Apathy.. ?

In the wake of the recent storm, there are no intermittent gusts, the air smells of a strange commotion, as if a dynamo at the core of the earth has burned out all vegetation. My eyes have grown used to cornucopia of puppet shows and carousels that life exhibits and I can see how logic fabricates logic, the distant logic inflaming the nearer one. Destiny’s wrath! A nobody who had been somebody is nobody again: the preposterous future of a fabled spirit. The diabolical burning.. tears glistening the creases of being and me, in charge of my own life once again. But there is no ambition in it.

Life thrives best on ancient faith, timeless hopes, and illusions. Once again I can touch that old apathy engulfing me, fresh, sharp numbness recoiling and lulling the senses, determined all by itself to flourish inside.. accompanied by a certain hopelessness which often strikes when you had abandoned yourself to an intoxicating reverie or accustomed your eyes to certain pleasing visions in russet beads, just then .. it declares itself like a gelid wheeze emanating from an immense grotto wherein discords wail, it’s a fixation, incidental, unaided by volition. And then a piercing longing which manifests into the presence of the unattainable… of what .. ?

Each secret longs to be disclosed, each love yearns to be betrayed, everything sacred must be desecrated, heaven and earth conspire that all good beginnings should come to a bad end. End : repeat.. it continues. A bird which wishes to soar above this set pattern should have strong wings. It is a deplorable drama to witness the misfits bruised, fatigued, plummeting back to earth again and again.

Whose fault is this? Rules last only as long as the energy to enforce them. Our emotions are rulers. They assail us like robbers, they mock all our resolutions. What you thought was rock becomes a soap bubble, light and transparent, suspended in the air as its colors are admired and its too late till you grasp its fragility. Melodies fuse together and become the beat of destruction. Where does all music go?

An awful silence reigns throughout these subterraneous regions where a sanguine voice had dropped an octave, those notes are melting into dark grey visions, turning an empty block inside my head as I drift out of consciousness, except now and then some blasts of wind vibrate the doors I had passed just a while ago, and which, grating on the rusty hinges, are re-echoed through that long labyrinth of darkness.. where I have left burning a single tallow candle which would soon begin to flicker…