Feelings from the Crypt

Saturday, July 16, 2005

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?”, could I not ask him that. This seething urge fills my very depth of abyss. Really, could I not ask him that? Could I not tell him that my hands are of no use anymore, I can’t paint anymore. I see him clearly. Lucid, and sparkling with rays, that dance out effortlessly from his holy aperture flanked over three-sixty degrees with drapes of brown iris.

Click and flash.

Say hello to illusion.

I offer him a seat and play about, wondering if I am wandering for a decade or so. I can’t think anymore, as I am completely left out blank. Thought is a ship, which is always sailing through, and often carried away by pirates. I try to light a fire on the water, hoping to scare the pirates away. What time is it now? Good or bad? Slow or fleeting? Could I not ask him all that. I could be sitting with him right under the gorgeous saucer, bathing in the beam that the UFO blessed us with. I see us running into a bar, the wildest thing to do. I could take only a sip of gin tonic, take a furtive glance around the rest of the people, throw away my drink and act as if I am helluva drunk. I could gaze at him shamelessly and pull him to dance with “I wanna get close to you”.

Fizz. The champagne bottle is uncorked and there’s no letting go off.

I see him now staring at the center of his field of vision, the concrete- his bed and the book- his pillow. It’s all the same from every angle. Isotropic. Concealed by the sharp edges of objects in space. He sees electrons drifting in space, with his X-ray vision. Funny that he is not Superman. I see his hands, which can create love at the slightest provocation, a living, talking example of order. Makes me want to have freshly made chocolate cake from those human tentacles, which strictly follow the chaos theory, and can lift me up in the air, the sandy breeze floating beneath me.

The ship is fighting through a storm, and Noah is nowhere in sight. The flame flickers vehemently on the salty water, cries frantically for some wax, and dissolves. I can see him now waiting in absolute darkness, with a pair of searching hands and a burning heart.