everything shatters. The knife of fatigue in every movement. Another street. I slowly lose connection with the body. Mist and night. The road turns into a journey. Lights flow into new images. Fear. Cracks in the tower of consciousness. Sinking. Pulsating, floating, beginning to exist in the distance. Dreams. Space becomes a strange tapestry. I hold onto the frayed rags of perception. Vibration against madness. Thoughts falling, crashing. Sentences crumble. Silence expands between words, filled with imagination. Still a stamp. We glide in the car. In the midst of familiar islands, a white night. Glimmering. Visions. A photograph drawn with hard, defined lines. Contours leap out, reality transforms into an animated film. I’m falling. Fluorescent curves accompany the rush. Deep sound whirlpools. Drum. We reappear at the edge of the city. Fear. Again, how long since I last slept? Perhaps I’ll go mad. Time flows and visions. Dark murmuring. The door is already familiar. I’ve arrived home. I open it. Afterimages flash back. As if it existed only in a dream. Water in the bathtub. I float with closed eyes.
What needs to be seen is beyond perception.
A hot, embracing floatation. The foam deepens in the electric light. Everything turns white. Stars illuminate, radiating the sensation of infinity. Floating in the water. I need a pen to describe what I see, and yet, when it’s already here, it seems insufficient to outline the vision. Numbness. Clumsy legs. The bird in the garden. The wounded, beautiful bird. Wingbeats from the closet. As if I’m alive. And perhaps I can write again. Its feathers are green and orange, blue and skyward the colors rise. Injection. Veterinarian. The ring on the bird’s leg. Rest. Stay until you revive again. I try to grasp the afternoon. I search for the meaning of the journey, as if the hand, the thought, were not part of it. I yearn for a touch. I would trade the world for an embrace. I write again and again. Letters to the unknown. Perhaps you’ll find them. Silent threads descend into the forest. I search for you. Whirlpools. Fatigue. Something else is needed. I draw another line. Pulsation. Hallucinations. Layers shift. Painted lines on the wallpaper rise and expand, and I am among them. Light deepens. Shades of yellow. Candle flame. Spiderweb. Clear patterns beyond time. I lie down. I ponder. Images of recurring dreams. Mood swings. Memories. Flashes. Something else is needed.
Something else is still need to give back those years. Always too deep to reach with words.