For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly."
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
~
A drum-roll is composed of two beats.
I fell asleep to the vague image these words put in my head. And perhaps, I never woke up.
Ever since I was a kid, I've been trying to reduce life to a system of ideas. Meanwhile, I also attempted to develop a system of principles for the purpose of ethical navigation. Over time, the two systems became entangled like two pairs of shoelaces fused together, joining the two right feet of an enigmatic human being who can only walk in circles.
In my head, the systems are invincible. Also, in my head, reality and fiction are knit together into the same mask I hide in the world of mirrors.
I don't know who this is or why he's writing with a particular shade of purple. I don't know if these words are the blood of dawn extracted from an afflicted horizon, above the sea of doubt, and below the sky of hope. Maybe they're just modern make-up for a play with no real script, a demonic game between the voices in your head.
In my heart, there is, to the best of my knowledge, nothing.
So why would you take a worn-out and empty container?
There are two nights in this ink. One of them is mine and the other is, naturally, yours. Now each night contains a vision, with a dream lying there underneath. In mine, I walk and run, and walk and run, and walk, and run. And then I stop and stand still. And as the deep dark dream pretends to be me, I pretend that I'm okay, and that nothing's wrong, closing my eyes to the idea that taking this deep breath will fix the broken dawn. Yet I know, deep down, that I'm dissecting the constituents of that air I'm breathing in, looking for a scented trace of life as my feet step on the guts of the dreams that committed suicide in my head.
That was one of the voices in the play.
Now it's your turn. So are you watching closely?
Are you running or walking?
How dark is your night?
And how dead is your dream?
Is the map beneath your feet a circle?
Is this all confused fiction in a real mirror or is it the purest reality in a fictional mirror?
Do you know what a mental drum-roll sounds like when the drummer's eyes are closed?
Close.
Play.
Listen.
What do you see? What do you smell?
Are you watching closely?
A drum-roll is composed of two beats.
~
"We sat in the car
& the night dropped
down until the
only words were
the crickets &
the dance of our voices.
& for a moment
the world became
small enough to
roll back & forth
between us."
Brian Andreas