Sitting on my windowsill and looking out onto the sullen world I've been losing myself in contemplative daydreams and sinking further into spirals of whimsical nonsense. With my 'raBBit EyEs' playlist breaking the silence in the back of my mind, I find myself once again in a place I recognise but do not understand. The many different worlds in my head sometimes slip through the protective shell of my skull like wispy smoke on a winter morning and lie glistening in my watery eyes. Tripping over my bottom lid and falling with a barely audible sound onto the dry flecked paint below, they become immobile.
If I had a world of my own everything would be nonsense
Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't
I wonder at the world outside my window. I think of how beautiful it is. How devastating. How potent. How unsuspecting. I sit wishing I was brave enough to smash the glass and step outside where the darkness would engulf me. Music is so much more powerful when heard in the dark. I close my eyes.
Let down your defences, use no common sense, if you look you will see that this world is a
Beautiful accident, turbulent, succulent, opulent, permanent…
I wanna taste it, don't wanna waste it away…
Sometimes all it takes is one note (normally a D flat) echoing in the empty space where you used to stand to bring back a surge of memories. Memories on an old fuzzy tape playing on a video cassette recorder that jogs and splutters as it attempts to focus in on your eyes. I rewind it again and again, becoming angry at its carefree pace as I try to remember where the best bits were, and whether there in fact were any. I get up and snatch it out from the jaws of the video player. Sitting cross legged in the centre of the room I prise the cassette open with my teeth and begin to pull on the thin white ribbon. Letting it cascade down in folds onto my lap, I finally find the bit I want. I sit looking at the narrow strip in my hands. Images come flooding in along with an unhealthy dose of lovely voices that stab with each syllable they utter. Still clutching the sacred ribbon I press it into my heart as the relentless stream of pictures tosses me through a whirlwind of things long gone. A few fragments break off and lodge themselves in my skin like little shards of glass as the fabric of my memory begins to fray. Soon it is just a tiny scrap of clothing, a small blade of grass, a few specs of dust, until at last it ceases to exist. I blink. I blink. Gradually I return to the body of a girl sitting cross legged in the centre of a room. I look down and see the thin white film still in my hands. I tie it in a bow around my wrist and getting up, I let the tape clatter noisily on the stone floor as I trail it behind me into the darkness.
In contrary wise, what it is it wouldn't be
And what it wouldn't be it would
You see?
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