My head spins in a chromatic vortex as I stare into nothingness and my glowing eyes turn black.
I hear the rippling sound of the second dimension, struggling to stay sealed between thick, rusty cages of void, and its heated atoms shiver as they crave to escape.
Shrieking white radiates and echoes off the sheer fibers of lifeless wood,
the marble underneath fusing and twining with its thorn edges ablur.
My trembling hands trace its cold silhouettes, silver and jade, as perfumed clouds of lime juice and wine grasp onto the light particles of time and space, climbing their way to the sky.
The sky is nothing but crystalline “zero”,
oblivion masked by fog and starry nights.
My lips tremble, my nose burns, and my alert ears turn red.
I desire to make something of that nothingness before me- warp its utter shape and give it essence through my essence itself.
“l'Existence précède l'Essence”
Its mere existence has expired
and it now longs for purpose.
! ! !
We are the only creators of our “destinies”.
We are the only ones who can truly decide
if to turn left or right in the fork of life,
lost in the chasm of the infinite possibilities that shape our humble beings.
I stare at the hundreds of thousands of question marks poised before me.
I want to eternally stain this blank sheet with intense hues.
I want to splash its hollow veins with life, with shades of cherry red and grassy green and midnight blue; condemn it with the image of the spiraling thoughts wrestling inside my straining mind.
I want to break its faded heart and tear its feeble limbs apart.
I want to feel the frothing heat against my fingertips ablaze, as I rip its seams and curl its shredded parts.
My quivering hand is a magnet’s northern pole, attracted to the luring south of a shiny purple ink.
The impulse is to carve chaotic graphemes sprouting and blooming from my contorted thoughts, and pour my soul into cups of senseless letters.
Dots, curves and oblique lines would dress them- hats, coats and shoes to abstract forms of life, trapped between the cement layers of what is and what is not.
A shimmering droplet of salty water gracefully falls from my left eye, itching with excitement and startling confusion.
I suddenly feel the urge to soak that candid rectangle in gallons of boiling tears;
Force it under the surface and watch it fall to a thousand fragile pieces, bound to dissolve into pools of atomic nullity.
I want to splash it with warm mugs of coffee and frigid cups of fresh iced tea, so to draw an amber halo along its delicate pleats.
As my mother spreads melting butter onto freshly baked wholegrain bread, I yearn to cover the smooth plain with sticky squares of glue and bound it forever to a crystal coffee table, a hardwood chair, a thick strand of hair; press it, suffocate its pores, thrusting it against the wall and breaking its unbreakable barriers with a spiraling nail, hammered deep into its soul; smear it with pomegranate, blueberry, orange and peach, turning it into the canvas for the concrete, sugary art of mellow fruitfulness; crumple our frustration into an unknown, unique, shape: an irregular gem in a world of boxy rocks; and pierce a hole so deep it penetrates air itself, opening its Pandora’s box and freeing the third dimension, hungry for a taste of all.
° ° °
I want to fold the sheet and swallow it,
erasing it from my vision forever.
“Forever”, though, doesn’t exist.
Forever is a social construct, a seemingly logic idea created to shape our lives based on an infinite time range, a human invention trying to answer one of the un-answerable questions of being.
In reality, there is no “time,
And nothingness casts us into an engulfing state of ecstasy and anguish, fueled by the deepest fear of the unknown.
The human mind can’t possibly fathom what lies within the secrets of essence and life.
My senses awaken and numbness overcomes me as I try to unveil the truth,
truth which cannot be reached by the only available dimensions of ‘present’ and ‘past’.
The sole purpose of our actions is to shape this oblivious being,
seeking for solution, and it is ultimately determined by us.
Our intellect is the blank sheet
As its two dimensions clash to prevail, it awaits our will to be stained, to be written over, drowned and dissolved, crumpled, and freed from its restraining barriers once and forever.
Only so will our essence be fully complete.
“We live to create” -Maddalena Luberti