I am amazed, simply, surprisingly, amazed.

I feel lazy and wispy, like it is always sunrise and it is always sunset. The ticking time in between whirs by, because it doesn't exist, even while it is not forgotten.

I am rising like the wind that combed through the grass at daylight, through the windows and front door, through my hair, over my skin, freshening all the rooms, shifting the sheets, caressing the walls, banging the doors, playing with me.

Shhh. Every time it moves, my lips move too, upwards, joining the sonance of nature, trailing a zephyr, all the way to the other end of this strangely concrete building. Why is it so heavy, when everything feels so light?

I am floating with the smog that settled over the city at morning then stayed till dusk. I am forever experiencing and being the colours of the sky, at dawn, at night, at midnight.

And everything

makes sense, because there is a weight in the back of my mind, that is so familiar, that it is not there. All is balanced and equal, homeostasis presides, as that shadow, barely looms. It is patient and weary, disillusioned, unable to touch me, because my care for it has changed.

I am not laughing; I am smiling. A faint difference, that illustrates the truth in such a fragile way, of utter beauty.

I can hear the sound of tapping feet, see the movement of careless faces and sweetly tired hands, reach the smiles on dreamy faces, and hear the tinkering of dewdrops on grass and spider webs.

I could sigh myself into naïve intoxication. This vision of simple contentment,

is mine.

Art did this to me.

The Lights Are Out


Clickety clackety clickety clackety.

An odd assortment of noises carried down the dark lane, past the dusty windows, broken doors, and peering eyes. The squeaking of unoiled joints, the squelching of wet rubber and the groaning of wood resounded, siphoned through the street from beginning to end, beyond. Carried by strong vibrations, they were felt even before the figure was realised. The air was damp, foggy, chilled, and saturated with fearsome anxiety, given away by frantic murmurs and the shuffling noises of poorly hidden movements.

The sounds became louder as the shape moved closer. The air seemed to thicken and tighten in on itself. Particles of dust, seen in the dim beams of light from the street lamps, ceased their frenzied movements. More shifts of cloth against cloth, cloth against skin, and scraping of shoes could be heard; terror took hold and feet moved in the opposite direction, away from the windows, doors, and other unknown orifices of the building. The silhouette was now upon the first house. The door opened, as if on a gentle breeze, and light flooded the street, carrying upon it, neatly floating, the irregularly quiet form of a baby. The dark shape slowed as it came into the light. It could now be identified...

A wheelbarrow

As the illuminated body floated through the air, life seemed to rapidly drain from it, limbs going limp, the fluid under the skin losing to gravity, turgidity gone. The now corpse-resembling mass of flesh was delicately lowered into the moving container. There were no screams. The lights in the house went out. The street was dark, foggy and poorly lit once more.

The sounds started up again, less creaky, more clackety.

I don't know what I'm doing. This came from nowhere. There's more, but I don't think here is the place to post it.

The Tree (the dream)

There stood a tree, a beautiful, big, red tree, viewed from a distance, through the hazy partitions of a dirt-stained window. The land around the tree was earth and wood and crunchy leaves. The red was extremely red, yet the green of the forest behind it remained bright. To the right of the tree was shrubbery and land, a great big expanse of it. The only thing which could be seen beyond was the deep gorge of a valley and the blue of the sky, along with the occasional wispy cloud that remained stationary in it. To the left of the tree, was wild grass, tall bamboo and a green fog which seemed alive and playfully beckoning to all.

The tree was always alone. The atmosphere around it was always the same and the weather refused to change. On the other side of the window was the interior of a silent house. There was a person in it who was trying to reach the tree. Well, in actuality, it was simply a hand and a mouth, but these things are always connected to a body, so a person must have been trying to reach it. The person must just have been, unfortunately, invisible. Every waking minute was spent staring at the tree or walking to the door.

A most curious thing seemed to occur whenever the fingers on the hand curled around the latch of the door, pressed down, then pulled it open: all the windows in the house slammed shut and shutters seemed to magically appear and roll down before the glass of the windows. This darkened the house and made the hand let go. The hand and mouth, strategically positioned as if they belonged on a body, would once again move to the window and the invisible eyes would examine the tree and its monochrome colours, entangled branches, shiny leaves, and heavy-looking capsule enclosed fruits.

This drab, yet magical routine continued for days on end, or it might have been hours, but as the atmosphere around the tree never changed, it remains a thing to be guessed. The tree was so big and it’s branches reached so far that the hand and mouth knew, or to simplify it: the invisible person knew, that if they could just open the door and get a glimpse of outside, they would get the ultimate experience of seeing a branch of the tree close up, maybe even be able to pick a fruit, or just step on a fallen leaf. This thought made the invisible person realise something very important: not even once before had a leaf fallen from the tree.

As a matter of fact, the wind never seemed to blow through the leaves to rustle them, the fruits never fell, the fruits never even got bigger, there were never insects or animals or birds around it, and... every single leaf and every single fruit was a perfect replica of the other. Now the invisible person knew that something was wrong. Extreme determination set in.

The hand and the mouth moved to the door. The fingers on the hand curled around the door handle and pulled. The house darkened as the windows were blocked off and the light source interfered with. The hand pulled harder. The door resisted. The hand pulled even harder. The door resisted some more and the hand pulled even harder. A howling began, the mouth formed an ‘o’, rain began to fall, thunder clapped, and the invisible person could see outside. There was a red branch all right, there were red leaves, there were red fruits that looked like bulbs, and everything looked real. This is what the invisible person saw for one glorious second.

There were also dead people with friendly, colourful faces, who wouldn’t stop howling, and wouldn’t stop approaching the door. Rain was falling from the sky, everything looked green, and the group of dead cretins howling in unison was really close.

The hand slammed the door shut. Everything was silent and it all seemed the same. The invisible person moved to the window.

The red tree wasn’t there anymore. There were two fat pieces of tree trunk, lying side by side, but

nothing else was there, not even a fallen leaf.

The invisible person was now sad and confused. Should it have opened the door?

That should have sunk in by now. Yes, my dreams have been taking a strange turn lately. I can't make sense of them. This is just an embellished version of the most recent one, but that's how it went. I don't think I captured the essence of the tree. It was beautiful, yet untouchable, something to stare at and be entranced with. The entire tree was red, and it was HUGE. I left out the last part, because it didnt seem to fit. In the actual dream... I opened the door again and became friends with the zombies...