Twas one lonely afternoon, amidst a summer now gone
That I remember I saw a friendly ghost
Sure, I was half asleep and out of this world
But I know what I saw, and what I saw was a girl in grey robes.
She was sweet and quite happy
I can tell by the way her face looked
She was tender and sassy
I can tell by the feeling that gave me her touch
She holded my face between her beautiful ghastly hands
She looked dead on in my eyes
I was obliged, and quite happy, to look back
"Wake up" she said in a calm tone as I shuffled back to this land
I had forgot about that, about a nice day in which I came back
Though at first I gave credit to my imagination and my mind
I know what I saw; I saw a time to pass
I saw a moment that would sooner than later come to my life
That day I felt alive, unlike I had on previous occasions
No wonder I forgot, There was no reason to remember
But now I see why that day was so special
Call it a dream or a vision, but what I saw made me feel better.
....
Just as there's no decent or coherent explanation to what I just wrote, there's no reason to do so. A simple as a flickering ray, just a eenie-winny-tiny-teeny spick of whatver the fuck it is that holds your mind at bay in this realm. It's simply a word, a sentence, an hours-long stone cold talk or a close-to-insignificant gesture that things are going to be ok.A rose in a gutter, it's one of the good cliches. Kind of cliche that's true, honet. Kind of cliche that works. We've allways got our rose in the gutter, a really beutiful thing that's on the most unexpected of places. That's that tiny spick, the flickering ray, the 1% chance that things will work out in the end in the 99% probability to fail. That's what it is.
To anyone who's ever been alive, that 1% is worth something, it's hope and hope is allways worth something. I remeber one day when I was 16 that I had that dream. I was in my couch, slowly falling asleep, getting to the point in which you're half awake, half asleep. Illussions start to kick in, and I started to see places, people mixed with memories. Like witnessing the formation of a dream, and right smack in the process of falling asleep, I saw a girl that closely ressembled a cartoon, the nature girl from Fantasia 2000.
She told me "Wake Up" and I woke up rapidly, allmost alarmed because it felt so. It felt as if someone had kneeled to wake me up. When I did, I just felt nice. And just like that I forgot about that day, I forgot about that dream and forgot about allmost everything from those times. Ocassionally I remember those moments with everything including how I felt, what it felt.
And there it is...Right now, I feel it. Creeping up my spine working its way to my head. That feeling. The drive, the inspiration and every single other thing out there that just lets me know that it is time once again, the memories, the dreams, the feelings. All of it, and then a little more that just make up for all the time spent, all the time lost. It's time. Slowly the irrationality kicks in. Each time more and more I remember, but this time is a good one. It's not like when I'm all sad and pathetic, no this is one of the good ones.
I'm not sad. It's the memories, all over again one by one in my mind. But they're not screaming or making fun at me. My head spins around that notion, I'm standing but I'm not alone. Everything that surrounds me isn't a reminder of darkened times and pittyful moments. It's taking hold allready, like in my last post. The nothingness, the what-could've-been scenarios. They take shapes, forms, images of people I know and love or hate. But they're not laughing. They're not even smiling, they just look back at me, pranks and jokes now spent, bottles on the floor, remains of an ongoing party at my back, a celebration of the weakend state of my mind, which lives no longer and they're looking at me just as I look back.
They know I'm angry, they know I'm furious, they know I'm drunk and high with strength and hope and exaltation and love. They know I'm not afraid and that scares them. It's my rose in the gutter. It's me, it's my mind, it's my friends, my mum, my family, my books, my stories, my movies, my EVERYTHING. It's realizing that IT NEVER STOPS and therefore THERE SHOULD BE NO FUCKING REASON FOR ME TO FEAR. It never stops, the shit, the suffering, the pain, so why the fuck should I. Me who has come all the way up to here being the way I am and doing the things I do.
Every single little thing that I've allways wanted to say and do. All the fucking things I've allways wanted to be, it's been building up, waiting, and it's time once again to let it out. My kids, my boys and girls, my dear beloved readers who might wander ever so carelesly into this space and find nothing new and interesting or stumble upon the key phrase or word they needed to read, this is me. The insanity, the senselessnes, the constant and abundant feeding to my ego on this rare special ocassions.
It's why sometimes I pass as an italian from brooklyn called Frank. It's why I suddenly speak in as many accents as I possibly can, because I want to do it. It makes me happy and what let's me go through. Fuck it, anything I don't care I'm training to be a New Yorker so I gotta be hardcore just as I am all fluffy and nice, I gotta get things done, I gotta get things said. At least, I know that there will allways be the next thing to a rose in the gutter.
