/ by IKB

Will I despair? Will I suffer yet another acute melancholy? How righteous! Surely you can stuff yourself with bitter-sweet dark chocolate. Yes, but how salutary is this?

Last night I spoke to … er … I spoke to someone. How funny! In these eight years online, I have come to lose all sense of propriety. The privacy I guarded most zealously in the real world I quickly shed in this one. To myself I simply left my words, this fantastic mosaic being my single garment. But while I undressed myself, I have covered up all others. The names and people that used to punctuated my stories so cheerfully and carelessly are no more. They have been metamorphosed into blurry whispers that are swallowed instantly.

The ever-changing stage, one moment I was at Café Baroni only to quickly transfer the reader to the Kepler’s where I would lose myself in the endless aisles teaming with books. Or perhaps I would describe my miserable attemps to remain unmemorable on BART as I made my way to UC Berkeley where I would meet … and we’d march through the campus and the city like Socrates and his friends. Except we were mere children at heart scared by the industrial and raw face of Telegraph Avenue. Oh how these sheltered children were awed and mystified but at heart, their hearts palpiated with excitement and fascination.

Alack, no more. The stage is permanent: Santa Fe. But this is to change. I do not hate Santa Fe, if I have said this before I must retract my vituperations. Santa Fe is quaint, but is is an illusory edifice of adobe. Quaint is comfortable but I was born to suffer and only through suffering am I made aware of my humanity. Only in this state of emergency am I able to feel my essence come alive. Thus I begin to say good-bye. The stage will change and perhaps the fanciful characters will return. And even better, one or two might make the journey East. But it is too soon, too imprudent and rash to speak of such matters. I am to leave, if some then so be it. If none follow, I have made similar treks before sans companions.

But now I must paddle back and onto the river; this divagation down one of its minute streams is over.

As I spoke with … I could not help but realize that out of everyone I know, he is the only person that thus far has been able to leave me in awe and delight.

It may seem that it takes a lot of time and effort to impress me, to produce a reaction in me, whether it is positive or negative does not matter, as long as the purported indifference that chromes my very essence is disturbed. Awaken mighty trobadour, and feel! Feel the veins pulsating with warm blood and the churningn of your mind! Yet, I must say that it takes rather nothing to effect a reaction in me. The problem lies in the approach one takes.

The other day I was terribly fascinated, at the point of delirium with a string of, granted it was a string of the deepest black I have yet to see outdone, a black comparable to the black veil of Thetis. Oh how Homeric, how naïf! I do not understand poetry but I love poets. I love romanticism but I despise its fatalism! Now this string adorns my neck, how unlike me I say, yes unlike me for I am opposed to any improvements on the masterpiece that is the human body. Oh again, how naïf, how drolatique! Permit me to chuckle.

And if we must travel further into the past, there was the time when I nearly lost my head when I ladybug landed on the palm of my hand as I ran barefoot through a field. The stimuli was more than my body could savor; the prickling steps of this whimsical insect on my palm were sublime. I swooned. And I dare say I felt heavenly delight when I felt its bite. To wit, my being transgressed the confines of my self.

Ah such histrionics, it all sounds like bipolarity! a constant vacillation to and fro, from one antipode to the other. Such sadness.

So what was it exactly that left me in awe and delight as I put it so tritely? We went to a local park, found a spot in the shade and read! Hah!