Nothing is able to penetrate my blackened soul. At times I feel so overwhelmed that I am taken over entirely, by a scent, a whisper, a tickle. Unsure as to what has ravaged me. I crawl around in a state of immobility and inaction with a desiring fire burning deep inside unable to surface. Movement between the two worlds is rapid and unmeasured. The celestial world is one which none of the languages bar poetry, can articulate. In this land colours fire more brightly and food tastes more sweetly. In this land the mere thread or sensation of thought is enough to arouse the other and the self.
The hybrid world, a world self-obsessed with possessions, commercialised music and marriage vows, allows the race of human beings to escape their fear of immediate death from passion. The issue with this world is that drop from the celestial world can creep through the many pinpricks which the gods forgot to cover. These pinpricks are responsible for making our feet itch, these pinpricks make our tongues wish to gorge and our bodies wish to be squashed with the body of another. When these pin pricks reach our intestines, the dull tinges of the day become brilliant hues, and one feels the itch of so much more.
Venturing into this world is a dangerous journey, but it is rare that one who has had a taste can refuse. Like a heroin addict, human beings seek out their next fix, selling their greatest possessions, their dignity and their courage for a taste. Once the ecstatic harmony had ended, as it does, as it must, rivers of dissatisfaction flood the soul. There is no land left. On my return I lay paralysed on the floor, a heart pounding with impossibility.
A growing awareness of the state of my rotting body arose. My thoughts were rotting me from the inside out. The agony pounding through my body is a relief. Dragging – long after the moment of autonomy has past, buried in thoughts which are not linear.
When a catalyst for entry to the world departs, the bright hues of the day change and appear as dark tinges. I exist inside four walls. Blank and black. My body is no longer a scroll on which myths can be written. Instead it is a proletariat, going through the motions of functioning. I view other proletariats wandering in a maze of pity, cursing the other world which was previously placed on such a pedestal and cursing the day they sold their soul. The hybrids of the second generation begin to say there is a price to pay for entering this world. For if you unlock pure undulated joy, you automatically unlock anger and sorrow which is a layer deeper.
The wind charms: which are portals to the other world spin restlessly for they alone witness the transitions and numerous stories which have no beginning or end and solely a pure dirty essence. They see the freezing cold in which the lovers bare their bodies, and the perfect of the stars which remains imprinted in their psyche. The wind sensing the emotion from the wind charms, lends its force and tangles my long auburn hair into thick knots. The hair malleable as a whisp of smoke, allows my eyes see that the queer buildings around me do not belong here.
I continue to seek you in the middle of the night, clawing through struggle to return and the sensation I feel is wanting. Wanting, words and thoughts swirl and dance around you. The world was so fucked up, borders and barriers, global ass. My sole saviour is that I know that you and I lived valiantly. In instances of intensity and connectedness. We were gifted with the ability to feel again, and were taken back again in its entirety to Eden. The land of mother’s kisses surrounded by celestial glory and freshness.
Pain occurs when a beloved follows their dreams, as they do, as they must. The enchanted city fades, fairies become mere imagined beings no longer in the midst of human interaction. Yet once one discovers this, the place that the hybrids of the second generation unlock is an arena of anger and love. Sorrow. Alternating between sleep and sobbing dry tears, I arise from terror, put on a dress, make-up and walked 40 minutes into the town to dance salsa. Now I felt good, I think. Twirling and turning, red heels, loud, proud, dirty and flirty, I gulped my way past the first foul tasting drinks. I dance with many men. Then there is only one man, he was perfect, his eyes were empty too. He twirled me round and round. I fall.
“Come home with me,” he proposed, little question in his voice, his strong greedy hand gripping between my legs. I am experiencing a familiar sensation. I can think of no reason why I shouldn’t, it was gone. In the morning I stroked him out of habit. My hands identifying that I am beside a shrivelled unfamiliar reptilian figure. The elements of the hybrid universe were on my side. They were aligned in that single moment of life. So she gave in. The feeling of skin on skin, the rough body on top of hers, her supple young body merged with his. She let her demon spirit run wild, so her mind could rest.
She had found some peace.
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