“I wish I died before my world was even born.” I was having a conversation with the ceiling with a bottle of whisky wide open and a half glass full. I prefer neat. Neatness in everything has always kept me close to the shrine of my senses. Over-accurate and clean. The glass was made to make art in the air. I lifted it up looked at the bottom of the glass and then the brim.
“Probably our best friend lies between the brim and the bottom.” And I took a sip. The more relaxed you are the more the universe within you seems to expand aggressively. The cosmos of innateness are innocuous and sharp. Bolted and free. Bent but straight.
My dreamy eyes felt on the contours of the radio that still expected my attention after the sad demise of his master. It wanted to tell me something, only if I could hear. This world that surrounds me has made me deaf and the deafening comes a lot from this troubled stasis. What has man done to existence? Is it necessary to be eerie in our own existence and reap on others in a really reassuring way?
Loneliness has been with me since everyone has left.
“But has everyone?” I smiled a satisfying a grin and rose. Only of I could make it to the chamber underneath.
My footsteps were kept in clandestine. I couldn’t hear them.
I woke up in this room I have no recollection of. Dingy, small and cold. I smell rotten mice bodies. I hear the sound of silence. I see the illuminating darkness peering out at me as it deafens my train of thought. My brain feels numb. I feel numb. A deadpan exhibition. None to pick me up. Lie, lie, and lie under the shallow sky. I can see something. A mirror!
I hate mirrors. I hate the man I have made myself in the process. But I could see one in the chamber. A large one that pontificates in size and applauds all my virtues. The man in the mirror is someone I never knew. Nor do I want to know.
I hear a voice from the mirror. It says,
“Wake up. Smell the number of the beast. Taste the pungent air. Shake a leg with the echoes of an exhausted heart and embrace delirium. Witness the paraffin rendezvous, colorless and flammable as it takes place between two souls. YOU AND DELIRIUM!
What would you do if I say that you got carried away with this so-called ‘punctured mind’ sometimes? What would you do if I say you get away with insanity sometimes? You see, you are not alone. Never were. Because right now you recline on the shadows of your heart. And these shadows have made you do so many things, validation of what might be strictly ambiguous.”