31 October 2006
The place I'm in has strings being played with screeching tones. Ambient sounds are drowned by an otherwise silent player, callously demanding my attention through his craft. I try to be polite, but I'm not really interested, even though the melody is lovely.
The place I'm in has muted sounds. The world moves around me and I am simply carried by the water. Echoes of what might be interesting and alarming and touching reach my ears and are not picked up.
The place I'm in is filled with mediocre women. Though some might be called beautiful, my own perception is that of a faceless horde intent on drowning me in their wiles. I cannot close my eyes, but I still control my mind, at least for the moment.
The place I'm in is vast and lonely. It is an empty warehouse that has not been swept; remnants of former contents, both rich and valuable, apparent all around. But now in ruins.
The place I'm in has chest-high walls. I can see over and beyond when I dare to look, but this is not often. I put the walls there to protect myself, and now I cannot recall how I might venture through. Sometimes I tell myself it's cozy here, but what I'm really protecting myself from is a healthy fear of failure.
The place I'm in smells distantly of dust and roses, like an abandoned gazebo taken over by the garden. Wafts of sunny breeze are here, somewhere, but I can't ever catch one; they're too far away.