Saturday, February 17, 2007

You've heard it before.

{another excerpt from FESTIVAL DAYS}

You’ve heard it before. It was taken to the limit of creation. My foundation shook in disbelief. Do I feel anything anymore? Too much repetition. The patio doors were carelessly left open.
“I desire no one but her.” Jurgen said, very clearly.
I don’t remember who I am anymore. My identity has been bought to distraction. I thought you were on vacation. This kind of activity takes hold. She smiled in disbelief. I could not let such futility prosper. What do you know of it? Why prevent something so easy? Perhaps brighter sunshine. The lace curtains by the doors to the veranda swayed gently in the breeze. Along with all the promises of a new age—difficult reports. Challenges outside the complex. The early days were filled with periods of joy and awakening.

The corridors end here past the threshold. There are cold, dry, dirt floors and then steps leading away from the terrace. Step back, and you’ll see the casual, almost neo-classical, organic infusion of Art Nouveau architecture at work. The whole atmosphere of the surrounding buildings in the square lent more towards a Delvaux than de Chirico—complete with skeletons and little girls. Suffice it to say, I could only wander in awe and discontent. The sky was in a perpetual crepuscular haze. My eyes adjusted to the stasis with difficulty. Each room along the corridor with its old wallpaper—had its own sound and smell—as one can imagine such places might. Some were musty with creaky floorboards, others vilely antiseptic with abrasive cushion-like sounds. But my room, my own special room, my most favorite room of all, smelled subtly of citrus—and it sounded like the warmest of string quartets. I challenged it to do more, to be more than it ever could and, the room would respond without fail—never ceasing to surprise me. Its windows looked out over the garden and beyond, to the city below. This is my forever place, I thought. It is composed of all the best parts of my childhood, all the occasions I nearly took for granted, moments which perpetuate and support my life. As the architecture of the city below corresponded to the stem leaves and petals of my favorite flowers. So that you might understand the challenges around me--so that you might learn about the flow of ideas. This isn’t about relationships. It is about a relationship: a boy and a girl. FIN. The only story left to feel—eradicated from space and time.

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