At the edge of a flickering white light, at the edge of an altered state of mind a crowd stands in awe, a crowd of restless and pre fueled protagonists; fueled by moods. Fueled by a festive mood. Fueled by a celebratory mood. Fueled by a mood to do hurt. Fueled by a mood to grab, tear and fuck. Fueled by artificial moods. They stand in awe.

Like a cinematic quick cut she stands alone in an empty parking lot; her arm out to the world; her hand open to the sky. Tears falling like autumn leaves from above with her outstretched arms wanting to catch all the gifts that rain down; gifts that extinguish every last flame from her distant past.

Fast-forward to an image of blonde Venus. Blonde insomnia. Blonde temptation. Staggering home on a cold winter's night into the fragile arms of naive seduction. Exotic beauty intertwined in ruffled bed sheets. An empty wine bottle lying beside a crumpled pair of jeans; the bedroom floor littered with the mementos of past acquaintances.

A wine glass, a cork opener and a lingering scent. A grown child stands in a corridor, starring at partially collected cardboard boxes, in a world waiting to be reclaimed, wondering if his chain of thoughts will ever collate a flickering white light, a cinematic quick cut, and an image of blonde Venus.

Take Your Time

It’s obvious that it’s the first good day in ages. Everyone is out. Every last drop of the sea of mediocrity that flows through this fine institution is lolling about in the sun. Everyone that is, except me. Me, I’m sitting in an empty tutorial room waiting for my tutorial to start. The lecture I am supposed to be in now was cancelled.

If I were in the said lecture I’d probably be bemoaning the fact that I’m not outside in the sun with the rest of the Uni. Now that I have the opportunity to do just that, I’m sitting indoors. I can be weird like that; I think we call can at times.

Perfect timing for my personality to go into hibernation considering this is tutorial numero uno. Less than a half hour from now I’m going to have to parade my bubbling evervesence before a host of complete strangers. My only hope is that the tutor is so efficient that she won’t waste time on all the introduction crap.

If I want to know why everyone picked this class I’d ask myself, but the question is hardly worth exhaling. The answer is always the same. Always a riff on “I chose [insert course] because I have an interest in [insert subject component]”-riveting. They had it right in primary school – just read out our damned names and get on with it.

Time to class must be ticking down; two others have arrived. One of them looks completely vacant; maybe she wants to be outside. The other is pretending to read her tutorial readings. She doesn’t need to; luminous yellow highlights the fact that she’s already read it. She’s just bored and biding time, hoping we’ll think she’s indifferent to the fact that we haven’t politely exchanged greetings and made a half-arsed attempt at chitchat. Sorry lady, not in the mood today, nothing to do with you. She fans herself with a bookmark and stares of into space.

I put my pen down for a second and was about to perform my own tutorial re-reader impersonation; that’s why I’m continuing to write – I’m devoting my creative energy to looking busy in a more believable and mysterious way. I am interesting.

Out of the corner of my eye I’m glimpsing a few strained attempts to see what I’m doing. I’m considering concealing what I’m writing but I don’t want to give them the impression that it’s important – because it isn’t. I’m just biding my time like Ms. Tut.

Metaphor

How can you understand without asking? Perhaps observe and assume? Make an assumption and base an answer on nothing more then a series of speculations. If you're too lazy to assume and speculate just use your imagination to write a story and file it in the non-fiction isle of your head.

I want to be understood without questioning. I want no words to be exchanged. But understanding can’t come through speculation and assumption alone so words will have to come into the equation.

Now ask me a question please. Ask me, but never question me. Do you understand?

Some questions are really hard to ask though. Like being held; it’s one of the simplest things in life yet one of the hardest things to ask for.

Hallucinate

Good times.

Absent Prosperity

Take this machete and use it to cut a path through to my inner most thoughts and feelings.

Her idiosyncrasies were like obscure anonymities standing as telepathic vessels for announcement, like an outreaching hand trembling for answers to a yet unasked question. In a shrouded silent gaze where no words were spoken more was revealed then during the most arduous of interrogations.

It was behind her sunshine smile that I could see the fear and sadness in her eyes though. Her smile markings of disguise for the gloom and dreariness of an unfathomable future.

Find

My resemblance to unreality manifested in the reflection of a bathroom mirror this morning. Jagged edges conveying and surrendering themselves in search of an indefinable translucency.

Who you are and what other people think you are varies as much as my sleeping patterns of late. Mold back to a daily chain of predictable life and we’re once again definable, translucent to the peers we seek acceptance from while under the rule of an ambiguous authority.

Facade

Like a distant hello. Like a foreseeable goodbye. Like contemptuous humming of thoughts as audible as a loudspeaker blaring out across a quiet street. Feet shuffling. Frenetic pacing. An echo of silence. Silence that says more then a million words could ever convey, no matter how lucid and expressive they were. Misinterpretation knocking on a door. Answering a call. Answering to a flaw.

The world is such a large expanse of never-ending opportunity. Opportunity comes and goes and it's always as it passes by us that we realise it was there in the first place. People fear opportunity for the change it brings. You're afraid to step out of your comfort zone. To delve into a new experience. To hear new sounds. To taste new food. To smell new smells. As opportunity passes us by it's our own interpretation of it's facade that instigates a reaction. Judgment. Prejudice. Fear or flight.

She's being used. She is a sock puppet. A mannequin who's actions are controlled by a hand that over thrones the stage that is life. I am the audience. I am the watcher. What goes on backstage is unforeseen. You are like a mannequin come to life in search of opportunity. Pinnochio. Weaving lies. Searching yet misinterpreting all of life's facades. Rape suddenly becomes the norm. Then you move on.