"If the flesh came into being because of spirt, that is a marvel, but spirit came into being because of the body, that is a marvel of marvels.
Yet I marvel at how this great wealth has come to dwell in this poverty."
So many scenes, memories of a few, scattered, frivolous. Too many memories. Too many, frolicking currents of the lazy haze grown thick surrounds my being, dull and unrelenting. Dull and unrelenting; tiredness, a mass too many. Still, resolve sweltering under the glass... never close to a clue, a challenge of fortune, spare me change. Cast aloft out into the barren, squandered wasteland, victimized by grounding convulsions in need of answers. Resolve. I know they are here. Burial, tomb, cache... cast adrift under the sands. Guarded by a map.
Where is he? Where is he.
A dutyful refracted image remerges from the confines of reality...
"You rang? Keep in mind we're very busy at the moment."
"Tell me a story!"
"A what? Are you kidding? Or are you once again having fun at my expense and the expense of my limited time to converse with you?"
"Tell me a story."
"A story? Hmmm...."
"Please. Frown."
"Alright. Here, piece through this one here. This is a memory of the first time we met. Now leave me alone."
The image of lights dimming down syncronized with the drawing up of the imagined curtains; the fading usher slowly backs into the hushing, quiet life once more.
A series of images lock into place. Click. Whirr. Red, green, christmas has backed away from the present day, withered and desicated, a fire hazard of a falling dormant holiday. White, crispness surrounds the outer realm of snow and ice. Snow but mainly ice. Heated tempers bring about the cold; tempered, encasing the outside world in a growing, living crystal. An ever expanding watery tomb brought to life with even the slightest breath of moisture, lining the trees, buildings, anything in reach. Pressures snap, unable to carry the weight. A man, confronts a women, with emotions unabashed, a story seemingly undecisive to observing characters. Emote. Disapproval. Unrelent, disapproval. Exodus, after some travel a man is finally left to himself, to his confines of thought, but not alone...
"What are you doing? Who are you? What's going on here? I know you, but this is not possible. Just leave me alone. I love her. Yes I do. I do so! Who are you? What is this, what is going on here? I don't see how this is a concern of yours. This is my life and I will live it the way I so choose. Where are you? Show yourself! I know you are here, I can feel your presence here...
What did you do to her?"
"What I must..."
"Who are you? Why am I not afraid of you... your implications? I've truely lost it haven't I. I'm not afraid of you. Show yourself."
"Hee-he-he. Semblance of finding something rather, dislocated. Giggle. Here I am. See, see. Better? Questions, questions. An image coated in the shine, but so reflective to the true meaning. Rather dull even. Are you even listening? Drum, drum, tap, tap... sounding the empy sorrow. Helloo."
"What did you do to Erin?"
"What I must. What I must. She does not carry us into what is to come, not even the now. Hmmm, maybe yesterday... too soon, too soon, left with uncertainty on this one."
"I don't understand what you're saying. Who are you anyway? What has made you this way, or even why are you here? Why are you tormenting me. I know only sorrow and loneliness. She was creature comfort. I need her. Without her, I hurt, is that what you want?"
"My parents I think, mother, father... such answered questions. Weary. Weary. She is not for you. Listen. Listen. There are no ears here, hmm, nothing to be broken. I sent her away from us. Away. Away again. Two times the trouble, repeating. Hear, here... Sympathy. Pain will wither away, if given the chance... Better fortunes will be on the horizon, buried. We are one. I am with you, you are me. Hear. Time will tell its story, mystery released. Be patient, fleeting, floating are the explainations my friend. Comfort."
"I love her."
"No."
"But I love her..."
"NO!"
Self-dicovery races forward, spurred on by reflecting questions. The waking mind chokes on the taste of the bitter confusion, slowly digesting it. Acceptance of his long shadow. Outside the sub-concious mind, outside the confines of sheltered comfort, warmth, the icestorm rages on, furied with more sorrow; lashing out its grief on the unsuspecting city with a frozen whip. Click. Click. Click. A meeting indeed... incorrect in form. Untrue to a point. Half sided to remember. Huh, some map. Poor guy. Reflective. Hmmm, what else is on?
