Rezso Seress in memoria

[Sepia]

To be here but not think about it, to smell what it smells like so many times you've forgotten the magic. This is life, rediscovering the magic we built in earlier lives, recollected only when we dust our memorabilia and instead of creating us ourselves into something different, we get locked in time, sitting on the floor in the living room, watching the sun gleam through the windows, walls of dust circling around us, a smokesignal releasing blue fumes, once considered magical in their own right.
We dress up as we dressed down yesterday, we are played in reverse fast forward and each day mirrors itself, mirror us as we stand up tall, smelling a new perfume, lingering in its presence, saving the memory which in turn becomes an echo as years hollow out who we were and fleshing out who we are.

It shouldn't have come to this, it shouldn't have become these dreams and visions, smiling men will stand and welcome us all into forever, this party of sorts where heaven and us collide. The shaman gives us his visions, gives us his dreams as we pour forth from the goblet of life, the grail of ancient camelot. So long was the round table lost to us, no reflections can be seen from behind the invisible mirror. All we see are black lungs turning blue smoke offwhite

like a veil.

We welcome it when we get the chance, we wear it with delight and reverence, we love the days we can go to funerals and cover up who we are, we love the days with bright light burning our eyes, spring is coming and we are armed with porcelain and plastic, keeping the guard up as we imagine we keep everyone else outside as we slip inside into something more comfortable
not to see their eyes, their pupils dilate and their heart yearn and long for us, there but just something comfortable as we love it that way, we love the velvet caressing our skin and the safety of our home where we sit and plan and delve into what we think are ourselves but is nothing more than the drugs taking a hold and an effect and whether the room smells of opium, weed or zinc

the secrets are guarded with our lives and hearts, our souls, not being there, vacant husks in the other side of life where we sit in qlippoth next to the demons, our brethren our brothers and sisters who were always closer to us than the thrones of the sky and we share their tables, we share their floor as we watch the godhead through a veil made of the old testament, when retribution was the newest god in creation