Beginnings

I begin at the end. The encroachment of the Kia yet it is still only in the eye of the beholder. I am entering a world without form, motionless and void. One night blends seamlessly into another without interest in life to keep the mind awake and aware of purpose. Motivated only to dream I recall the previous night from memory and return to the same point at which I left upon wakening. Scraping stillness from my mind, I crave the anarchy that only nightmares create shrieking its violent language into lucidity. I would bind my naked self with leather straps to the bed if it would prolong the continued patience of my imagination. Writhing in masochistic ecstasy, clutching my head I will myself to sleep. How intolerant the mind, it bears the grudges of ages past into malevolent vortices of uncontrolled energy. A whirlwind of childhood hurt and lost anticipation of a better future. Everything exaggerated into grotesque caricature painting a picture; though this is not art, it is graffiti!

I have noticed my obsession bordering on delusion, whenever I look at the clock it is always exactly on the hour, I have not one second of breathing space either way. As leaves indoors litter incongruously everything seems out of place, somehow real but not quite right. Holding on to memory I grasp the past in clenched fist for fear of letting go for memory is all that I have and some things just disappear from view without it. I do not know if when I am dreaming I am awake or asleep. It is only later that I realise I have been lost in that other world of mine lying on the bed with my eyes open staring out at the world. Reality blends into dreams superimposing imagination with knowledge, which is when I see. With mind turning inside out again I hide my emotions and project my manic subconscious onto this world.