a journey into subconscious. |
I worship my pen my only friend at night we spend a lifetime together writing secret syllables expounding the truth of men my lines flow like streams of unbridled consciousness making love with paper stripping away at my subconscious layers a blank page an endless white expanse i am not limited to two dimensions when I can see in four and stretch my creativity into that whiteness... making lines filling in the nothing wondering forever in my muse garden writing prophecies. here I have made a house with white walls and white carpet and a white ceiling and white furniture but the door is black and its handle is like silver sparkling on its ornate gilded frame glistening with a sinister smile "touch me" it says... "turn me" my hand replies turning the chilly sharp crispness of the elated mechanism behind it on well oiled hinges is a grove of green and silver leaved trees their branches like grey fire and in its center is a black shining pool rectangular... its surface slides like tar bubbling up sulfurous dioxide little fingers skim across its edge and just below the surface thousands fumbling hungry the dance begins! and drums of war echo upon the tiled walkways the trees begin to sway in a wind that cannot be felt the surface begins to stir and bubbles rise increasing as the beat grows louder and the black tar spills over onto the whiter marble bursting forth with terrible ferocity dancing wildly arms and legs and fingers and feet stamping the ground to the violent beat of hunger exploding filth creeping forth engulphing me in its irresistible rhythm I am taken as they feel me grabbing scratching tearing at my skin their hands slide and grasp me taking me into that violent pool spreading on the sticky poisonous pungent liquefied form of fear drowning in it. |