A Life Immiscible.

An Inflated Sense of Importance and Inferiority in the Void.

[the-writer7499]

[the-writer7499]

Trees sprouted from sandy shores, roots stiff and wound. Less brilliant shades of yellow coat the sky. A relentless twit knocks at my ear.

"chip-chip"

Boats begin to emerge from the horizon. Impressions of 'the above' sit below. The wonder is gone.

A hairy wild thing plays in the water. Shapes emerge in all directions around its body. I remain envious of the anthropoids and their companions. Calling their sweet names. From long and short to shaggy and clipped.

The towering cliff faces are less imposing than before. The moon stands still, waiting for its turn to disappear.

I'm getting colder. They circle back to me now. Piercing eyes shift around my figure. They continue, unaware of my discomfort. They pass; I remain. Sitting next to the rooted palm.

The sun starts to calm me now. It's showing its sleepy head. I start to feel the excitement of the sun. I look so earnestly I can no longer see my own writing. My jitters have cooled, and my chills have warmed. There's a golden glow brightening a soft blue. The brilliant sun reflects on the lake. Homes wake and uproot. Everything moves in time with the sun.

The sun rises again.

[the-writer7499]

Home of flesh and vein.

[the-writer7499]

Roach infestation.

[the-writer7499]

[the-writer7499]

"Where are you taking me ?"

Two beings carry an old leather couch.

They lift and drag it behind them, allowing the couch to look back and stare forlorn at the home which it spent it's worth. Imprints of lives it won't outlive. Scratches and damage, tendrils dangle from each end. It's a wonder it hasn't fallen apart sooner. Decades of use, and it's dignity now lies with the rest of the broken furniture. Piled upon generations of long forgotten wood and fabrics, makers of which went long ago. In short time, more remnants of past will be thrown to the pit.

[the-writer7499]

Mist overlaying the foreboding landscape. Birds follow along on invisible tracks held up by string. The water exhibits mirrors of our world and portals into the next. Anthropoid clambering through an atmosphere of atoms and dust with their smaller Anthropoids.

The waves conceal people beyond, places unable to touch. Aromas of lifetimes lived. No sounds to waves, only the echoes of outer cities and populi, bustling and vibrating. Reflections of a picture burn melding and manipulating. It moves quicker than it can be appreciated. Azure turns to lavender, then citrus, earwax and bloody urine. Those colours move faster than the sun. Exposed to creatures normally hidden from sight, the colours are too rich, too indulging. It is far too much for an individual.

Noise is the word of the day. Sleepy-eyed chirpers urge each other to wake with their cries. Creaking lumber crook toward a racing sun.

All I see works in conjunction.

The day rises again.

[the-writer7499]

I’ve been seeing bugs everywhere. 

Crawling on the carpet, along the ceiling, and in the door frame. There’s a sense of foreboding at the sight of them. Something ominous following something so virtually innocuous. It’s like they’re anticipating something. 

Like they’re waiting for me to die.

[the-writer7499]

Someone was trying to talk to me today. Was it you?