so this week I am stuck in bed. tonsillitis came earlier than usual. boredom and pain is a killer combo. literally
In this empty, Bob Dylan’s music-filled room, the sound of doors being knocked drowns… My sharp ear manages to filtrate the irregular tact that interrupted swinging tune. Senses, now alerted, give me an ecstatic goosebumps, yet I decide to wait for the next characteristic course of action to take its place.
Humans and their patterns are easy to predict:
After a short pause interval, the sound of doors being knocked appeared for a second round. Stronger. Louder. More aggressively… Like a prostitute provoking her’s or his (no discrimination) correspondent to react.
I grin as I still manage to read the ifs and buts of the typical behaviour ahead of time. But who couldn’t? We are one way or another the children of society where habits are expected and normal almost as inherited vice. I wonder If the person behind those doors wouldn’t knock twice with much more ‘passion’ would I consider him or her abnormal?
I slowly get up from the ground and before I reach for the handle I pause.
A nerve-wracking wait for, currently, a stranger behind the wall.
Another knock materialises.
And before finally opening the old wooden doors I smile victoriously.
Acts of philanthropy only flushes my pride along the driveshaft. So I just continue to drive Cadillacs, even if it’s only in secret.
The first time I saw Maya was in the rundown Camel pub, close to the sugar loaf walk passage. It was one of those weird sights and I surely don’t know why I stopped chugging my Brandi and looked her way.The girl wasn’t anything in looks, yet somehow appeared charming with the way she was carrying herself. Even if I make this sound as a breath-stopper, really there was nothing exceptional in the scene. Her tied-up brown, greasy hair and drab pants combined with the hoodie, of course, non-lighten roll-up in her mouth and head facing down, left me perplexed up until the moment she approached Adam for a lighter. She didn’t even look at me properly, simply said a hurried thanks and gave a short glance. Nothing happened, but it left me staring her way. I was smoking at that time. Vanishing second in a row Marlboro red, when Adam has never even taken up the habit. Her approaching him instead of myself, made me question. It made me think about trivial subjects as whether that was an issue of confidence or something else, as arrogant is to admit, I am more aesthetically pleasing than my friend.
That was it. The first meeting just left these queries which disappeared not long after another few glasses. Later on I found out that she never even remembered our first exchange of glances or even second, in fact. For a self-loving human like myself it was surely a stab in the gut; surprisingly it didn’t make her less charming, on the contrary, she became all the more.
Here it is, my British, nihilist naturmort, I thought when he opened the doors, but only spat the tedious:
He was silent. Then shortly after taking not the most pleasant bath in my eyes, he began to suck the rest of the content. I started to feel as poorly as his face mimic, which pretty much reflected the ‘eh ‘ rating. He appeared to just have jumped from the bubbly, marble one to a public, covered in mold. Cursed hippocrate, he is not that … OK, I confess this rotter was hollowed out by the God himself, while I, or rather my face, is in the fourth Dante’s hell ravine. Well, you just can imagine the impact I felt after realising the differences of our worlds.
He left me in the doorway and went towards the record player like a goddamn deer… I have never seen a creature more graceful than this one, right before my eyes. In the middle of the process he seemed to remember me and an invitation to come in followed:
– Busy while waiting for a miracle? – Murmured, without turning around.
-What are you, bloody Dorian Gray? – Jealousy has taken the form of words.
The guy turned around and showed puzzled ‘I found myself ambushed’ type of smile. It was better than the 1/8 of a sneezing orgasm. I swear at this time I was going under a criminal case and although I sentenced my heart for a death penalty, the head started to hold forth about democracy and rights, – all the boring dung, which acted as an antibiotic to the electrified hormones.
– Will it be? – Interrupted the inner case to offer a drink.
I took quite some time to digest the information, but did not fail to seem undeterred:
– With the ice. Fill the glass up to the end. – I threw a challenge.
He turned back and showed a slightly different smile, initiating curiosity and again his actions forced me to compare bottle-opening with the Victoria’s Secret show. He kept his gazes on me, I did too. For a second, I forgot to breathe, blink, swallow the saliva and just watched him watching me, that I watch him. He did not stop staring even when the liquid hit one millimeter to the excess point, he just knew when to stop pouring. This man was frighteningly skillful.
– Lynx – he says with a slightly hoarse voice. Me, still being reflex-less creature, tried to understand what this mystical creature is doing on Earth.
– Leo – takes the prepared drink of mine and his own, while maintaining the eye contact and now starts massing towards me.
– Wolf – says, while shoving liqueur, contained in a quite luxurious looking glass, to my face.
– After all, missus asked for an introduction, right? – as if explained the strange string of words and clearly satisfied with his reply he went straight back to the window.
At this point JK Rowling’s world of magic and invisibility cloak, started to slowly disappear and the poison ceased to take over my body. The hormones, gave into the Penal Colony and now only my brain was left on the minefield.
– And you? – His tone suggested the lack of interest in my existence.
