rabble walla

(Ghost-like figure doing BLOOD with hands, 2011)

Perhaps it is strange to think of a world beyond my own, a place where I have no influence, nor control at this time of night. I ponder what people do, what they look like. How does the air sound like, is there music playing, what kind of music, is it overwhelming, is it some jazz bar? Of course this is just one place, not the whole thing, if I took that on that in my thoughts it would be a collective rabble-rabble-rabble. In a dark room, with strangers all around, that sound will find its way into you, through your ears, but most of all, your fears. It creates a sound field that acts as a boundary, and whoever is there with you, in the state you are in, is your only companion in the whole stinking world (which isn't so bad, depending on the company). But those dark circles, the nerves that make me nervous are as loud as the rabble-rabble-rabble itself, it feels like my blood is boiling, my face, maybe melting, my company is looking at me funny, she knows I'm freaking out. I am freaking out. Maybe not the word freaking out, but certainly not chilling out. The occasional laughter saves us, NOTHING LIKE THAT I say to myself, she hears, an abrupt WHAT? ensues, I laugh it off, saying, OH JUST TALKING TO MYSELF. (insert dark circle).

Eventually, even I find myself chilled out, this place is still crazy, but I don't care. A quick hip check to see if my company is still here. She's still there. My eyes adjust to the darkness, I look towards the stage, my eyes see but what they are seeing is separated from what I feel. My eyes are only guides to what's really going on. My mind wonders again, but this time there aren't any dark circles, a new plateau forms and I see a flicker. My feet attracted to it, I start to dance, I move with my body disconnected from the world. I look over to see if she is still with me, crazy eyes, that trips me out. I laugh, she laughs, we're good. Moments turn into moments, and a life time later the crowd, the stage, all melted into a pool of life, before is a mirror image of the world I once knew. This world is almost perfect, but it is missing something, we are not there, we are absence, neither looking down from an angle that escapes reflection nor below or aside, we are removed. The sound in the air is gone, the buzzing static fills our consciousness. If we were sleepy, droned, or fading before we were awake now. I check my ego, I am not here, I am not there. She speaks, what I hear escapes me, all I know is that my mind is taking in every detail, for what, I have not a clue, perhaps for moments like this, as I type away from my fourth story height, looking at a city that is sleeping, that I am alone with my thoughts, revisiting a time I wish never ended. It wasn't extraordinary, nor did it need to be made into a monument, it simply was a moment lost from time, those moments shared with another that break down the walls of normal, static, and sound reality. And perhaps in all that rabble-rabble-rabble we were ultimately alone.