Dream, evoked by chattering of ethics lecturer
Her eyelashes are razorblades. She sits in the auditorium. Thoughts wandering elsewhere. Suddenly the silence that surrounds her gets louder, almost unbearably, trying so hard to deafen me. She sits there - half-turned to me. In the middle of all this noise her eyelashes jerk down, chopping off things she contemplates thoughtlessly. I'm starting back. I can swear I've seen them cutting off the air just next to me. Large chunk of air fell down and smashed into thousand deafening pieces at her tiny high-heeled feet. All this noise make my head split. Can't take my eyes of her eyelashes. Other sounds are slowing down. She bends over her notebook. I can't see her eyes now.
Now right inside my head a tiny grain of ache starts to evolve. Though it looks more like a plum now - all smooth and elliptic. The seed drives its root into my neck. Now i can't turn my head. All I can do is to look at her hair. It's hideous: coarse, of a vague color, almost dirty. I would never like to touch it, to stroke it, run my fingers through it. Moving from from its roots straight to the split ends, desperate to break out of this cobweb of hair. My gaze gets tangled in this hair just like a fly in sticky legs of a spider.
She has this dark shadows under her eyes - as if she hasn't slept for ages. And tiny elusive wrinkles hiding in those shadows. Her mascara is peeling off accumulating onto those shadows, making them into blackholes.
She reaches for her cell-phone and with a tips of her pointy pinkish nails she types someone her holly mantras. Her fingers are playing with the strings of my nerves, tangling them into a not - and now i can not take a breath. I'm suffocating, drowning in this thick and loud mass of time that has stopped. Her blood throbs in my temples. My veins swell, my brain is ready to explode. And than she blinks, chopping this midday's delirium away with her sharp razorblades eyelashes. Here I am again: alive and awaken in this annoyingly tedious auditorium.
2006
Now right inside my head a tiny grain of ache starts to evolve. Though it looks more like a plum now - all smooth and elliptic. The seed drives its root into my neck. Now i can't turn my head. All I can do is to look at her hair. It's hideous: coarse, of a vague color, almost dirty. I would never like to touch it, to stroke it, run my fingers through it. Moving from from its roots straight to the split ends, desperate to break out of this cobweb of hair. My gaze gets tangled in this hair just like a fly in sticky legs of a spider.
She has this dark shadows under her eyes - as if she hasn't slept for ages. And tiny elusive wrinkles hiding in those shadows. Her mascara is peeling off accumulating onto those shadows, making them into blackholes.
She reaches for her cell-phone and with a tips of her pointy pinkish nails she types someone her holly mantras. Her fingers are playing with the strings of my nerves, tangling them into a not - and now i can not take a breath. I'm suffocating, drowning in this thick and loud mass of time that has stopped. Her blood throbs in my temples. My veins swell, my brain is ready to explode. And than she blinks, chopping this midday's delirium away with her sharp razorblades eyelashes. Here I am again: alive and awaken in this annoyingly tedious auditorium.
2006