The window

[Sepia]

Open the window, let in the fresh air, feel it as you stand twixt it, for a few seconds it will last and then it will die and you will close the window, go into the bathroom, put on the shower, take a dump, groggily look at yourself in the mirror without ever before climbing into the shower where the water will bring your body to life once more and you will breathe one more, exhale, inhale, your memory will turn itself on and you will slowly and gradually become yourself and you will remember these hands, this flesh, this emotion, this will, this purpose, the reason that once was searched for but discarded once no desirable answers were found. This cold calculating intellect, this monster in the belly, growing its paws reaching from the basement, stretching towards the skies like trees, reaching the dust and the collected lives in the attic which soon will fade and give way for mystery, pieced together by the holy splendour of imagination but never pierced, simply forgotten

Like us all, having lived lives of happiness or attempted happiness, having not lived like vampires, dreading the sun, the fire that will set us all free but feeding, feeling nourished from the unwashed masses their blood tasting bland and ordinary, an idea we entertain as we dine, Lolita slides down our throats as we eat this once cow with a spoon and think of her as she stood out in the fields, grazing with those lazy eyes of hers, the mouth going in a circular motion and she had it, the thing we all eventually crave, oblivion and his brother ignorance but we know it wont happen today and the thought disappears as cut away Lolitas happiness, feeding it to ourselves, we know her name and how she lived and when her birthday was and next door are our neighbours and here we are, oblivion married with ignorance

The mirror is cloudy, steam giving the room a radiance, making it a holy chamber of preparation and on one side is a questionmark, scrawled what seems like aeons ago but you can feel the mark inside you, churning towards and unknown destination and you know the question, the banishing question that fulfills the mark that was made. When you rub the steam from the other part it is not your face youll see, it is a different face, a different shape and youll stare at it until the vapor clouds the window again and you write the question

knowing the answer without being able to say it

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I really like this one.

[Murmur]

I love your writing, Sepia   

[Sepia]

Thank you