Midnight Thoughts III - What the hell...?

L: The music was jazz: piano, saxophone, beat bawling and synchronising with the beats of the heart.
‘Roxan’ the song said, whose Roxan anyway? It doesn’t matter actually, she’s someone and she seems to be important for him. How much more can you ask from an almost empty bar. Swing, wave, move and dance to the rhythmic romantic sounds of melancholic form.
It’s a nice feeling actually. Fear the consequences and lust for its sudden apparition. It can drive you into the deepest shitholes of consciousness.
You want to scream but you can’t, you want to sing but you hate the sound of your voice, you want to drink but you know you’re going to end up looking at the bottom of your toilet. Maybe you want to have sex and wondering whether you’re able or not… you are questioning yourself.

And the raindrops keep falling indirectly towards the slope outside, sometimes softly others with rage, sounding like oblong folk drum, steaming off the ground, becoming one with the fog. The ball like rice paper covering the lights reflects on the glass door like a running dream, and I find myself in ideally setup stages and movies, but really, this is a similar night.

We define our environment most of the times. We believe that unattainable conditions/situations are ideal. What actually exists is that same ideal environment before our eyes.
We just can’t recognise. Maybe we need to step back for a moment and think about it twice, whether it really exists or matches our desires.

Yes, this is what I love about night. Mystery, unusual feelings, like an internal inspiration, so straighten out you can’t face it. Can we believe that this is happening to us? Do we deserve it?

***********

B: You fuck, what the hell are you saying?

That asshole spilt his drink on me.

He tried to clean it up with a tissue he found lying next to him but the stain needed more than that. He couldn’t care less.
He placed a glass of wine on me. I thought I could handle it as I always do; no need to worry about it. Then he placed another and another and another.
Finally, he got tensed over a conversation about astrology and his hands went out of control. He waved right and left, up and down while friends and ‘un-friends’ were listening with their utmost interest of this unfamiliar to them ‘science’. He jazzed back and forth -never shutting his mouth up- shooting down his throat a number of wines.

I was starting to get nervous. How long was he planning to keep up with this?
A sudden swing of his arm pushed a half-full glass of wine leaving marks of his thoughts and a huge red stain on my back.

He kept on talking to a friend like nothing happened. He said he wanted to lay back and think freely or dream. There were things to be done, but didn’t want to force himself into them because his desires were opposed to each other and this would only make it worse.

How much worse could it get? He had already spilt a drink on me.

I was trying to get away; but you see, I can’t really move. So, I just stayed there listening to his bubbling mambo jumbo talks of, ‘What if the mind gets used to dreaming and becomes some kind of addiction. No control, out of senses, like a brain having a brain of its own, a will beyond his powers.’

Why don’t you do something about it asshole? Try something, get over theory and get into practice, I thought, but didn’t say it to him; you see I can’t talk either. I am caged in this rock forced to put up with all types of characters like this guy.

But this is what I think of him:
- He has eyes but limited vision, anything beyond that range of miles is plain vague figures and shapes.
- He has ears but a limited hearing, anything else beyond that range it just doesn’t exist.
- He can taste and smell but only those things he ever knew because everything else is just like something else, hence familiar but really unfamiliar.
- He can touch but only those things he is allowed to touch.

And the beat kept a beat after beat, after beat. He screamed like a maniac. People stared at him; they were sure he was out of his mind. He wanted to do something extreme and faint away in a one way abyss!
‘Will you float with me in this trip of no return?’ he said.
No one paid any attention.
‘You will meet digestion! Do I sound like a devil? Maybe I am, you’d better go home!’ and laughed like Batman’s Joker.
‘So, what’s this feeling I get, more like an urge…strong, rushed heartbeats, tachycardia and excitement -it can only be animal instincts.’

Yea right, you’re drunk as always....

‘So, who’s your next victim?
Haaa, you are, you are always my next victim and the one good thing about it, I can repeat it every time!’ he said, questioning and answering on his own.

You said it, you’re the victim. Damn, why don’t you go home man!

Signing: Skali Bar!
Now let’s go get a greasy yellow submarine! (This is his line again, not mine)