The metro dreamer
One of those days I just felt like starting thinking deeply while commuting at the metro. And this required just more than thinking on thinking deeply!. I started to visualize what would I require to think about to start the process and realized that closing my eyes would be a solution, then letting my mind to boil inside could bring some ideas.
The strategy brought no success. Or at least, the idea of impossibility about thinking deeply came and bocked everything. Then a nap could help me out with the idea, but literally it never came. Breathing deeply and then meditating, would make me look like a perverted dude in the middle of the line... uh? a pervie? and then I found myself inventing some stories about... hahah fun uh?
By playing for a while with this new distraction, I kindled a few new imaginary friends whom to talk, and who to laugh at and make some fun during the long trip. I had enough time to play with them in the metro corridors, change my body size, going very small as an electron and see the time going slow until it stops, pack up the wagons with tomatoes, onions, meat, making it flat, or cartoonize it with different colors at the darkest point of the line. It basically became a vice. So vivid, that sometimes it felt real.
I have always been imaginative, but this level was just awesome. Now every day I was experimenting with something new. Glass bubbles that I blew while the metro was stopped and then when it started to accelerate, the illusion of the bubble going backwards while floating and then collapsing against the people was just amazing.
Of course we are humans and get bored of this stuff and yes... It became boring after a while. So I forgot to play and went into the same metro mood as everybody.
One day I spotted at the greasy lines of the line, and at one of the corners there was a ball of hair, dust, and filth. Gray and brown in color, covered with a whitish powder and linked to the wall's rugosity being loosely tied by some strings than in their attempt to escape held the monster tight to its substrate. There also were a couple of metro receipts flying against it hitting it from time to time everything held in a "ballet a la mauvaise" altogether with the ball were moved slowly and against the wall. Clinging against the convex wall impulsed by the wind that the metro traffic used to exert while compressing its forefront against the air present in the tunnel while it approaches. This monster of filth was trying to escape of his trap.
The violent air current pushed it back and forth with no success, struggling to leave the greasy corner. I could feel its anguish and pain trying to not being what it was, some mercy made me think about its disgrace but by some weird reason beyond my comprehension of the whole scenario, it had no escape. In a rapid movement, the monster-ball stayed still, like glued against the floor, it steadily was displaced towards the dark corner and in a blink of the eyes, the corner just swallowed it.
I didn't believe that of course, I am not crazy!. I still have some healthy brain thou. But... where did it go? how it dissapeared? well... I had to take the metro line right away. But the happening ath the undergrounds made me to remember, one of the most fearful and vivid dreams I've ever had during my childhood.
I feared the corners. Those tiny points at the end of any room, that are difficult to clean, those that are always covered with shadow and gray. Those where three planes encounter in a point everyone of them making an angle of 90 degrees against each other. Those in which I used to imagine that just at the tiny bit point in the middle, the vertex. A tremendous void and oblivion was waiting for me, calling me and tempting my eye to look at it. Where ghosts, and souls resided screaming, moaning and complaining about the size of that corner, because they just wanted to escape and get me.
Linked to that memory it came out that I used to imagine how it was at the other side. Sometimes there were piles of gold, guarded by statues. But most of the times it resulted that at the other side there was an specular reflection of my room, full of dust, gray, dead, very dry and silent. The logic out of it was that if my life here was perfect, then it worsened at the other side and viceversa I guess. Indeed, my life as a child was perfect, but at the other side, the other me was living the consequences of my excess, and splendorous reality. He was suffering of starvation he was skinny and an scared boy. He had to hunt for some insects during the night in order to eat, and drinking urine to calm the thirst.
But the thing... is that I used to consider that as the real world. And used to think my world as a parasite dream of the genuine reality source. My life was withdrawing reality powers to the other reality in order to keep up the dream I was living.
Next chapter.
The metro dreamer - Living Aristaless
The strategy brought no success. Or at least, the idea of impossibility about thinking deeply came and bocked everything. Then a nap could help me out with the idea, but literally it never came. Breathing deeply and then meditating, would make me look like a perverted dude in the middle of the line... uh? a pervie? and then I found myself inventing some stories about... hahah fun uh?
By playing for a while with this new distraction, I kindled a few new imaginary friends whom to talk, and who to laugh at and make some fun during the long trip. I had enough time to play with them in the metro corridors, change my body size, going very small as an electron and see the time going slow until it stops, pack up the wagons with tomatoes, onions, meat, making it flat, or cartoonize it with different colors at the darkest point of the line. It basically became a vice. So vivid, that sometimes it felt real.
I have always been imaginative, but this level was just awesome. Now every day I was experimenting with something new. Glass bubbles that I blew while the metro was stopped and then when it started to accelerate, the illusion of the bubble going backwards while floating and then collapsing against the people was just amazing.
Of course we are humans and get bored of this stuff and yes... It became boring after a while. So I forgot to play and went into the same metro mood as everybody.
One day I spotted at the greasy lines of the line, and at one of the corners there was a ball of hair, dust, and filth. Gray and brown in color, covered with a whitish powder and linked to the wall's rugosity being loosely tied by some strings than in their attempt to escape held the monster tight to its substrate. There also were a couple of metro receipts flying against it hitting it from time to time everything held in a "ballet a la mauvaise" altogether with the ball were moved slowly and against the wall. Clinging against the convex wall impulsed by the wind that the metro traffic used to exert while compressing its forefront against the air present in the tunnel while it approaches. This monster of filth was trying to escape of his trap.
The violent air current pushed it back and forth with no success, struggling to leave the greasy corner. I could feel its anguish and pain trying to not being what it was, some mercy made me think about its disgrace but by some weird reason beyond my comprehension of the whole scenario, it had no escape. In a rapid movement, the monster-ball stayed still, like glued against the floor, it steadily was displaced towards the dark corner and in a blink of the eyes, the corner just swallowed it.
I didn't believe that of course, I am not crazy!. I still have some healthy brain thou. But... where did it go? how it dissapeared? well... I had to take the metro line right away. But the happening ath the undergrounds made me to remember, one of the most fearful and vivid dreams I've ever had during my childhood.
I feared the corners. Those tiny points at the end of any room, that are difficult to clean, those that are always covered with shadow and gray. Those where three planes encounter in a point everyone of them making an angle of 90 degrees against each other. Those in which I used to imagine that just at the tiny bit point in the middle, the vertex. A tremendous void and oblivion was waiting for me, calling me and tempting my eye to look at it. Where ghosts, and souls resided screaming, moaning and complaining about the size of that corner, because they just wanted to escape and get me.
Linked to that memory it came out that I used to imagine how it was at the other side. Sometimes there were piles of gold, guarded by statues. But most of the times it resulted that at the other side there was an specular reflection of my room, full of dust, gray, dead, very dry and silent. The logic out of it was that if my life here was perfect, then it worsened at the other side and viceversa I guess. Indeed, my life as a child was perfect, but at the other side, the other me was living the consequences of my excess, and splendorous reality. He was suffering of starvation he was skinny and an scared boy. He had to hunt for some insects during the night in order to eat, and drinking urine to calm the thirst.
But the thing... is that I used to consider that as the real world. And used to think my world as a parasite dream of the genuine reality source. My life was withdrawing reality powers to the other reality in order to keep up the dream I was living.
Next chapter.
The metro dreamer - Living Aristaless
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