Reality in prose

November 27, 2010
By bahamalamalama BRONZE, Olathe, Kansas
bahamalamalama BRONZE, Olathe, Kansas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Chapter 1
I hit the door and walk outside. I notice nothing at first. Then the bitter-cold hits my hair-thin skin and my throat clenches. my whole being begins to tremble. I walk faster. No Sun in sight, only moonlight. and through it, on the ground i see limbs or vines. They’re marked like acid stains from fertilizer run-off, but for this moment I’ll just pretend. So innocent and beautiful, those of children’s chalk drawings on the sidewalk. I reach my car, I reach humanity and civilization, and heat, and light. With all these many sights and feelings, all too close for comfort of mind, and so it begins. this “book”, if you will. This story of experiences, not drowned out in prose and shrouded metaphors. no guessing. no searching. It’s all on the page. All for your eyes to take in, and your brain to eat up, and your heart to digest. bon appetite.

chapter 2: constant illumination
In my car, on my way home. It’s raining. It’s been raining all day. gray sky, more black than white. more gray than not. suddenly, the sky lightens. I see streetlights and this newly lit sky. My mind races to think of where I have seen this tint before. My train of thought screeches to a halt. Lightning. A lightning-filled sky. except longer than a blink of an eye. constant illumination. contrast. iridescent and fluorescent. On a life size canvas. I see the sun straining to break through the cloud cover, unsuccessfully.I look forward again and think to myself of how I can put this feeling and thought better into words. And so I do. In my head. the words and the sight become one. This picture of colors now has a caption, a narration, a story.

Chapter 3: ___________
Two days. Two days of being inside myself, replying to questions subliminally, walking around on auto-pilot. Just thinking. About everything, and nothing. That sound confusing, but thats the only way I can describe it. I slept half the day away. dreaming. Some were lucid, others, I can’t tell. living in a dream during daylight merged the two worlds together. I woke up looking for things that existed in my dreams. lost people, clothes, and memories. I cant describe whats going on in my head. There’s so much noise. like most the music I hear anymore, all of it means nothing. I wish that someone could just find perfect silence. no ringing noise of all the cell phone lines and radio frequencies going through my ears. Just silence. If only for a moment. While I find something beautiful for my eyes to witness, such as the mountains of the west, or a snow-covered field, or the person I care for most, while I hold her forever, in my dreams and in real life. a dream coming true. Thats what I want. My mind just started working normally again. Finally. What a week. I hope the next one is better.

Chapter 4: The Way My Mind Works.
This, hot chocolate, burnt my tongue, but I can still taste it in the back of my throat. When I breathe it makes my throat cold and when I drink it returns the warmness. The cold has now come to stay in these, last few stages of November, and there’s a place in my heart that has woken up, as it does once a year. It cuts my body off from the modern world. A second “me” takes over and studies all life, and commercialism, and I realize that the things we all want, aren’t so distant from what we all need. The next day (today) the entire world was swallowed by fog. That, of course, is a hyperbole. It felt necessary though. In order to show you, not just tell you, how I saw the world outside my window. I turned into a light mist, and you couldn’t see more than a couple feet in front of yourself. It’s funny how something like fog can wipe out the background and , at the same time, bring the foreground into focus. You can see details in the trees and on buildings that you would never see before. Almost as if the fog is trying to remind us to remember that it is okay to focus on just one thing at a time, and put the rest out of our mind for just awhile, that it, until we move closer to the next item or situation and it too comes into focus. How odd, that when I see or experience something as typical/mystifying as mist itself, that my mind perceives and translates it into a moral or something bigger than it really is. What a funny, odd, beautiful mind. I hope I am not the only one…

The author's comments:
This is just a book/biography that I consider a poem although there is no rhyming. I was tired of rhyming and just wanted to experiment so I wrote the article above.

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