reflections to Flim
Underneath a lit pavilion along with noisy, gregarious folks laughing to the night, I gave up on trying to eat neatly. On my own at the Middleton Grange Fair, I ordered a gyro and a towering orange-cream fountain soda, and found an empty space on a bustling bench. I love lamb meat, but there was so much of it, and just a smidgen of tomato and lettuce. The whole thing was drizzled in cucumber sauce and I let it get all over my face with each enormous bite. Some young, glamorous people might have been watching me, but I didn’t really care. Underneath my black man-jacket was a pretty-sexy camisole and just in that, hidden, I felt good.
Dazzling lights overwhelmed the darkness. Whirling colors and aromatic hazes, that’s how I remember the Grange Fair. It always chokes me up a little bit because Grandpop and I always used to ride the Ferris Wheel, which terrified me, and even before he died, that memory was long gone. Food here is overpriced and high-calorie but it tastes good. Their funnel cakes are generous, and when the tight-lipped lady wasn’t with the sugar, I reached out and spilled it on myself. I then had a cascade of sugar dumped down my arm. But that was ok. I was proud of the fact that I took such serious matters into my own hands.
I rejoined my mom and dad and we watched the little piggy races before heading home. Now, it seems like it never happened. Sometimes I feel like my life never happened. Then I listen to songs like Flim. Everything becomes blue and cold, though the socks on my feet are warm (and blue). Still. I could get addicted to this feeling. Nothing is special anymore, nothing means anything, so you are free from pain. Could just be my final escape from work this afternoon. I don’t even want to think about it. I just want to be like the wind and run for miles over a beautiful, stark landscape. Aphex, you have saved me once again.
I am going to try something that I haven’t tried in a while. I am going to try some stream of consciousness writing.
Windy water lazy in the running pond, does nothing but slide like super ice, in between the river reflecting back the mountain. You are stuck there, although you were moving; you were caught by the moment and placed with that scenic view. Now what is there to do. You watch the water running underneath the ice along the edges. What is this black night that springs up within your mind? It is speckled with stars, and as a sudden backdrop to your beautiful day, awes the Earth with its universality. You were a part of it, see, just like any rock in a glacier. They dropped you here, and you didn’t drown or suffocate; in fact, there is a lot of air for you now. If only you could breathe. Not suffocating is a poor feat if you never breathed to begin with. It is better to have loved and lost… You don’t want to waste your day, so you try to formulate a plan for when you get out of here. You imagine what snow would cover you and you sneaked out, jumped a ferry on that ol’ pond. Maybe you would meet some other stones who could talk, so you would no longer be singing to yourself anymore. But for now, you just scream because the music has no words, and you can’t think of any. It is hard to think you were lava once, and could spill and slide just like the super ice.
This is very hard stuff to do. I can’t believe some writers do entire books this way. But, reading over it, is kind of does seem to reflect some of what I am feeling. I guess that is the entire point. Actually, I am learning things from this.
I think now I’ll depart further and just listen to Flim some more before I go to sleep. Got a driving lesson tomorrow.
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