The Story of the Night

Welcome to the night.  Step into a world of shapeshifters and horrors in the shadows.  A place of deadly entities and terrors that seep into the depths of your soul.  A place of beauty and of colors so vibrant and so right.  A brilliant world, a mad world, a zone of true darkness – the final frontier.  This is the wildside, the purple and deep black, the flashes of green that explode as soon as your eyes are closed.  You can see it – sometimes.  But you can always feel it.  Always.  This is the edge of time, the depths of the abyss, the - - - this is everything.  And this is nothing.

                You can walk down the corridors lined with torches that you’ll never see.  Feel the cold wind that is the hot breath from the center of it all.  A world of silence.  The wanderings.

                The roses, the roses, the sacred rose and the haunted place.  Be careful here.  It is a brilliant world, surely, a fantastic zone beyond your wildest dreams – the visions.  But there are things that lurk in the shadows.  There are the ominous and ancient dwellers that shift.

                Journey to the depths of your mind, to the bottom of the abyss.  Now open your eyes.  And here is the world. 

                In the midst of this fantastic voyage you will find that you have lost track of all that you thought you once knew.  Space and time become twisted, like supernovas bursting brilliantly at the center of the black hole’s heart, like shadows in an endlessly shifting world.  The wind and the stagnant air.

                Step blindly now.  It is cold.

                Somewhere a million miles away – a flash and a burst.  Here is something that was never meant to be, something that only you can see.  You are alone with it.  Restless.

                And then the colors intensify.  Brilliant beyond the farthest reaches of the spectrum that you thought you knew.  Exploding like never before, bombarding your conscious mind.  Relinquish.

                Beautiful.  This is the dark mystery of the new moon’s aura, the growth in the midst of such unexplainable deviations.  Learn to smile in the face of the shadows.

                Alas, alas!  A confrontation of sorts, or a vision of one – or simply vision, vision from all sides.  A thousand eyes and not one could ever penetrate all the layers.  It is empty within.

                Now open your eyes and realize.  It is just you.  You and your shadow.  You and your dark reflection.  It is just you alone in the night.  Light and dark and color and shadow and yes, yes.  The night rushes like wind through your soul.  Breathe.

New Year Introspection

I am waving a golden ribbon about like a banner of promise in the perfect sky.  Laughter in the silence bounces on the clouds like a little child's smile to his mother's eyes.
I am rocking back and forth when I realize that I am being shaken; the demons throw my world into utter chaos and I realize that my eyes are open.  I see purple during the day.
Golden, pink.  Sunset, sunrise.  Only the clouds and the sky are as blue as her eyes.  I am content now or something like a dream.  Tendencies that torment turn to dust with the smile on that face.



the flow........

stream of consciousness

 

4color

http://vimeo.com/2811225

Restless Tendencies (Shadows&Tones Relapse)

There was a trace of autumn in the air that made everything uneasy as the day drew its first breath under the cool blanket of dawn.  On the window sill sat a shadow, a forgotten relic.  Here the ugly face watched with no emotion as the world turned – the eternal clock in the sky meant nothing to such a being.  Cloud cover came before the beautiful rays could escape the horizon’s grasp; rainfall turned to tears on the little beast’s ugly cheeks.  The cool breeze was stiff and unforgiving.  A lone child had risen early and noticed that the last rose had fallen to its death.

            The coffee machine gasped, clearly uncomfortable in the silence.  Someone grumbled in the adjacent room; shadows shifted throughout.  It was just another, just another.  The beast took its coffee black.

            Somewhere, a thousand or million miles away, there was a burst of light.  Life!  Someone grumbled nearby and so it went unnoticed.

            The children sat in perfect rows.  They scribbled rather attentively; any number times zero is, indeed, zero.  In the back of the last row a lone child let his head drop to dream about the last rose laughing with the sun in some distant land.  He was quickly scolded for allowing such a deviation and made to pay attention.  Any number times zero is, surely, zero.

            Out in the meadow a caterpillar came to terms with its fate.  Inch by inch it advanced, bit by bit movement occurred.  Stagnant came with the cocoon and somehow it was too late; the cool breeze was stiff and unforgiving.  The last chance for a butterfly fell and faded with the shadows.

            There was a man laughing in spite of himself.  He stood in the middle of the street and cried out in something like sheer delight.  Life!  The men in their suits scoffed and carried on and so the outburst was forgotten but for a trace of discomfort that was reluctant to leave the air.

            The little ugly face watched tears turn to dust as the last bit of light gave its promise to fade.  There was a burst of something somewhere, and the forgotten relic fell to the ground with a dull thud.  A lone child heard the soft noise of shadow hitting shadow in his dream and awoke with a gasp.  He began to cry and never knew why. 

            The shadows shifted uncomfortably in the silence.