Here Somewhere

It's getting dark inside. His brains clicked and shed some light at the back of his, thus, illuminated eyes. 'Follow my yellow light*1' He mumbles in his conscious-sleepwalks. A holy ghost with thoughts torn apart and thrown away through the gutter. He tries to fuse with his déjà vus -- the traces and the triggers of such a confused state of mind -- but his vague memories mingle and shatter every time, leaving him mourning the loss of a data killed in the formatting process. Waking up somewhere he doesn't know, then he realizes that something just happened to him. At that precise instant, he'd go blind and hear... a distant dim beat. What sound? Sound's like an echo of a thump flunk at the very back of his skull. Something emerges. What seemed lost and dead appears to be... A memory -- a rather fragmented report on sensations -- or a souvenir -- which on the contrary would seem more like a story line ? 'Which one does prevail?' 'Should one prevail?' 'Do they make one?' 'How to dissociate them.' 'Do they make sense if read apart?' The answer is here somewhere... He keeps looking...

In his actual sleep, filled with dreams and pretty lights dancing, billowing and revolving around his grayish veins, his head cannot handle this much voices until it somehow disconnects and shuts his entire being down, yet flickering, showing signs of life. Something's not right, one pulse seems off-beat.

*1 'Yellow Light' Of Monsters And Men

Only If For A Smile*

He felt a presence other than the barks of stinky people in the tram this morning. Many faces stared at him as if they knew what he was thinking. 'You wish,' he said to himself. 'You may hear my thoughts though you'll never know if they're true!' He closed his eyes before the car stopped and stepped down on the road now heading to some place safe. 'Where is he ?' He started to collect information on that issue with a coffee in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. 'Let's find out!' He started wandering in empty libraries and shops.

*'Only If For A Night' from  Florence And The Machine - Ceremonials

(un)eXpected

He kept saying to himself how stupid he was. As he strode along the sidewalk on his way to Allan's apartment he bit his tongue and pressed the black 'A' button. The door buzzed in as he pushed the heavy iron frame shrieking rust out. He started the ascension of the innumerable floors and last stairs. At last, there he is, behind that door he opens wide and a smile on his face -- always a smile on his face. Oh Allan. It's been a billion years I've seen this smile on your face. 'These stairs killed me man!' & 'How about, I miss you ?'

He lowered his eyes as heavy as the moon*1. He just recalled how his heart had shrunk the last day they saw each other. How it shrank while the bus carried him away from Allan. Through his five hour trip 'to where?', he wondered and forgot. Allan's face and the moments they spent together glittered and made every single rain drop freeze on the window. He remembers Allan looking at him panicked and helpless. How he wished the snow would slow the bus down and make it stop. Everything turned cold. He swore he would come back to him. For the time being, suffering from the separation is, to him, the worst thing he has ever felt in his whole life. He's being stabbed from the inside. Happiness turned as black and frightening as an unborn child's nightmare forced to rush out of its mother's womb. Although something painful pierced through his chest, ripping his soul out. Crowned with sorrow and , his face froze against the ice cold seat of the bus. He realized he was crying, his face perfectly still yet with eyes too red to pretend that everything would be alright after that moment. Tears of silence and tears borrowed from the dark matter. No words have been invented to describe this experimental sensation of disaster. The world would collapse with the indifference of a bug crawling between the roots of trees higher than stars stuck at the back of his head. Nothing should keep on living after the stupor of that instant ; except that bug that flies out of his lungs while staring at the hard wood floor of the corridor. 'I can't.'

*1 "as heavy as the moon" Allen Ginsberg, HOWL