Orb

It's white. Given that everything in this sterile room is blanched of color, that should come as no surprise. What is, however, incredible is its reflection on the walls, or maybe in my head, although these ties on my wrists will prevent me from ever observing enough to understand. Its surroundings are bathed in blue and yellow; supreme pleasure with excruciatingly pure pain. As it floats, it pulses. Occasionally, it gets close to me and its potential for destruction is palpable through the air. Today I can feel it, helpless, as it carves imaginary initials into my skin. Tomorrow it will float away, an orb of beauty flitting on the edge of my consciousness. And somehow, in these lapses of memory in my weakened state, I will forget what it is, and who it has caused pain. Tomorrow, I will pine for it from this helpless corner. It will come. I will feel again, and half-willingly assume one more initialed scar. What I should do tomorrow, really, is run.

Toys or Noble Pursuits

I wrote a poem and scrubbed it from a notebook only moments ago. What fury I found flowing through my fingers as I erased that small expression; I fancied it too revealing for the ugly garish paper on which it had been scrawled. I was told today that true art can only come from a soul that is truly feeling anguish. I am afraid then, to admit that the words with which I attempt to play are merely toys.

"The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours."

At what point does one person stop and another begin? Is it possible for me to stop well before I ever touch another human being? Is that natural, or is it actually that everyone is so far inside the bubble I call self that I am unable to recognize their independence?

I can perceive and reason about so much, but once I have to actually see what makes them operate, other people make me queasy.

Rain fell through my window this morning. Not hard, and not enough to wash away the deep purple blue of my dreams. Instead, when I woke up, my windowsill was damp, and the calls of crows outside were muted. I sat up slowly, taking in the grey emptiness of mist that cascaded through my window like a sunbeam. Closing my eyes, I hugged my knees to my chest and let the rain make its soldier's march across my consciousness.

After several moments, I kicked myself off the bed and spread my arms wide. Surrendering myself to the sound of water, I danced a spin forever into the dawn.

On a plain

I wasn't aware at all, on that run. Absorbed in your torturous ways, I was posessed by my own motion and flailings, until a gnat actually flew into my eye. Startled, I continued to run, still halfway angry at the loops my mind was making. My vision was blurring, and I swatted at the gnat, refusing to detach myself from my remisiscings about your evil chains. The world wanted something else from me, however, and sent a rabbit to appear between my feet. In my confusion and mind-clouded drudgery, I stumbled. I looked up finally, away from the ground because my face was heading more quickly towards it than usual, and realized that the trail I had forgotten to consider was ending in a step. Too late. I stepped over the edge and onto a slope of scree. There was nothing to do other than ride the pebbles down until my foot crashed into the duck pond below me. Ducks splashed and spluttered and flew away, indignant at this limby creature that had interrupted their peaceful musings. Their pond had interrupted my thoughts as well, but I suppose it was for the best. I stood for a while giggling, one foot in a pond and my head high on endorphines. My life is too great for those old petty thoughts to enslave it.

Fairy wings

I dream. She calls me. She is beautiful in the classic way, tiny and blonde; wise, yet cute like a child. Her feet are small and graceful. Fearing her already, I make a move to introduce myself in a way that shows how sorry I am for taking what I did from her. She doesn't notice. Emboldened, I press further. She flies at me, her delicate wings beating indignantly and her mouth open in a gaping sharp scream. I understand in that instant she wants to kill me; she wishes I were dead. I try to fight back, because I didn't know what it meant when I took it. It was so insignificant to both of us. And now I understand its meaning. So does she, now that I took it from the place where she had dropped it, worn from use. I eventually repaired it lovingly, although in some ways it will always be hers, which is why I think she fights. I have no claim on it. Suddenly she stops smothering me the way she has with fear, and I gather that I have communicated some of this meaning to her. In a flurry of time and edges I understand that she holds something I will not find, not in the trinket I now possess or elsewhere, and that we can reconcile without it. We bind, and for once I feel strong and sure.

