White shirts, no collars. White shoes adn socks unseen but undoubtedly pesent under white robes with obscure all human identity just as the opposite wall does in black. I stand between sledgehammers in dark and lightest shades of grey: still grey in light but always soon black in the night, when the candle of my effort to illuminate has exhausted.
I pass along this thin, empty channel and stare at those perfect rainbows of alternating eye colours: so precisely inhuman in some. The room dims, my eyes squint, and in laughter (stifled through robed and gloved concealment) many men and women dissolve and all that remain are the ones so peculiarly alike myself, only improved.
Of these, in physical likeness, I do not discover any similarity of soul, only sinister seductiveness in absent eyes, seeing mine not as it but as one wishes. I begin the dance of dances, and we all dance it: perfect mesmerising rotation. I spin along my widened channel: spacious but lonelier, and each cloaked patron spins in their spot. As time draws, they bein to listfully dance in the space made along their walls, but they do not step forward into the amiguity of the channel.
The dance dies with the hour nad hands reach - not from wall to wall or from any wall to the channel but only along those perfect parrallels of prized partnerships. The dissolution of souls into bodies and bodies into an explosive ether occurs and my hands frantically reach for one another in the absence of a mate. Ceiling to floor, and wall to wall, but no cloaked patron left as in these ruins I lie crushed; a place of worship deprived of salvation.
Currently reading: Hard Times by Charles Dickens
- The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get by Morrissey
- Drive You Home by Garbage
- Dying by Hole
- The End is the Beginning is the End by The Smashing Pumpkins
No comments:
Post a Comment