Adrift!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Overwhelmed, he heard, he wrote, he sang, he danced, he felt lost, and he felt found. There was joy, there was sadness. He could not define it. He was no intellectual, probably too naive to understand even what it played, what was scribbled, what did song say, how to follow steps of dance, still…

He felt floating in that little glass of scotch, floating as if he was a cube of ice, slowly melting, getting submerged in liquor, slowly, as if someone had put a rock, a big one tied to the needle of watch and yet it moved forward, for how could one stop time, at best you could slow it down, but remember it is not as easy as it sounds, for it take efforts, it may require one to put himself upon those blades of watch, hanging by the throat, nerves twitching away, eyes bursting open, yet swinging as if a pendulum going to and fro, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

He heard the music, he found himself grooving, he had no control over himself, he felt as if he was lying over keys of piano and was upon mercy of one who played them. Shades of black and white cut him in pieces, and placed it upon keys of piano precisely, for you must match the notes, there should not remain any difference, one must let himself be dissolved in the moment, and his moment was right there. And so he felt the coldness of keys falling upon his flesh in a mystical rhythm, it reminded him or better gave him feeling of sitting in front of a typewriter, putting words upon that blank sheet one by one, tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk…  

He felt falling in bit and pieces, he saw words cropping up from layers of skin falling off his body, in great horror and amazement he saw his blood dripping off his flesh and bones, making shapes upon paper, shapes that showed him shades, shades that he had been searching for ever, it showed him through darkness and blinded him in the light, it drew images that were even beyond his imaginations, it threw him off the cliff he were afraid for ages to go even nearby, it gave him wings to fly past sun, though it also did bury him beneath mountain whose wait crushed him, drowned him through salt waters of sea leaving him gasping for air, thirsty he was to bite upon and lick own flesh and bones from which red droplets were dripping still…”