Two-dimensional visions of a man…a man I knew well…as a cartoon bear; of the crucifixion, with the Christ in female form, eerie and bloodless, her Mother forsaken of her; to behold a forest, a very real forest, yet to see it as if drawn by a child using wax crayons; to touch the bark of great oaks and feel them as gelatine and broken glass; to panic under the attack of hallucinatory hornets giving loud and violent chase; to see tired old lichen and moss enveloped granite gravestones that transform to ones of gleaming unblemished marble before my eyes; the ghostly aura of daises awaiting the shears, sensing their death is nigh; the capricious mood swings of dandelions for the same reason; to suffer the crush of a livid sky pulverizing my very being, like a great invisible weight crushing my rib cage as it bears down on me and knowing its conjuror seeks to vanquish my living soul; The Titanic slowly and improbably drifting past the egress of a cemetery, it’s four funnels steaming a heavenly lilac haze, its horn beating out the tortuous, monotonous rhythm of the heartbeat of rambling, feral ice cubes and, in the distance, a solitary fiddle playing a lament; to thirst for the elixir of life and to find it in a ‘can’ by the roadside, surreally too ponderous to carry away and with no ring pull to open it; to feel, to squeeze in my hands the hunger and empty passion of a starving nation as vultures pick and pull at the wasted tendons of a million dead, soon to be forgotten by all that is white, black babies; to stand by and gaze at a junta of starlings devour first the clouds and then the sun until there is only darkness; to discover immortality is merely an inexpensive treadmill; to take notice of symphonic music and treasure its energy and exquisiteness for the first time; to wear a vivid cloak of prosperity salvaged from, and stained by its benevolent, helpless of late, possessor…an ultimate falsity.
I have lived all these things and much more. But that was long, long ago. To this day, I miss moreish Ms Mescaline, our affair short-lived.
Prior to our entanglement I’d neither contemplated life’s meaning nor meditated upon its purpose. I unwittingly idled through life unaware that about my person, in that convoluted mass of nervous tissue that is my mind, there was a flint, that when struck, would spark, then ignite the embers of such contemplation. When the fire catches hold it burns away the junk of immaturity that both blurs and forestalls the unrolling of the person…that is the rub.
My eternal thanks, Ms Mescaline wherever you may be.
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