Lake

I saw him in a dream.
He was dancing above the waters.
On his forehead
Were two little wings.
A vaporous light surrounded him.
His translucid skin was lifted
By a glittery wind.
But he could not ignore them,
In his orbits the dark waters of the lake were raging.

© asd – 2009

Free

I am sick of having to worry about people worrying. It is killing me. All my life I have had to hide my feelings for the benefit of others. "Don't say anything to her about it, darling", "keep it to yourself", "better to hide it". Too many times have I heard these words after bursting out in rage from weeks of being locked in my own head.
Sometimes, when there is no other way (often due to conscious refusal from one of the parties involved) and in extreme situations, things need to be spoken out to prevent death from mental asphyxia. But most feelings must be expressed and understood without words. They are there, you can see them, I can see them, and we both know that you and I can. And this is a fascinating attribute of human interaction: many things must be expressed without being said. It is as if, as soon as we speak them, the corporeality of our voices seals our thoughts and feelings dead. They turn into mere ob-jects. And as they touch the ground, they cloud the unconscious stream which carries all the feelings we know to feel and all the thoughts we know to think.
Please, my darling, see me out loud.

© asd – 2009

A Month in Suspension

The other day I felt it. It was right before me. My fingers were running along the hard, porous surface of some strangers' walls, and it was its face. My nose was overwhelmed with the cold smell of burnt grass, and it was its perfume. My eyes were blinded by a vaporous light, and it was its skin. I was floating behind a glazed window.
For the first time in a long, long time, I was filled with bliss. I did not look further back than forth. I did not let myself go. For the first time in a long, long time, I could see the other side.

There are two ways to step into life. Only one is real.

The first is what happened to me in another time.
I fell into it. I took a step forward and there I was. I took that step because there was no other way: the youth in my cells had built solid blinkers. Once I had entered, I went from mystery to mystery with no halt. But I made a costly mistake: I was pretentious enough to believe that it was I who had fashioned the blinkers, to my taste. Yes, I thought, I killed a cow, I rubbed its bare skin in organic matters and I sewed the pieces together to form two patches. Along the way, with the fresh feel of novelty wearing off, holes began to appear. You cannot see the other side without contrast: the bubble swimmed back up to the surface with terrifying speed and deflated in a flash. The glass had acquired an opacity which flattened light and my optic nerve only conveyed memories.

The second way is the hardest. You must be one and three.

I want to choose the second way. I want to make blinkers out of clear glass.

© asd – 2009