In Wonderland
In through the outer door; from stone to subtleness, and the gentle rain of flickering lights between the glows of lost parcels. A solemn, lonely sea of crying angels on jaded moonlight petals.
The middle door of time and space, like soft whimpers within shadows, beheld me now, and as I slowly passed through it, I began to feel the connection of nameless colors and echoes. Barren. Soft. Nightmarish. Lustful.
The door shut abruptly behind me, and I quickly turned to feel the open air, of a dome like room. I was in an old theater.
In this great hall of epic and gothic formation, I was surrounded by seven solitary lights that flickered like lost dreams and white eyes. And, feeling their ghostly presence now, I unfamiliarly lost all fear, and walked to the center of the blackened stage. My feet creaked upon the wooden floors; eyes wide, seeking.searching.light and common with echoes of eager demise. Honest and dark.
Silence.
All of the sudden.an explosion!! The horrors of the impending darkness now turned into singing hues; purple, blue, white, pink, and greens.all of which called to me from their silent gallantry!!
It was magnificence! An illusion passing through dreams! All the wonders of the world seemed to pass brightly before my eyes! Sirens! Cavalries! Horns! Madmen and their mistresses! Cults of a circus and sinful delight danced perfectly around me in holographic bliss!!
Gazing in bewilderment, my eyes followed the bright, psychotic nature with careful concentration; projectors, films, dancers and theater lighting in a sea of chorus’s and multiple eyes continued! Brilliant!! Hauntingly beautiful in a wretched state of glee, it was a festival of theatrical fruition! “Please! Do not stop!” I said.tasting the blood of art collections and things that go “bump” in our night.
Change.
Alas.
Through the gloom of the ever-present dementia of angels and supernatural frequencies.I heard a voice.
It was an announcement of perpetually distant and faint caressing; a voice which I shall never forget, nor strain to. Yet, with a haunting familiarity, I knew that voice: potent and leveraged against disarmed ghosts!
It was there, in the haunted abode of the theater rafters above, that a strange figure appeared in the glow of the projection windows. It was his voice that I had heard calling to me! And, with a few briefly effeminate waves of his long hands, the brief glory of disillusioned dancers and light retreated back; crawling, lingering, shadows withdrawing; weak and submissive in the meer power of his presence.
The illusions were gone.
I knew who the figure was. It was the same demon of a man I had seen from my window the night that I woke up here, in this maze of saturated ancientness and solitude.
I watched him. He moved as easily as a dancer, slowly and feminine, yet so tall and masculine; Greek goddesses and the sodomy of souls within cold winter nights lest forgotten.
He was something of a god, or a devil. Both sacredly dominate, unrelentingly patient and pernicious. And.with the lift of his long thin, pale hand, he shouted with charismatic potency and poetry:
“She will taste…so good to you now”.
A moment relapses and spins.sending planets off their orbits, and stars into the sun; hurling and close to the womb.
It was the first time I would ever lay eyes on her. She was more beautiful than god.
There once was a man, His eyes were white and blue, And when I asked him why, He said because of you
I fell.
