candycox

SPOILERS! (Click to view)

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

- Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

The day already feels heavy on my skin, humid and moist and almost palpable to the touch.

I lay on my bed, staring out the window, fantasizing about carefree days, moonlit nights, escapes to exotic paradises in a distant sea.

I close my eyes, gliding to the rhythm of shooting stars
and sunset vibrations
and sleek gondolas in golden canals.

Coltrane's saxphone purrs through my thoughts.
Jazzy renditions of lunar voyages,
starry seas
throbbing with lost loves
and euphoric illusions.

An orchestral dreamscape
undulates in diaphanous colors
and the sounds of golden mutations,
of fleeting desires,
of the heaving and wavering
of a breathing world

I like to dream.
I like to pretend.
I make my own reality.

If only my life were more like a beautiful painting - the surrealist landscapes of Dali dripping in melted time and twisted dreams, or the sensual eroticism of Gustav Klimt's naked menagerie and golden moods, or the vivacious, abstract stylings of Miro's collective subconscious - oh, how I'd smile more sweetly and complacently if my world were surmised in a florish of paint.

But return I must to a reality of unpaid bills, shitty jobs, and ceaseless relationship drama. With all the craziness going on in my life right now, I guess my life does qualify as a painting of sorts...

A tumescent explosion of turbulent swirls and stormy poetic drippings. Hmmm...

Maybe my life's more like a Pollack painting:




That I can live with.