DYMALIN

There was a flash of light,sparks-green, blue,gold writhing in the still air as the naked wire fell from his hands.....onto carpeted floor.
He shut his eyes ,darting specks of the remnants of harsh light in the green- brown blackness of his shut eyes.He slowly opened them ,one at a time.
"where the heck am I?" he exclaimed.
He'd heard Blind Man once say,"When in doubt as to what u see, blink twice rapidly and you shall perceive".He always listened to the Blind Man.So he blinked twice in quick succession. By the blasted sixth sense of the Blind Man.!.What he saw nothing but the same ...
It was odd.Not my home at all, he thought ,no , not at all.
Yet it seemed like he belonged there.It was like an architectural ecstasy, that could not be defined.He seemed to be standing on higher ground ..yet it seemed to rise as it went away from him ..not a wave....no, definitely not.
The whole corridor had walls like ..like the walls of a cave of rock crystals.. Only the floor was carpeted so it had to be made like that, it wasnt natural.He took a few steps forward ,he wanted to see more , know more about this place he suddenly found himself in.
It was all so intriguing, a welcome change from the drab square world that he lived in.But what was it? This place ,it seemed neither ancient nor modern nor from any documented era he knew of.It seemed to be of its own will carved from its own mind, a figment of soemone's imagination.His?
well, it certainly did not seem like he was dreaming.Where were the lights? The corridor was lit up like Mysore palace but not a fixture to be seen.Terribly odd.
So, was this a Mulligan's Mulch from an Ayn Rand fantasy of the hoarding of genius away from the looters of the world, or an accidental alternate existence he chanced upon?Maybe the answers are further down the hallway.
Well, one way to find out. The magic word -"explore".

Struggle

Will someone tell me why Ive lost something tonight? And what ?
What is it I've lost?
I sailed the extent of this rainy night, attempting to work, but feeling vaguely vacant, lost in this cube of a sea.
I sit at my computer. I can see someone get up from my chair, the yellow one with wheels, and pick my phone up,make a call. I dont know who he calls, but he talks to her ( undoubtedly a woman) detachedly , with a hope to gain that leaked out sliver . He has a look on his face, a elation as the rain drops down on him, the smell of the dry earth rising and engulfing him. He talks cautiously, decidedly slowly, afraid of what? But it is still latent, this fear. He finishes with the call. Comes and sits back in my chair.
What do I do? Sitting here , watching a bright screen, waiting to see this person i knew.

He gets up, restless, calls Bombay. A leap of honest joy i feel in his eyes, as he walks into the rain , in my terrace.He looks up, and a drop of the sky wipes the joy away. His expression then changes slowly, a face in metamorphosis. A gradual realisation, a struggle to speak, a stumble with his words, he gets hasty. A stage with false props, a thermocol stone, a paper wood.
He laughs at something she says. I look up at him. HE seems uncomfortable, yet he's trying to revive some lost scene in his memory.
Finally, he baulks at himself and the futility of it all.
He drops the phone on the table and sits back down with a sigh.

A purposeless conversation. A search for a lost cog. Futile.

I look at him, this man with a familiar face, and as his curls spill over on to his forehead, i cant help but notice the anger in his eyes.
Suddenly i know, it has nothing to do with the calls.
His struggle to accept me, the noiseless splinter, the procrastinator, the dim wit, the social reject, the Nakata of his world. His struggle i can see, in his eyes. He cannot live with me , be left alone with me.
Its a tough one.
I know it is .
Because I cant accept myself either.