– I am Beatrice, but friends call me Deila. – I showed one of the best, sneaky smiles I had in my compartment. Buddy, it takes two to Tango. (lynx, leo, wolf and Beatrice are the characters from Dante’s “Divine Comedy”)
The guy starts to chuckle and I join.
-You read?- He put his guards down.
-A little bit. Dante just happens to be a personal favorite.
– I am surprised that you followed my remarks, but I guess I knew it will go that way when you dropped the character name from Oscar Wilde.
-In fact, before this game of words, I was thinking about the poem and that’s why I seemed undeterred.
-Kevin. Call me Kevin. – Slightly nods his head. Enchanted by his manners I did the same. Then I cursed myself. This man is none other than coquette. Demon closeted in a perfect body. What is his height? It seems roughly about 1.80-1.90 meters, can not exactly handle it from the couch’s perspective. Medium length hair, directed to the back that reminded me of 1984 New York trends. Rather a solid build, and a two-day beard, frowning eyebrows and long eyelashes, so tuned into the French fantasies I usually have. Plump lip tip with clear lines … one of those with pointy ends that kidnaps gaze. He wears a black Armani suit and slightly unbuttoned shirt exposes the delicate collarbone …
He must be joking. Such people should be driven away from the society, they pose a threat to the maintenance of a healthy mind. Coo, am I in traps, coo did the poison actually worked, Romeo?
I continue to pray for my heart to remain under the bars.
Yellow elephants and blue mouses were dancing together between colored balloons in a bit unusual tea party. I saw them from afar and got the urge to join this interestingly suspicious crowd. Just had to climb over the fence into their garden, paved with the green grass, marble dining sets and the most cyan swimming pool my eyes ever witnessed. It looked so surreal, perhaps even too much, as I could almost smell the plastic or somewhat pink, if possible, odor coming over from that side of the wall. Physics stopped there and left only the animal bourgeois dancing graciously in between the millions of balloons dawdling in motion. The lack of reality there didn’t scare me, I confirmed with myself as I watched my grey, colorless hands shake slightly. It didn’t scare me at all, I kept convincing those hands to grasp a little bit stronger as there were few meters of the climbing left to overcome. Not even a bit, I whispered it less assuring after seeing the grayness from my hands spread out onto the wall itself. I could see with the bare eye, the molecules diffusing with each other and spreading the black and white colored scheme as a virus and the fastest one at that. I didn’t let go, nor I freaked out, at the end I was the only one aware that the reality here is surely far from real.
I continue to climb. It took me long, as the more I climbed the longer it got, so at the end I am not even sure how long it took me as time and space is really messed up here and doesn’t work the way I am used for it to work. I only knew three things and those were that my body started to change, that the world turned grey and that the fence is far from over. Sometimes I would look back and only see myself swallowed by noir and nothing more and even regret wanting to join the carnival at the first place. Sometimes I would end up being scared about missing the party, but then the vague space-time continuum left some hope. And I would always think like that during the journey and once I stopped spacing out I realised that those grey hands of mine are not shaking anymore. And besides it, they turned old. God, how much time has passed? I wasn’t sure. What was I chasing? What did I leave behind? Those were the questions I no longer knew how to answer. The irony hit me and I realised that somewhere in between the journey I was only missing the past or wanting to reach the future. I wanted it so much that I forgot about my beautiful, beautiful grey colored palms that now had wrinkles and became weaker. I started to think that the color itself wasn’t that bad after all. And then it hit me, I just reached the top. I no longer cared but what I saw shocked me. The skinniest elephants and fattest mouses were lying on the floor, on the pavement, next to a drained, dirty, old swimming pool. As if it was a concrete desert, they were all dried up and lifeless even though they continued to breathe, to exist. The bourgeois status ceased untraceable, it vanished or more like there was none to begin with. Was I too late? What happened to the balloons, the colors, the tea and all the dancing I wanted to join? I started questioning, but got interrupted by a deep, low husky voice:
-Hey You! Aren’t you that classy neighbor with the bluest pond and the reddest flowers out there? What brings you here?
Finally a question I could answer came up, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was this spasmodic old man’s laugh.
Seldom I think about the people that have been in my life and come to a realization that somehow I am not upset about those who are now gone. Does that make me a bad person? I keep asking myself. For not to be able to maintain or value the connections and presences that was once so dear… It is so easy to disappear, yet hard to stay close. However, truly, I am not even a tiny bit sad.
Well, as I was looking into the ocean I understood few things. Similarly, like the relationships by the flow of life, those footprints on the sand are washed away by the blue waters. But then I thought, it should not be a topic about about the footprints nor the sea. Look at the sand, it has the story on its own. What is not imprinted on the surface, still has contributed on the deeper contexts. If there was once a presence, it definitely affected the sands’ story in one way or another. The “footprints” are washed away not because they are forgotten, thy are still there, just deeper. In fact, footprints are washed away, because sometimes it makes easier for other people to walk in and leave a mark of their own.