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Travel back
Through a stream
Of echos
Evie stands at the entrance
Of a word labyrinth
Yet to be written
It will be safe to leave treasure here
She muses
Though I must be careful
And hide ink pebbles
Here and there
To conceal / reveal
X
It was like a quiet night, a warm pool surrounding him, a safe travel back home. It was like floating again in a warm and comforting beginning.
It was in the solitude of that enforced darkness that he learned to welcome the terrifying blind world of his fearful imagination. And, slowly but surely, he somehow managed to fall in love with the one true horror faced by all humans; loneliness.
As the moon flickered, galaxies away someone read a message and got ready to travel. At a safe distance, she set her world on fire, sending a final message across the universe.
He pulled the cord hanging from his bedside lamp but nothing happened. He pulled it again, and again, and again. Nothing happened.
Outside the moon flickered on and off, on and off.
That day he saw everything explode, the unexpected atomic wave disintegrating the dog next to him. On the last second of consciousness he was aware of his dead.
What day is today? The same day as yesterday, and yesterday was the same day as the day before yesterday, and so on. Days are now constrained to one single day repeated endlessly. There.
What day is today? Dreams are never constrained, they flow over time, soaring above the sea of confusion, landing and taking off, flying in circles and darting. They continuously move.
His mind was a ship, an emotional wreck dashed upon rocks. A splitting headache throbbed behind eyes that felt as if they'd been doused with acid. Sleep had alluded his body and brain for 72 hours forcing him into a world where reality was toying with his sanity.
This was day 4.
Without realizing, their emotions were there, cloudy and broken. They drifted away, like a river of tiny sparks, floating higher and higher. They were gone again in seconds.
Emotions floated above their hollow bodies. In vain they stretched grasping hands, desperate to experience anything they could capture. An anger cloud came into reach. They fought each other for it. Broken and beaten, they stared after it blankly, as it drifted away... ☁️☁️☁️☁️
How small this room is, how empty of life, how full of all the strangest feelings. There... is that joy or complacency?
Day by day, the house ate us, digested us and incorporated our thoughts as floating fumes that went from one room to the next. The digestion took several weeks and we knew it because new closets and rooms began appearing.
Windows wore themselves like carapaces. Our chimney was not a chimney but still smoke rose from its stack every day. No fire lit beneath it. The gutters had no drainage and swam with mercury. Bricks were sponges and cement was toothpaste. It was on the market for £648,000...
The building grew new rooms to house each new organ, it realised us parasites needed space and grew soft fleshy places for us to live symbiotically.
Seemingly grafted and tethered to our original shelter only the front door remains.
The beginning of regret was language. The higher the building, the more intricate the rooms. Babylon was build on novel spiraled emotions.
All words (ie, writing of regulated design) began as (ie, a specific) acronyms.
The infinite regress (ie, remembering every generation returns every single second) that this invites leads to the origins of language.
LUST
A lurid lascivious lecher
Lounged at the end of the pier,
Casting his lewdly leering eyes
At ladies standing too near.
The lurid lascivious lecher
Had, sadly, to leave it at that,
Since, for all his lecherous leers,
The man was as blind as a bat.
I knew they were coming. I felt the shock of their distant wings racing towards us, and on top of my skull the vibration of their shrieks. Something between hope and fear was floating in the wind.