‘Round 6.30p.m., and the sky is on the cusp of turning, least to my eyes. The day speeds fast when something else’s on your mind. You don’t pay attention to things. You zone out, and it’s as if there were just a light switch, not this sweeping of swirling orange, spilling and evaporating. It wasn’t all too coordinated, wasn’t too much routine. You’d just think it morning and then be lost somewhere in time in a dark night. I always thought of that first streak as a pinprick of this blue bag with this luminous liquid inside, running and patterning the outside. Soon the bag would empty and this would all evaporate, leaving light no more. That bag, turned inside out, hole gaping, would then wrap and tie ‘round the whole Earth, suffocating and darkening, absorbing all movement and sound, yet providing some surface for the sensitive fellows to perceive an echo. It did so for some sense of purpose, the madman. It seeked it, drank it in. It wanted any light to contain. But we never had any light like that liquid.
And I was always lost.
The Sun was too blinding.
I didn’t really have anything on my mind. I filled it with a haze to keep it all out. But night here always smelt like water, and that mist always seeked to undo that haze I so very seeked to maintain. Aye, without fail, always it did.
And so was how I would become conscious of the night.
So it was like a routine, I guess, but I’d close my eyes in that mind of mine as to make sure I never perceived that haze disappearing. Least what was left of it. I’d just slouch on that horse of mine and let go of time as a last resort. I would let go of scent, but that was far too much. Those water vapours would drown me, had I not respond. That clearness of the night was always a curse, the beauty of truth, the life, the death. You could feel your veins pumping,the sharpness of breath, the realness of it all but too the realness of it all. You’d have to sift through all you’d ignored, those demons of your kind to feel alive, to feel that clearness of mind. Nothing else.
But I had waited too long. And the demons got stronger every day, and the moss harder to scrub off. And so I wait. When that bell tolls, I jolt my horse and run on these plains. It gets harder and harder to distinguish between these worlds, and I need that extra help physically in order to get rid of this place and run. Every day, I feel the demons stomping closer, the moss forming a little louder back. I only know that one day they’ll overtake me, pull me from my horse, bubbling my mind till there is nothing left to bubble. See the haze is the only thing that keeps it intact, the lack of use made it atrophy. When the haze is gone then the wind’ll come in and the desperation of dissonance as well. But I know that will go too.
I had a chance to get through those demons and live a life after. It seems now that the demons will overtake me forever, now a forever steam and haze. There is beauty in those folks, you know? Some men used to seek them out, claiming they were a help, it was the only way to rid of your sins. How stubborn I had been.
But I think that today I’ll get off my horse. Oh so long it has been since I have thought. I only know that I can keep this on so much longer. The stallion’s nice. I’ll bring him to a quaint little stream and leave him be. I know that there are some nice folk around here. They criticise my scent, habits, I hear when I get out of that haze a little. That’s a mark of good men. Disciplined, discerning. They’ll take good care of him here.
It won’t be much longer till the night takes over completely, so I walk still in a half-haze this time ‘round. I still need that time, that whatever living I so call.
I think I’ll miss the man.
I end up at a little spot of clear, and slowly I finally let my mind clear.
I get a glimpse of the sunset.
Man, is it beautiful.