Everything comes back to me as one long day, as if pieces of everything that has happened until now have been strung together like clothes tapered to a clotheline, hung out to dry for the world to see all the stains and rips and tears, years of being banged against any number of hard objects to the end of shaking some purpose and charge of it their static, pointless ensnarement. The aging rocks grows mold, it doesnt roll nor does it rock it just sits and beholds. And now i lead you down this path to the time warping cosmo-infinite floating bath to swallow pills of life and light that turn your insides blue and bright and white like dove kites follow the soft melody down the bayoue…
“oh when she says she loves you… with tears in her eyes….
you know your heart will cave in… you know this is the melting of ice… and when she looks into your soul and grips your life and holds you close… you know the world becomes so small, in her arms you feel so tall but none can say… the sun will set again today… and deeply calming chills will send her away…oh send her away…”
Scene 7-3: X and Y meet in the temple lodge main hall.
Y: Good afternoon X.
X: Good afternoon Y.
Y: Glad you could join us this evening.
X: The temple i mean.
Y: Right, yes of course.
X: Yes. We are deeply honored to have you here.
Y: The honor is all mine i’m afraid.
X: I’m afraid it isn’t, the honor is ours in fact.
Y: No no, i assure you, it is all mine. All of it, completely.
X: I must beg your pardon sir and restate my earlier position which is that the honor is in reality ours and further it is shared equally between each member of the temple without particular preference and that honor is not to be traded, sold, exchanged for goods, services or money and not be used as investment portfolio nor is it to be given to any charitable organization nor given away for free.
X: Indeed, i see that the honor is in actual fact your own. I rescind my earlier statements and declare i had limited knowledge on the matter until just now.
Y: Your retraction has been noted and accepted. Now please, the cricket is just about to start and your tea is getting cold.
X: Yes, thank you, after me then.
Millions of burning portraits hang along the walls of this corridor. Each one a memory of something beautiful or something terrible. The flame was lit to kill the latter but the former so too will feel the flame against their oil and pastel like skins. A grandfather clock bangs at the end of the hallway, banging away at the remains of the dry day, at the remains of shaky foundations and so many years of unspoken thought. The silence has crept into the woodwork and under the wallpapers and has festered. Millions of words never uttered, never breathed, never given life. And all that non speech has gathered together now, bunched and cramped and squashed into a giant mass of unsaid things as they creek against the floorboards and rustle over roof tiles and make indistinct noises in the late hours of the night. This house that was built from love has become derelict with anguish, desolate with apathy, picking at its own scabs to count away time till the end, till the final tear down. Worst of all are the markings that remind of days of the warmth, forgotten names carved underneath desks with tiny blades, a broken bicycle toppled onto its side in the backyard, a picture half-torn trapped inside a wallet sleeve with the face of one that was once the giver of light to this house of darkness, her soft eyes glow bright and even through the dust and grime and soot her smile is visible and it screams pure love and pain, filling the onlooker with a sense of want and a sense of great, eternal, unrivaled sorrow. The smoke floats high into the air, a thick black smoke that rises out and travels to the distance with purpose, it will cleanse the house and the earth it rests on, and with it all the beauty and horror of this place will leave with it and it will become a white non-thing, and non-love, non-sorrow, non-capacity thing, empty and awaiting to be filled by other life again.
(additions to follow…)