something lost

The person in the mirror is looking me in the eye and I’m wondering who that person is. Who is staring back at me from beyond that shiny surface on my wall? Will reality again cover this barren land I roam, like the warm blanket of snow that has kept me safe all this time? One, two, three, four— four – I spot four glasses for me to warm my spirit and quench my thirst for unconscious introspection.

One, two, three, four, one by one, down they go.

It will keep this going for a little longer and stimulate the circulation of impulsive ideas from my neurons to yours.

Going back to the beginning, back to when we were mere children basking in the little utopian universe we have created, we fondly remember the rosy and carefree existence that we used to lead. Not a thing was wrong in the WHOOOLE world. It was simple. It was innocent. It was the Garden of Eden before god spoiled it with his little clay toys.

But even fruit in the Garden of Eden don’t last forever. Eventually, drunk on their own happiness, they drown in their blissful glass of wine, floating to the surface, motionless, plucked from their green stems, gently begging for help in ripples that dissipate as they grow bigger and farther away.

But not even the looming foreshadowing in a glass of wine could stop a wandering mind from wandering through the corridors of imagination. And wandering it did...

Traversing vast and varied terrain, it attempted to explore as far and as much as it could. From the old and classic reflections of a dry vodka martini, to the new and exciting aromas of a Red White and Hpnotiq Blue.

As time went by and experiences accumulated, an unconscious race to the next exciting thing began to burn in the inner-most furnaces of our restless wandering mind. Little by little, it discovered that a sparkly crystal glass at a nicely set table just didn’t cut it anymore. It needed more. It was hungry.

Candle-lit tables lined with empty glasses ready to be filled with such delicacies as anticipation, yearning, excitement and delight were, by now, very apropos.

Of course, the humble dry martini of yesteryear always had its honourable place on one of these tables. It became a signature, a custom almost, something that is an essential part of the experience. You arrive, you take your seats, you order a glass, as simple as that.

But like all good meals it must all eventually come to an end. Well, perhaps not really an end, but more like desert. And what better drink to serve for desert than a warm and encouraging glass of Blueberry Tea. We of course start with the 'little-bitter' amaretto to set the mood. The initial sting is then softened by the sweet but nevertheless potent Grand Marnier. Finally, to warm up our spirits and reassure us we mix it all in a nice glass of steaming hot tea.

More changes ahead, but that's for the entry.

There.

Isn’t that better?

shivers

Shivers... a warm summer night after the rain. It is not so warm anymore. A slight breeze that carries with it just enough moisture to prevent my nostrils from bleeding with dryness. Again shivers... they warm my body up. Too tired to fall asleep, too intoxicated with coffee to be awake. Lazy eyelids mechanically drown and resurface, slowly, instinctively, for lack of anything better to do. A distorted moon, only hours ago perceived through a doubleteinted window, is replaced with the violent reflection of neon brightness. Again shivers. A quick look towards the air conditioning switch reveals a distinct lack of willpower, mixed with apathy as to the idea of turning it on. Maybe if I was suffering, but I'm not - that will come later, when I'll try to sleep.

Oh the sleep - virtually impossible to achieve in a place with perfect conditions (solitude, temperature, moisture), yet at the same time impossibly unbearable in a place where it was meant to happen. 5 tiny engines, designed to drill in my head and placed right next to it, which are omnipresent and perpetually-mobile - powered by love. Then there's the heat, generated by 3 and a half air heating devices (depending on if you count the fan or not - it moves the air that its engine helps to heat). This air being artificially heated, is also of a very dry nature, devoiding the whole environment of any moisture and thus serving to efficiently dry your nostrils to the point of bleeding (dry blood). Assuming it's a nice and breezy day, and the net on the window decides to let some refreshing air in, it also lets a myriad of sound effects filter in. These include any number of: baby cries, mothers screaming at said babies, lawn mowers (in quadraphonic stereo surround, since there are lawns to be mowed on the rear-left, rear-right, front-left, and front-right of our house), vacuum cleaners (slightly overpowering the sound of the aforementioned 5 tiny engines). Then there's the occasional neighbour who decides to put a high-torque engine against some metal object to produce a sound similar to what a chainsaw against a metal electricity pole might sound. And if I was foolish enough to leave my door open, hoping that some of the cool air that rests in the rest of the house might decide to drop by where I sleep, I am only confronted with 4 speakers and 2 subwoofers-worth of gangsta-rap, courtesy of my beloved brother - can you feel the love?

Such is a small part of what my rant about sleep might sound. I'm afraid to continue, since if I do so, I risk sounding like I'm complaining about not getting enough of it. And I'm not, I'm really not, I get plenty of sleep... the only problem is, it's not quality sleep. I seldom reach an REM state, and have very few dreams. No wonder that when I eventually DO have a dream, it is so dramatic and devastating, encompassing every suppressed memory and emotion preceding it, that I wake up sweating, and immediately turn on the 5 little engines in hopes of forgetting it with a little torment-power.

Shiver shiver... it just warms you up inside...up your spinal chord, and into your brain, gives you nice feeling and you shiver again.

brrrr...

the shivers are here.