by Marius Buys
In candid animation I see my sun's smile about to break through, and yet, remain, eerily suspended, forever on the verge. An elusive shimmer of light pretending to be shape...
I imagine me... a mutual muse, a long lost kindred spirit... awaiting resurrection,
like a trapped
seeing, and never feeling, the warmth from your sun face...
My, by now so familiar, shout, wells up and courses mightily through my being until it bursts, uncontrollably,
from my lungs and out of my mouth - "Are you there!"
and the echo's mockingly return from the ice - "there, here, ere, re"
and fades into the vast nothing I face when I wake up form my empty and cold bed,
wide eyed and sweating, at three in the morning...
Sometimes...
as I drift restlessly back into sleep,
my soul hears a faint reply,
barely a whisper,
delaying my self imposed imitation of death...
only to be swallowed by the terrible void of meaningless, irrelevant-intra-personal-clutter,
the authenticity-detached-absurdity the human race calls;
"normal conversation".
be so…
consistently fine for so long?
or so
consistently and convincingly lie to itself for so long?
Or could any honesty find an empathic but neutral and awkwardly standard reply...
and so, we necessarily substitute, with safe niceties.
There's that whisper of reality again!
I wait, holding my breath, feeling my heart beat expectantly for air to feed it again, the beats becoming more demanding, urgent.
Did I just imagine it or was there a real reply? Doubting, I wait, a little more, but, nothing...again... just like all the other times...
And so I call, shout, scream, search hammer and claw
and wait...
and desperately wait...
until... I die,
trapped in the dark-dead-dreary-watery grave below... separated forever from the life-giving air above...
or
until..I live,
your sun to shines it's warmth on the face of this gasping… embattled…
unfreezes this forlorn emotional hell of an unwanted ice age
into a neo-resurrection.
