Publishing one of my old free-writings as I’m picking back up my fictional writing. Note: This work has nothing to do with my dissertation.
I beat and you’re confused. I drum the beats and your superiors are doubtfulness, laziness. I beat and drum and even more drum. My rhythm of quakes is forever and steadfast. It knows not the foolish playfulness. It mixes not inside the clay of the desires, shapes of vacuum of hopes. In the playground of the puppets, the whirling sounds and waves of the drums remain distanced, unfamiliar.
The ropes to the dangling rides cannot hold much longer. What will they do when the rope breaks? Gravity takes over… and they will fall. No doubt there. How will they refrain from catching the cold of the clay onto their celestial bodies and minds? The clay, the sands and the waters that is, is waiting. Just the glimpse of their fall is amusing enough… it is worth the wait.
The ropes of the dangling rides are pulled and squeezed; the actions and the reactions to them. How much more pull can you take? Where is the point of the breakdown? Is it not soon? Will it not happen any moment? How about the law of the probabilities? The kings of the playgrounds know this rule and fear the fall, and the splash, and the covered up bodies in the clay. Quietly working in the background, they know the rules and they follow it; hsssshhh… make no sound, remain invisible, stay still… and wait. They will fall any moment, this is their promise to the muds. Their consensual agreement is laudable. The pray and the haunter are both one and the same.
The rulers, the kings, once were bodies too, you know. They, too, joyed the playground. The rope and the dangling rides were their only companions too, you see. At the end? They fell. They fell down into the mud. The bodies of the minds mingled with the clays and became one. Nowhere else to go… and they had nothing more to say and no more games to play. Their world became the rules of the playground. The only mission turned into the darkest one: to suck as many bodies as we can aim.
The heartbeat, the kind one, the one with tears of the eyes and the compassions of the chests could not watch. The pain got unbearable. Shall I let go of you? I can’t watch the tearing of the blood veins that go right through me. My life is their life. So, how should I let go? I love you too much. You should know: the world of the muds is not where you were destined to be.
The creation of your veins and minds was for the greater purpose than playgrounds and clays. So, how dare you to obey the invitations of the pots? The fiesta of promises is empty with no base. So, stay with me, get nourished in me, sing to me…. keep still… let me hold you, hug you, kiss you. Feel the rush of the love-cells in your veins and see your blood turn into wine… and then hold your cup and just drink. Let me love you, hold you, forever and ever, my only love.