I wake. She is gone. In a sigh I discover that these things are real. I have taken on her burden, but in the context of dry ground I can no longer float the way I can in dream mist. Deflating, I see that all I can ever hope to cling to is the small trinket over which we would have fought. I turn to my side and look it over. I think it mourns our loss.

Iridescence

I ran over the beach today. I began at the edge of the dunes, and ran along the coast, idly listening to the crashing waves. At first it was difficult, as I plowed my way through elfish foothills made of sand, but I held my ground, and my muscles developed a rhythm. After nearly half an hour I veered off closer to the water. The sand was more densely packed, and I didn’t have to work as hard. Just as I had gotten used to the new environment, the texture of the ground under my feet changed again. Looking down, I discovered that I was running over a marbled path made of uncountable tiny shells tossed upon the sand. Alternating white and blue almost as if they had been tiled with intent, the band of shells marched along the coast ahead of me until I could no longer make out the difference between their path and the crashing waves. Understanding for an instant what it meant, I kicked off my shoes without stopping and peeled off my shirt, realizing I no longer coveted its protections. After a few more steps and a moment’s hesitation, I tossed my precious necklace away as well. The shells felt smooth under my feet. With each step my foot pushed them into the sand, soft like custard and gritty like snow. To my left lived the grey ocean coming from infinity to kiss my heels with green-capped translucent waves. To my right, incredibly, a flock of seagulls began to land, shoulder to shoulder, their brown bodies quivering. They continued to approach the sand and come to rest, until their clean white heads formed a sea of their own, reflecting the sky’s smoldering blue. Suddenly I needed nothing more than air as my feet flew in graceful arcs down the benevolent path, and iridescence reigned in all directions.

Falling through yesterday's anomaly

Yesterday was unusual. I parked on the roof of the parking garage, because I like to see the sky at least once every day, and yesterday I figured it could be walking to and from my car. I was forced to postpone my seeing of the sun until after work, however, because a dense white fog enveloped the top of the building. Few people park in my garage, and no one else uses the roof, so I was not distracted from the vacantness of the space I presently occupied. I could see no movement in any direction as I slowly made my way to the staircase. I turned one last time to look around before I went down the stairs, and heard my name. It exploded over my ears and blew past my head in its rush to fall down into the stairwell behind me. I was knocked down a few steps and had to grab the handrail for support.

Needless to say, I was on the alert as I arrived at the top of the parking garage stairs in the evening. The fog had cleared, and the setting sun reflected orange off the deserted cement railings. I had proceeded almost halfway across the lot to my car and was about to shrug off my morning shake-up as a twist of mind, brought about by lack of coffee, when I noticed something. A crow was perched on the railing of the garage near my car. I couldn't see its eyes because they blended into its empty black feathers, but I had the distinct impression it was staring at me. I still don't understand why I did this, but I ran toward it, waving my arms, trying to shoo it away. I yelled as I neared it, and just as I was about to touch it, it fell. It didn't fly away. It fell. Head over heels off the railing to where I couldn't see it. I ran to look and see where it had went, but it was gone.

I got into my car and sped home. Some of the streets I take have speed limits of 60 miles an hour or so, but my odometer never dipped below 70 the entire ride. I bring this up only because as I got out of my car to head into my apartment, I went to close my door and touched something slimy. I looked again and realized I had touched the still-wet path of a snail, making its way up the side of my car. I wondered why it had not fallen.

Anyway. You can I'm sure see for your self. Yesterday was unusual.

To the person whose life I stole

I stole your life today at the checkout in the gas station and I'm sorry. I bought a lighter because I miss them and told the cashier that it was for my brother. I don't have a brother. I told the cashier I was going to work as a secretary today, and tonight I was going to an art show. If you are a secretary who has a brother and is going to an art show tonight, I learned what it was like to be you today in that fleeting instant in front of the counter.

I wonder what you think your life is like.