Medusa's strange farewell

As I raced onwards with a frail manuscript from the ashes of failed splendour, a yellow sun set on a sea all milky white with mist swirling about and the sky shot molten over the black cliffs of nowhere.

I was astray on a thrown emotion of blind love and strange wild dreams crashing through echoes and words full of breath, finding too much credence and the value of light, just unbelievable.
I was not alone with that feeling driving me, I also had a bucket to fill with anything I could find there, and the sky like a gorgeous woman claimed my soul.

Then drunk on time, coat too big, shoes falling from my feet, couldn’t speak with all the crazy thoughts whirling in my head.
Trains were coming, life was passing, with wind-blown inspired colours staring at trees in life’s passage as people with sympathetic emotions and passions and magical identifications, laughed in streets full of intimacy that appeared from nowhere to tango.

Leaves fell strangely to the ground, the muddy ground, worm-full, filled with awe filled spirits impassioned in incredible desires and long lost hopes as the time flew by with imperfect thoughts in soporific endless nights full of timid tarts with cries of redemption in the haste of the rush.

The wolf prowled the desert of this careless moon inflicting hopeless dreams on sanity’s martyred trust, while playing on that song planted in my spirit, helping me through that rough ride of black as black gone astray in the rushes eating potatoes beside the road with the virgins with no background or moral principal to fall upon and a free entry to any circle of anyone’s desire.

All was a metaphor in that rush to a place that few could see. Drunks danced in that lost hour of abandon, happy people and sad people too, and loners and crazy people felt something happening then, something turning, a forgetting, an uprising of soul, of spirit where nothing matters, except music to walk to, to dance to, to move to.
Being alone with that moment totally, painting my shadow on life to see how it felt, and gloriously filling the night dancing free and throwing my soul to the sky, and always wishing for too much.

And my soul-mate, or nemesis in the cities of speed and moron depression with suicidal feelings and committed empty whisky bottles washed up into the forgetting, oh the forgetting.
And riding an iron machine with rock and roll thunder, pushing eighty on a road screaming at the sparkling precious gate while stars burned bright in the sky, running fast from the demon full of dread hearing the full moon wolf again rushing to the oblivion, maybe in some crazy woman’s bed with shadows playing on the wall above as outside, someone would walk sleep hidden and another would prowl alleys for prey full of guilty reams not quite poetry, raving caught in a spider’s charcoal web, not simplicity but complicated with the minds cello tape stickiness.
And then I cried out: I must paint a picture, I must run, I must snarl, I must sleep.
Nights passed in green grass green madness, green dream while rain beat down on the roof top of fey with a thousand tin sticks sliding down the window panes making fuzzy edges through the glass.

And time, as it moved, like velvet, pushed the inexorable pointing finger to stab and transfix consciousness and left nothing but brutal realizations of mortality and life’s preciousness slipping away with a vain feeling of trying to catch up, with beautiful hands outstretched to grasp that allusive yearning to set it right.
But never catching up, always more, always something else in the dance of life; existence perplexing by its very nature my heart to expound by consciousness the answer.

But in the darkness a faltering belief has no wings to rise above tomorrow, and my beating breathless breast almost exploding with wonder in my scarecrow beggar’s body reaching for the fantastic rainbow and enchanted by the pure one who flowed with a perfect elegance walking with my heart.
To the ocean then, the ocean of love far from the prison.
I cradled my arms and rested my head and thought of my mystical soul-mate.

Somewhere I knew she was. I called out to her: are you far from here? Is it dark there? Oh, it is dark here and everything is falling, pulled by gravity relentless in its fact with a timeless feeling that is sometimes filled with a howling.
I walked past the kissing gate with feet so far below in the giant hugeness and my reflection fleetingly seen so surprising in its betrayal of emotion less than what I really wanted to feel.
So I hurried on from that unkind fate, from that unwanted insight so brutal in its truth, on past impotent speech in worlds of stone hard illusion and smiles of heavy art.
I passed ones disenchanted by the social circus while toiling in life’s vast cauldron, the wretches wrapped in Circe’s flattering arms.

And then passing the forlorn ground of life’s gay abandon so firmly cold in that ground there came the whispering beguiling memory remembered from before I grew so old: the dancing in morning’s first light such a life-time ago.
So much forgotten. Oh to feel light again and to continue in elegance and dignity far from the chilling thighs of irreversible doom.

Sometimes time is steel driven, disguised as hot sun in a place between the fool and lifeless movement waiting for the saint, the mystical warrior, the wanderer whose heart would be bursting like waves crashing stupendously upon the illimitable shore with thoughts like the resounding whitecaps or the hell spawned thunderous surf in the crashing angry ocean eager in its heavy swell and heaving depths to crush and smash and certainty of death.

I was driftwood thrown up on that shore. I was the moonstone gleam in the eye. I was the wolf from the nightmare. I was the stricken one by the witches spell, burnt at the stake, metamorphosed in the crystal ball, chased by the weird sisters and Medusa’s burlesque mutation. I was the rain kissed sigh of abandon, the echo of life pining away, until my soul will be claimed by the arms of Isis, to be free then, at last and unmoved by Isis’s charms, by her soft fleshly delight, to be just me and to dance free in the night...

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