ghosts of my life (sinking in a stream of consciousness)

 ACT 1 
MELTING into the crucible
of her sapphire and steel stare
i felt myself turn into liquid
in the most lucid fluid stream
where my outlines disappeared
with my insides dispersed on the table of a roadside cafe
plucked out if the nineteen forty's. 
lost in the smooth swing of background 
Glen Miller big band jazz
& a chorus of old man monotone conversation
volume turning up a few bars
at an attempt in outcompeting 
every rusting turn of crinkled
secondhand newspaper page.
hunters, soldiers, tailors & painters
seemed to account for the patronage
as this fever-dream slipped deeper
into the uncanny valley of out-of-place strange
only for my surreal thoughts (a mirror of perception)
to jolt back into this distant reality
  as an elderly woman dressed in wartime threads
started shouting 'this is a trap
    we are in the void of nothingness.'   
i jumped, throwing the contents of my wallet 
paper & metal onto the table & in brisk strides
ran towards the door
exhausted by the entire diner scene
best described as the entanglement 
of Edward Hopper smashed
into Rene Magritte
within the Hadron Collider.

    ACT 2
LYING on his back in the lecturing hall
with powdered speed running through his veins
& the bass of jungle drumming in his ears
                  rousing an hypnotic dizzying of fanged noumena

our Nietzsche launched off of the Icarus runway
rocketing headlong towards the sun
                      too soon.. too young
burnt up into a crust before he fell
crashing down on beige coat land 

rising beyond a falling dusk
                  the owl of Minerva
spreads Athenas wings in apricot shades
              hooray the veil of grey is torn through
& the eyesore tones are washed away

facing an empty fridge
while scrounging around for a meal
will the rolling stone find freedom down the hill
  as the blonde ghost drifts off to sleep

  ACT 3
UNDER the blooming shades of sweet lemon wax
floating along a wake of seagulls
    as waves crashed into a glistening shore
before the alabaster spume was drawn with the tide
sinking, alongside my final breath
beyond the horizon
&  below the bottomless depths  of an ocean
too vast for the rediscovery of that gold
cast asunder
              lost overboard
on our voyage, embarked at neoliberal hell
docking in an asylum bingo hall
   stepping onto the jetty, i felt the weight
                                                heart plundered
            setting off the motion for my ewige wiederkunft

◄ Peyote Flavoured Fables

Pardes Rimonim ►


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Kevin Tan

Thu 25th May 2023 20:29

And we have a winner! South Africa is on the rise!

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Thu 23rd Mar 2023 11:05

Hopper's work gives me a feeling of loneliness -"anti-socialness";
maybe I'm wrong?

Speaking of anti-socialness, it's groundhog day again in the UK.

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