gone

Its funny when you draw a lot, how you detach yourself from the world in a sense. I look at you and I see though your threads of nerves, I see your bones. When you cry I watch the lines and follow the texture of your skin. Even your thoughts gets shapes, memories play out before me and exist right there beside us. The scene that we are in, is just another one of those memories. I smile and add something that might define that scene for you, that will make you never forget. This might be the start of the scene. This might be something that when you hear that word, this conversation will revisit you time and again. It means nothing to me. It’s already in the blur of thousand strings of light that cast no shadows. I met you, you left, I smile and another face comes around. I will meet a thousand others, words will be spoken and imprinted and then there will be emptiness again.

try dancing in my shoes

“So to him, time wouldn’t move like it do for us. Waiting had another meaning. Perhaps he didn’t wait at all. Imagine time not as a line rolled up, say like a fishing line being rolled up on a reel. As we see it now, you are born and some huge sea monster starts pulling your line. You are a little plastic bead on that line and all you can do is watch that monster swim further and further away until you are out of line. That’s it, no more time for you. You fall into a black lake of nothingness and the monster is long gone. But lets say it doesn’t have to be like that. Maybe the line isn’t moving at all. Maybe its all floating around in the lake and you can jump from one point to another. That way you can experience things over and over. While I wait for the future, he might already be there, enjoying our time together. And I - my consciousness - is stuck here, in this present of constant waiting. Perhaps I have to go through the whole line one round to co-create all the events on my line, to spice them up with my inputs. To make them mine in a sense. In the future he would have me acting and reacting, but it would be a me that he based on memories of me. It couldn’t be the me that will eventually be there, because she will have other things collected in her database. She will have other experiences and more information than the past me that he is basing his image of me on. So the person he is hanging out with in the future, is still the past me. Perhaps he will like her better. Competing with your past self is such a drag. I know exactly how I was thinking, and I know exactly how much trouble it got me in to. I can understand that it was fascinating to watch from a distance, but try to come a bit closer, buddy. Go ahead and try dancing in my shoes.” I chuckled and took a sip from my beer. Feeling a bit dizzy focusing my attention on the lable on the bottle somehow seemed to stabalize things. I suddenly got very tired.
"I'm sorry, I got too excited again. Yours truely, the armchair philosopher" She raised her glass and her eyebrows in a ironic salutation. I shook my head and smiled. "Barstool philosopher in this case actually" we laughed and her cheerfulness blew my troubles right out the entrance where some smart looking guys just walked in. She didnt even glance at them.

close enough

The hotel room was nothing special. A medium seized bed, a small three seat couch, two chairs and a desk-like thing attached to the wall. She patently sat on the couch looking out the window while I pretended to go to the bathroom. When I got out she was far beyond the roofs and over the small part of the Olympus mountain visible from this angle. I went over to my bag, picked up a pack of smokes and my phone. Sitting in the chair next to the desk, randomly pressing the screen of my phone I observed her. No detectable reaction, as if she was totally oblivious of my existence. So I got up and sat down beside her. She was janked back to the room and her figure stiffened. She turned towards me with a nervous smile her eyes wandered across my legs to the table where I had put the smokes, to her hands and there they stayed. She kept smiling. I offered her a cigarette and I could see her hands were shaking. Looking at her face she seemed to be calm enough, the shaking was small and barely noticeable. She did a good job hiding it, even if she wasn’t trying very hard. I bet if she really wanted to make an effort she could pull off that breezy edit piaf look of hers without breaking a sweat. She had these characters she could easily slip into if she felt like it. But now it was like looking at her undressing behind a ricepaper screen. She was so woundable. At the same time there was no way to reach her. This was her, no character, no mask, just her. I couldn’t for my life figure out why she was so nervous. To me it made no sense. It wasn’t because she was scared. She wasn’t the type to be scared. It was something else. We had a cigarette and I tried to lighten up the mood with silly conversation. I knew exactly the right words to say, and the right way to say them. Actually the words didn’t matter. It was the tone and the timing. She would let the words pass as they were, always trying to find some hidden treasure behind it. She paid concentrated attention to my hands, my lips and my eyes without looking straight at any of them. Then she would let a vague smile pass and gift me a quick smart reply if she felt like talking.

the twist of time

“Wake up, Josie”
I opened my eyes and felt the twist of time winding up like a toy car. Here we go again... All the things that I had sorted out and folded neatly the day before was laying scattered over the floor like fresh laundry pulled out of the closet. Nothing made sense. My dreams had deranged everything and I woke up to a new world, a new me.

This could happen while daydreaming aswell. I would sit and helplessly watch the lands shift and drift apart. I would witness new oceans being created then I would be sucked out into space and collide with meteors. Id feel the chockwaves of the small impacts from debris hitting planets and moons. But that wasn’t the worst. I hated it even more when it was silent. When everything seemed to either be dying or waiting for something to be born. I would hold my thoughts and stop the flow of my mind. I didn’t want to let anything out. I wanted to torture him with my nothingness, just like he tortured me with his absence. I wanted to implode and disappear. But I couldn’t. It always ended with me creating a storm. I would pour everything I had into it and let it rage just as wildly as it desired. The more chaos the better. I didn’t want to spare anything, if I could I’d take the whole universe with me.