Contemplating the reality of the unknown

Every poison is a pleasure,
every pleasure is a poison.
If you overlap chaos,
again and again and again,
it becomes order.
The beauty of love, pain,
life and death.
Fibonacci's sequence, eternal.
Building on the past.
Taking from the future.
Perpetual motion.
The swing of the pendulum.
To and fro, fro and to.
Chaotics are the building blocks of order.
Order without cohesion,
random motes of chaos.
Madness of genius.
Genius of madness.
The known vs the unknown.
What is real?
What is not!
What is accepted?
What is feared!
Something is nothing.
Nothing is something!
I know nothing...

Last Call

I came to my senses in a run-down, two bit bar on the outside of some forgotten town. My tumbler of scotch was sweating like a politician in the hot seat. As I looked around the dingy dive, the smell of a hundred years of mold and mildew crowded my senses. Neon signs, half-lit, were the only source of illumination available. It was then I noticed her noticing me. She slid my way in a dress tighter than the Pope's purse strings. Casual conversation gave way to proposals. I declined. She said, "oh, you're one of those." I guess she was referring to a romantic, poet, believer of love. I was. She told me there's no such thing as love. It's as much a fantasy as dragons and unicorns. If it ever existed, it perished with other fantastical myths. She promised she could act like she cared for me if I gave her $200. I had already been suckered into that gig three times. Again, I declined. She disappeared into the shadows as quickly as she had arrived. Fuck her. Fuck them. Fuck them all. They all tell lies to try and fulfill my fantasy. Never again.
I fell back into my melancholy state of drinking. Amber promises. Liquid love. No expectations. A strange echo reverberated in the darkness, "last call!"

Today's Mental Spaghetti

I lost sight of the fine line between the things I knew and the things I thought I knew. Reality and fantasy fit snugly like 2 jigsaw pieces. Imagination has bled over into so-called rational thinking and steeped logic with variable densities of "what if?" Madness has infused with genius. The perceptions of what is and what could be, no longer have an aesthetic Chasm between them. The possibilities of the impossible seem as plausible as any element  of the reciprocal. If this is insanity, I gladly welcomed it. I am no longer tethered by the mortal chord of cyclic parables?

Goodbye, Hillside Chateau

I remember the last time I saw her. It was near midnight, August of '45. She had just finished enchanting  the crowd with her flawless voice and hypnotic, flame-like swaying of her angelic figure. She was blowing kisses to the eight of us that were still drinking and the two French soldiers that had passed out drunk.
She had disappeared behind her curtain when the first round shook the foundation of the tiny building that I had come to know as my escape from the war. I went in search of her but never found her.
The next morning the Nazis rolled a small Panzer Division through the forest and destroyed most of the countryside. The Chateau was left in shambles.
I had not been to where The Chateau once stood, for weeks. I wondered if she had escaped. Where was she? Did she ever think me? A love that should have been was destroyed by madness.

One Act Play

THE FINAL ACT:

Scene 1

Lightning crashes and thunder rolls, leaving behind the burning smell of emptiness. The clouds cry slow and steady, attempting to wash away the sun. Blanket the madness. The pool growing larger, easing the pain. Beautiful butterflies dance on the red carpet. The curtain quickly Falls. Darkness.

The beginning

As I sit and stare at the mirrored sheen of the tiny Lake, I notice it has beckoned two mallards.
Much like humans, they know there is something behind/beyond the polished glass-like surface of the water. Life or death. Will they find sustenance or become dinner for a Beast lurking below?
As I turn from my window, I notice several dew drops on the pane, left behind by the angel that visited me last night. I wonder if she knows?

I gaze into the ancient mirror hanging on the wall and wonder what secrets it holds. What pleasure or pain will I find in my own gaze? What monster lies within?

I can no longer withhold the madness. Crash! My forehead comes into contact with the mirror, and diamond shards tumble into the sink. Clinkle! Clinkle.

Outside the mallards hit the lake and break the perfect stillness. Splash!

Synchronicity. Chaos becomes order and order becomes chaos. The eternal irony of the perpetual motion of the universe. Tick-Tock! Tick-tock! Time and space Have No Reason. They just are. They exist to torment and mislead the soul to the barren landscape of doubt.

I have lost the game. Sometimes, the mirror does lie. Goodbye.