Thursday, August 11, 2016

Once upon a time

     There are certain times when you get the feeling you are Aladdin and the minutes are the magic carpet: you just fly, reveling in the inflections of time, which you scarcely perceive and you just take all the sensations in, turning into abiding pillars of your soul each one of them. No matter how many would tell stories, fairy tales about "always", this "always" just sounds like a deceitful absolute truth, and reality will eventually force it to abdicate, thus the throne remains vacant and will be inevitably occupied by "sometimes".

     The resonance of this word is bitter, you perceive it like a lemon squeezed into your mouth, the taste suddenly spreads and your tongue explodes - pain seems vibrant in every muscle, bitterbitterbitter, the brain shrinks. Gums erupt; lava is the goddamned lemon’s lifeblood. Damn.
   
     "Sometimes" becomes the absolute truth. So Aladdin sometimes changes completely, even evaporates, taking with him the serendipitous carpet, the sensations, the flight. Now there are times when you feel the smashing power of the ruthless time, it runs hit by schizophrenia, embraced to the bone, devastating – in her exorbitant anger – the mundane order. Each second pours down lead drops and you wake up alone on the floor, staring at that zenith on the ceiling that mirrors the abyss, and questions burst between your temples like thunders in heaven. You rely on the candor of this "sometimes", hoping that restlessness will go away, it will vanish like Aladdin did, and you will be released from the prison of your boundaries.

     Sometimes – a hauntingly tattooed word on the heated filament of life - the lead turns into gold, alchemy is seized by the madness that once was worn by the time, thus World suddenly changes her appearance. Again. She dresses up, voluptuously and auspiciously, like the sultan of a great empire and asks you to dance. You cannot help yourself:  you accept her invitation – she is seductive, after all - and the steps raise you up to where once a magic carpet took you to. Are you flying?  

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© THE LUNATOUR
Maira Gall