m JJ and my mom is a hoarder. If you’re not familiar with that term I would love to explain it to you. Miriam Webster defines it as “a person affected with hoarding disorder” which is super descriptive and helpful. In less sensitive terms it just means you can’t throw shit away. Yes, it’s a compulsion that is typically treated with therapy but saying that would have ruined the punchline. Anyway growing up in a house stacked with newspapers, health and safety notices plastered to my front door, and a room full of baby dolls from the 80s hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park. I’m 20 years old now and my boyfriend was bugging me to take him home for the holidays. Bringing him into a hazmat zone to ring in the New Year didn’t really sound like a good plan. I decided instead of telling him the truth, I’d just clean my mom's entire hoard. To get some real work done I had to get my mom out of the house. So, I told my dad to take her to my aunt’s for the day. I try to get in the front door. It’s stuck so I start shoving, it barely moves. I push harder when I finally get through the door, I notice piles of milk cartons in my way. I only shove the door about a quarter of the way open and I have to turn my body and carefully shuffle through. The beast has grown, he’s gotten taller, his breath is smellier, and his fur is thicker. I’m freaking out, the walls feel like they are closing in. There’s so much shit! I brought in one package that I wrapped in brown paper. I’m gonna put my mom's valuables in this pretty box for her and the rest of the junk is going to be hauled off and dumped, burned, bulldosed; I don’t care as long as it’s gone. I make my way through the house sorting through mounds of trash and I find a pink butterfly clip I used to wear everyday when I was a kid. One time I tried to use elmers glue to keep it in my hair forever, my mom stopped me… thank god. Now this next part I feel a little guilty about, I put it in the box. I mean I don’t have to throw everything away at once right? Get this, the next thing I know it’s hour 3 of “cleaning” and I find myself lying on a pile of newspapers reading one from 1969. The headline was the Apollo 11 moon landing. I mean that’s gotta be worth somethin’ right? I threw it in the box. Then I come across this stack of everything I drew as a child. I mean everything, even the finger painting I did of Bill Clinton when I was 12. Which just by hearing that concept I think we all agree… I’m a visionary. I put that in my box so fast it was a no brainer. It came time for the attic which was the most dense part of the house; I sorted, sweated, and sanitized that hot box of death until I had dust bunnies running for their lives! Once I was done I noticed there was a little yellow button on the floor. I picked it up and noticed it said “Teddy’s Toys” on the edge of the button in fine print. I remembered my teddy bear as a little girl had three yellow buttons on its tummy. Without a thought I put it in the little brown package. The house now looked livable, you could not only see the floors but you could lick em’, the dishes were no longer mount everest, and there wasn’t a fire hazard in sight. It wasn’t till I was half way back to my car that I noticed what was in my package labeled valuables: a plastic butterfly clip, a newspaper from 1969, a finger painting of Bill Clinton, and a little yellow button. After years of writing my mom off as crazy I finally understood. She just sees value in the little things, and like me at this moment, has a little trouble letting go of the past. I grabbed a ribbon from one of the trash bags tied around the brown paper package and set it on my mom’s doorstep. I figured if she kept these things all these years she deserves to hold onto them a little longer. Oh and I almost forgot to mention I brought my boyfriend home for Christmas and my parents loved him.
By Jazzy Hawley4 years ago in Humans
