And it Rains

Shades of grey veil my perception. The sky hangs low above me. In it I see eyes of the beloved.
Hovering mist gentle, icy winds that lock in thier icy embrace all thoughts, all emotions till one is naught but an onlooker... one feels not, one simply gazes, observes the dense greyness that surrounds.
The drops come unsure of themselves, one here, then one there...they come tiny but in multitudes so that there is what seems to be a perpetual mist and you stand.

You stand unable to move for such beauty has fixed the mind, such beauty has captured all senses such that you see him, you hear him...you feel him all around. And then you realize that as the winds circle you, there is nothing, no smiles meant for you, no hushed whispers spinning dreams round you-

And the web of reality tightens as you struggle to be free...tightens round an empty heart now devoid of feeling.
you returned....you saw...you cried...you left again,
but what did you leave? who did you leave? and where did you lose 'emotion'

Do I feel?
Do I care?
Do i crumble?

So the hours dissappear.

Its almost appaling to see what we have done to ourselves. It is the 'first world', it is a world where 24 hours are just not enough...where time melts into almost meaningless actions, motions, simple, trained routines that dictate our lives.
A culture where staying alive is all that ever matters - that gives this sickening rise to an utter lack of individuality, where people run in circles and smiles are things only dreamt of.

I respect the bohemian guy with his thick locks flowing freely or bound by colourful cords of self-confidence, the time spared for a polished guitar slung across his shoulder, the attention paid to the natural, earthy tones that colour his clothing, the beads, the rope like adornments and the so very calm leather sandals that speak of a simplicity unknown to many.

I respect the alternative chick barely clothed in black leather and netted stockings, multiple piercings that commemorate difference, pink streaked hair that celebrates this ceasura in the monotony of black ties and plain T shirts.

There is a confidence, a sense of self worth to be emulated...there is a desire to be different, bend the bars of convention that we may look out onto to world and see a melange of beauty and independent joy.

These are thoughts that flood my mind, my crazed mind that sits shrivelled up in my head. It begs for release, the room to bloom happily to give immaculate birth to ideas corporeal. But it sits and it is my friend, my magic carpet that yet possesses the wonderful abilty to carry me away from a world that is all too real.

Its certainly odd how perspectives change so quickly! University's workload increases exponentially and a new job has proven itself extremely demanding - this is why I think this way. I have but little time in the day left for things that constitue a generic definition of the term 'life' and so I am upset with the world.

But wait, breathe, think and by the time some shaft of light beams through this that I percieve as darkness, I will be all happy again.
Ahh the joys indescribable of random writing...how therapeutic indeed.

Salsa Sensations

Waves of rhtymn pierce the still air. There are dim lights...coloured shades, flitering softness, tender shafts of subtle light. Darkness all around them, him and... A firm hand, graceful clasp, round the softness of the side, on the supple back, milky skin taut with the tense sensations of romance and music mingled.

There is red, much red...red silk, red lamps, red lips, red sensations - vibrance energy that die into hazy realms of subdued passion - passion now undercurrent, in heaves, in sighs, in moans that time the beat of the Salsa drums.

They spin together...their thin layers of sensuous sweat mingle, sultry gazes lock, primal scents released and the dance becomes the unity, the sway of one body, the impassioned merging of minds.

And through the sliky, languid fliaments of cigarette smoke the onlooker sips burning brandy to put out the fire within. He drinks the intoxication of the night though his eyes and sits transported.