Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Who's been wearing Miranda's clothes?

I was in my own car this morning and my hands were on the wheel and I was staring out at the road but I did not feel like I was actually driving.  However time passed and I arrived at my destination so I must have been.  Still, I felt a strange haze over things, like my basic senses were being smudged out.  A lack of clarity is not such a bad thing I suppose.  An overall diminished capacity to feel anything must be better on some level than feeling everything too strongly to a detrimental effect. 
There is an angel dressed in white.  It’s been five years which is such an absurdly appropriate span of time.  Five years, my brain hurts a lot.  It was an accidental meeting at a time and place quite fleeting.  She smiled so wondrous and my heart was fastly beating.  I loved her!  I loved her!  I was too afraid to say but I loved her.  Oh how I see that time and scream in unbridled joy.  There was food on the table and doppelgangers abound.  However I soon came to realize this was not some genetically perfect clone but an actual heaven sent power of body and mind.  This was beauty and intelligence and such exquisite fabric.  Good gravy how I longed for her. I tell myself not to be so honest and I buy my suits at the thrift store by the pound.  She made me wax poetic before destroying my fragile ego.  I sacrificed all professional ethics and was all too happy to do so.  I climbed walls and drank tea at parties with madmen all in the name of her. 
I was like a child following you around and I laughed at all your jokes.  And I knew we were compatible, you were the egg whites to my yokes!  See, the poetry just flows out of me now because of her!  Words truly cannot express how much I hate myself.  If I just sit down and let my fingers do the talking they peck out thousands upon thousands of self-loathing sentiments and rightfully so because I am an impossibly ugly and worthless individual.  I now always hear a rich and wonderful melody when I picture her face.  I know that I will be calling to mind her smile and hearing her song for the rest of my life.  This gives me great comfort.  In my most tortuous moments I think of you and I am feeling fine. 
The morning was pure shit as always.  I saw you enter the room and in that moment all the awful and meaningless garbage which I’ve allowed to run rampant in my life ceased to matter.  There were zombies all around us but they did not approach you.  Were they somehow afraid, I wonder?  With a snap of your fingers you made them all go away. 
As Adler’s words echoed through my brain I was entranced by another.  Even after all the cigarettes and booze and all the leads the private eye was able to track down he never could have predicted who walked through the doors on that particular day.  Was murder still being considered art?   The death of the last century certainly could not have come at a finer moment.  In the end all was well.  He received his payment.  The mystery may never be entirely solved and it may haunt my brain for the rest of my days but I at least I still met her.  Oh that day when I met Ramona. 
In my dreams I was lost in a world of black and orange.  And what a sweet new heaven I discovered.  Was I thrust somewhere onto a bed of flowers which stretched out into eternity?  There were millions of bottles lined up with brightly colored liquids, perfumes crafted by the gods themselves.  All this put my body in a state of shock and ecstasy.  I closed my eyes and let this wash over me.  My nerves were connected to live wires.  “Because I bathed this morning.”  That is what you said.  But the language was decidedly not of this world.  You created machines and their mechanics generated music.  Hand on my neck and then pain is inflicted on me.  Something made of cotton or silk is stuffed inside my mouth to prevent me from crying out.  Oh such thrills.  My tongue tastes sweetness.  There is metal kissing my lips.  Then I am on my back.  There are no words which can accurately describe the exquisiteness.  What a furious day you had running to and fro, up and down, back and forth and all in those glorious black high heeled shoes and the oh so appropriate office garb.  Please let me inside so I can fully appreciate the thoroughness of your work.  I am a beggar.  She gives me a thousand lashes and I hear a saxophone in the background. 
You put something inside my head which makes it pulse and throb and I am unable to think clearly and words do not come easy.  How could such beauty be so close?  Someone out there is telling lies at more than a thousand miles an hour.  My life is only the accumulation of so many days in which I have utterly failed you.  There was a white mask and I stared into the eyes which were behind it.  They made me feel joyous for the return because I finally realized the full depth of what was previously lost.  They were all also frightening and I wondered about all the hidden thoughts and all the darkness contained behind the stark white.  I do not know how many years are left and it is not a question I like to ponder.  I think of us meeting somewhere at a department store here in Manhattan, maybe a mid-level floor with nearby escalators going up and down.  For some reason I picture it in the jewelry department.  Our eyes meet and the moment of recognition is a sweet shock.  Then I tell you everything. 

I see so much joy looking through your eyes. 

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