One early Sunday morning, I stood by my window listening to rainfall on the road and river. The ambiance had a quiet audience up to the horizon. The wet streets glistened from yellow streetlights and amber traffic-lights and my eyes followed the raindrops catch light on the black granite. I was held in a trance by its golden dance. And hypnotised by footsteps of raindrops and anchored sailboats, I felt and slept like I was the only one in the whole world.
I am an angel with demons, liquor whore - liquid cure for my horrors. Little girl, what’s the matter? It’s the nuclear confusion, the cochlear combustion… But I enjoy it. One cannot escape the mind after all. And by one I mean me, and you too if you so wish. Two of us can only begin a love affair amidst the chaos. An orgy with the infinite holy trinity. Do you understand any of this at all? I don’t.
Passers-by seem to be in synchrony to the symphony of my genius. In euphoric phantasmagoria, my demons manifest amongst them. A majestic choreography orchestrated by me. And the angel, that albino boy; he arches his spine in climax to the romance of my piano concerto. Then, my train halts and so does my hallucination.
The cemetery had a quiet beauty in summertime daylight as a solider, in his coffin, marched amidst tears and mournful trumpets. Beside him, his weeping widow, beside herself with grief, and the weeping willows, whistling beside her.
“Midnight high and my demons nigh. For in this, the crossover hour, at the crossroads, I sold my cold soul for the coal to fuel my hellfire. The celestial curse for us, mere terrestrials.”, the Reverend preached to his brethren.