Tuesday, December 21, 2010

corruptio optimi pessima

I read her words and it took only three to cripple me. My legs felt wobbly. My knees bruised from the impact. Consequently, those few words tear through every cellular particle of my existence until I felt nothing but the dry ash blustering within the searing detonation. And with a flash of light, I become an element. No time to even explain it to my “next of kin” as a song writer once wrote.

I am awakened by thoughts that would suffice so as to complement these godly hours of night. Just the thought of how it should be or how it could have been burns through me like solar waves. Mother, I remember what you told me once; of how I should grown up and become a man. Or of how I should have been a man from the beginning. But I refused to believe you and somehow, perhaps I need to listen. Oh how these godly hours remind me of how human I should appear. For that, I apologise.

There are people that presently are viewing my “reality” as a mere corner of memorabilia, as only a pocket of reverence. Sometimes I imagine myself as a flightless bird found desperate and decayed and left by the roadside or as a deer carcass left in snowy ditches so that scavengers can pick at my bones by morning. Nabokov must have awoken in some similar state stumbling over candles and a self egoistic existence just to whittle a few words of pedophilia in such a profound prose. Such crass ideas invading my mind like a virus. Such criticism melting it like wax.

I try to go back to sleep but those words ring through my head like a Buddhist gong or like Sunday church bells. Perhaps I should just indulge in her words, rest my weary head and dream…

She stands in a wheat field by an old maple tree that has outlived most humans. I try not to stare but her eyes pierce through and there is an exchange of awkward smiles and placidity. We come within inches and the soft warm breeze entices my sense of smell. She smells as sweet as the meadow where she was born. She draws me in slowly with her arms and we stand there holding each other, just holding each other, while peaceful tears role down our affectionate cheeks.

welcome winter sleep….

11 comments:

veraicon reality said...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75r87o9dmVE&feature=related

Harry Merkin said...

of course you're a fan of Iron & Wine....

This is a dedication to my cousin who recently passed on. Put trust in your new world and embrace it. I will never forget...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_uZX6Wclzw

veraicon reality said...

I'm sorry to hear of your loss.

Harry Merkin said...

I’ve yet to feel the effects of the tumbling cinder blocks but as “they” say, “it’s gonna happen” so I guess I should continue to wait in silence.

veraicon reality said...

i guess all depends on how close you were? you strike me as sensitive and yet well calculated emotionally...sometimes waiting doesn't produce the "feeling"?

veraicon reality said...

perhaps what i meant to say is that sometimes the moments in life make us feel the grief and not the wait. the wait is just the incubation, the circumstance becomes the release.

Harry Merkin said...

We are in agreement but I think the distance between us is also a factor. He lives (well, used to) on the other side of the planet. I’ll bottle these emotions for the time being until I get a chance to travel again. Oh, and…..Happy Jesus Day?

veraicon reality said...

Merry Christmas. I'm trying to muster up that whole warm and fuzzy feeling, but i think it will only happen with booze.

Where did he use to live?

Harry Merkin said...

We should continue this via email.

drlekicksass@yahoo.ca

veraicon reality said...

we might be losing our mystery out in the open like this. i agree.

Anonymous said...

hi, new to the site, thanks.