We(e) Talk(ed)
I have no recollection of dreaming of the
stately/mighty castle when I was a wee kiddie. Because when you dream, you
dream. When you dream, you might not necessarily know that you are dreaming. Because in dreams--more often
than not--the awareness of the state one is in is not very prominent. Sometimes
it is. But I have no recollection of having it.
Sometimes, the grandiosity of the presence of the
mighty/stately castle is so overwhelming that it makes me think that I am
dreaming. Its airy tunnels are captivating. Its oak pillars awe inspiring. Its
table stunning. Nearly formidable in its charming robustness, almost fragile in
the capacity to generate warmth (you see my metaphoric twist here, don’t ya). It
is aloof, yet protective; subtle, yet intense.
I like to imagine that I had a dream of it when I
was a wee kiddie. I conjure up colossal palm trees where a whisper hisses
around gentle green stems mobilizing myriads of green waves. I imagine swimming
in that unlikely ocean. I fantasize of diving through its green water tubes
playing with the undercurrents, as they are being transformed into a
rhizomorphic web shyly reflecting the maps that at night overarch that wavy
surface. As I keep diving through the webwiered
wilderness, I think about the color of my voice and what it means to me. As I
keep diving, I fantasize hard. As always.
***
When you mooned me, I thought the universe became my
friend. Only later did I realize that we had been friends for quite a while. When
you rivered me, I thought rays from the distant galaxies showered my oneirscape.
Only later did I realize that my eyes had already been sunoiled. When I talked
to you, I thought words were the cornerstones of the building where sentences
were stashed, syntagms stored, phrases…sung. Only later did I realize that the
sound was the walls of the stately/mighty castle, the vibrations its intramural
currents. Weird.
There was always noise when I talked to you. Our
words were being agitated by decibel spitfire. Our sentences violated by rancid
toxicity saturating the communication channel. Our syntagms crippled by
distasteful bluntness of the density of particulates. Our
phrases…dispersed like a pearly shower across cosmic pathways. And yet, we kept
talking. We maneuvered through that noisy ambush. We whispered through the
sound jungle…trees of talk rising from the looks we were exchanging instead of
verbal content.
We were uttering stellar statements, asked solar
questions, thought rhizomorhic constellations invitingly embracing us as we
were remapping punctuation…we breathed the tales that taught us how to walk, how to
smile, how to whisper. We were learning at night and practiced by day. We
talked a lot, and not enough. Always word hungry, voice thirsty.
When you hissed in the A minor scale, I swished the
G tone. When you giggled in C major, I told you to be who one is. You said :
“bullshit me not with versatility.” I told you : ”gedaf*ck outta here and keep on keeping on in the vein of a
toddler philosopher”— tonic to one’s ear,
glistening through the layers of shoes, suits, and endless lists of
figures. I liked the sound of it.
I couldn’t talk to you any more. I thought I did not
speak your language any more. I thought we were inhabiting different universes.
I thought different music was decorating the sparkling dome of our respective nocturnal
trajectories. I thought different typography constituted text of our respective
tales. It might have been so. I have no
recollection of it.
***
I don’t know when it occurred, but I know that I
learned to dance in words. Because I know the rhythm. Because melody is my
oxygen, and harmony my middle name. Because i am vegan. You don’t become vegan.
That’s who one is. You may think you can detect and measure that state by
checking the words’ ability to dance. But, you’d be fucking wrong to make such
a guess. For one, there is no litmus to signal danceness of words. Secondly, you
don’t measure it. Third, it’s elusive. It’s everywhere.
Although you don’t become vegan, the awareness of
being one is an occurrence in its own right. But, I don’t know when it emerged.
Who cares …You may question the
awareness in the most radical of skeptical traditions. But, you’d be fucking
distracted to assume such a meditative context. Because solipsism is a
diversion from communication. Because one admires logic, and aesthetix is one’s
disciplin A supreme. Because it’s everywhere.
Being vegan, i phantasmagorize hard. My dreams are
the intensity of what I dream. Being vegan, i vegan. You’d say:”bullshit me not
with circularity.” I’d tell you:”gedaf*ckouttahere, know that circles matter, and
keep on keeping on in the vein of the incarnate of the childlike.” You’d
insist:”I don’t understand your utterance, your syntax sux, and your morphology
is decadent.” I’d tell you again:”I, too, thought I didn’t speak your language
any more.” Because it was always noisy when we talked. Because distractions
distorted our speech and digressions deviated our verbal flows. That’s why we
were always word hungry, voice thirsty. I liked the sound of it. That’s why I know I
thought I didn’t speak your language any more. Because it’s everywhere.
--like
phunk!
--like phunk!
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