The room is filled. I am filled. With ambiance. With ethereal waves. Sound bits. Visual sound. Sluggish motion. Sharp colours merging. Playing with gravity. Pulsating. Seeping through air molecules. Contaminating them. But then they give in. They let the unreality engulf them. Like crashing waves. So tall that they tower over you. Surround you. Blue with foaming whiteness. Ear drums become dense. Booming filling your head through your ears. So full and so close but a distance also. An unreality. The waves surround you. And then it hits. Crashes. Becomes darker blue. Deep blue. Underwater sound. Engulfed.
Waking imagination is subordinate to dreaming. Lucid dreaming joins the two. The realness of dreaming and the consciousness of waking. The world is in cartoon motion. The happiest I have ever felt. Cobbled streets at dusk in misty lamplight and whistling cold lay beyond the curtains and walls. It’s the wrong room. A memory. Consciousness of the unreality steals the moment. Panic that it will be lost. I don’t want to loose this which I love. This which I long for every moment of every day. Film will not satisfy it. Story will not quench my longing. And the fantasy will not be real. It’s the wrong room. Bring back the one I love.
Weaving smoke flowing upwards. Appears in front of my face. The pipe becomes a boat and the sea surrounds me again. I am above the water. Sailing. You race towards me. I am overcome. I am come. This is it. I am back. I am real. This is the real I love. Back and forth. I am laughing. I have no restraint. There is no restraint. No one would restrain, would want to restrain or would restrain you. I am laughing. Back and forth in bliss. This is the truth is seek. For true truth to evanesce and the truth I seek to settle in its place. This is not its place.
There is no other place. It’s the wrong room. Consciousness is fatal. My happiness at risk. Do not let it fade. My imagination is not strong enough. My emotion’s not real enough. It is for lack of real experience, lacking experience of my own that I ask the world to evanesce and lay back in euphoria. You have not entered my life yet. I have not met you. You exist on film and I fear for your existence. I have no truth if you are just a fantasy. No truth worth living. That is brutality. Cynicism. Cold living. If I accept it I can live. Happily even. But I will not accept it. It’s the wrong room and I will have euphoria. The unreality will become reality.
It’s the wrong room. Please oh please…please let the unreality become r
