Diary Of Benjamin The Poet That Was Written For Depicting The Psychedelic Land

Без названия, Часть 1

It was just a usual morning with all the same birds singing, all the same bugs flying, all the same trees swinging with the flows of wind. Nothing disturbing in such a typical countryside. Tiny hands of the clocks reached eleven, stopped for a second, trembling as if they were anxious to continue their never-ending journey, and went further. Sun was slowly heating my room and I decided to leave it before anyone would come and lock me in this natural oven.
There wasn't much to do in this place: no people around, nothing to entertain yourself with. The only thing I liked there was Nature, She who so many neglected and at the same time were beginning to realize their fault. The calendar was telling me that it was the year of 1968 but I now felt the old good Medieval time. Flowers in their hair never changed, so what could be different after all?
Clocks were coming to eleven-eleven when I closed the doors to my room and went downstairs. They were black but I painted the wood red if you looked inside. Maybe I wanted my place to be creative as it was quite popular among the teenagers but I doubt it - I was just trying to make it look less of an asylum with its walls of toxic yellow. Anyway, my space turned out to be very pretty.
As I said, I wanted to get away. However, it would be unfair to blame the Sun for that. The Sun hasn't done anything bad except from stealing the night from me. I will even admit my false accusations of trying to sear me to death because it is not the sun-rays who do this job but people who we had to put up each other with. Big Mother hadn't come and I could enjoy the weather that day.
Suddenly I got a feeling something wasn't "that normal". Probably even the opposite. I checked my holey pocket but everything was still there. I sighted and looked forward but nothing seemed different. Maybe I should had looked
I was still walking when a husky, ugly voice dulled small birds' choir:
- Hey, Ben! Where are you going?! A date with Plato?
I didn't pay attention.
- Or why not to go to a communist party?! It is the only party you can jam to!
It was very irritating and humiliating. I knew there were girls with him and it wasn't a big surprise that for a such conventional imbecile this mocking was the only thing he could attract anyone with. I kept walking.
- Prince found your writings and pinned them up in school! They are total rubbish, I was disappointed!
It was getting worse. He was like a mosquito that buzzes around.
- I thought peasants don't know how to read. Especially those who live in the kingdom of such uneducated princes.
Bang! Girls screeched of laughter and he slowly turned to red. It was so irresponsible of me to joke with the local pretend-to-be-criminal gang but the joy of watching him boil was irresistible. Fortunately, I wasn't too reckless to wait for the response; I ran.
Every Summer I demonstrated a great metamorphosis. Unlike Kafka's Gregor, I was turning a better version of myself, a fitter, stronger me. As school was over the time of survival began to show up and to get away from theoretical problems and practical punches. I didn't need Mercury's flying sandals because my own legs could save me better than anything else: just remember the right path and follow it time to time. If you go on the same route too often, all days will become the same to you.
This time I didn't succeed. I looked back to look at their reaction (to be precise, girls laughing) and a heavy stone smashed me right in my face. I fell, watching the skies like in Leo Tolstoy's "War And Peace" Bolkonsky did, kicked out during the battle. It was both so fast and slow that I thought I was watching a movie. It was a kind of DeLarge's therapy film as I found myself bleeding and sobbing right in two minutes. His fists were in blood and it reminded me of red roses planted in stinky dirt. I caught myself on a thought I looked much more handsome covered in mud and grass' juice than him standing above me.
He spat and left. What an impressive departure. I didn't move for a few more minutes and then got up; the head was a little fizzy and I could see some pretty whimsical psychedelic patterns appearing in front of me.
I hesitantly made first steps trying to see them better. Everything looked foggy to me but the tears wouldn't stop (I wasn't a cry-baby, it was just pure pain, I promise!), so I decided to continue walking like that, trying to understand what this vision was. I heard bells ringing in my ears but I didn't want to come back home.
It was getting dark and I didn't expect it. I must have fallen asleep after the fight, in the middle of a field. Someone once told me two boys brought plants from the town which would create illusions like those I was watching. I guess it was their effect. Not feeling my body anymore I turned to another direction and faced a tree. I met it months ago but we didn't talk. Having talks with speechless was considered to be a madness. Last time I was with a friend, not a girlfriend but a friend who was a girl. Interestingly enough, she would understand my strangeness but I didn't know it yet. Back then I wanted her to accept me and I needed to look "okay" for that. I have changed my strategy since that time and now I try to shock right from beginning, just to understand who would appreciate my company later.
This girl was very different. I would say she was naive. She liked science and astrology (it was hard to imagine both interest could live peacefully within one single person before I met her), movies and dreaming. We shared a lot. I loved her but not romantically. In the evening we would usually go to see some wild plants and and flowers, her little fingers unwrapping their buds if they had closed for a sleep. It always seemed offensive to me in some way; she took one and woke it up, sometimes damaging the tenderest petals. It wasn't done on purpose, she didn't want no harm. Her aim was to see the most beautiful parts of them but we always came too late.
It was strange how this happened even in real life. This girl managed to find such people who somehow were hiding from the world to protect themselves, then she would try to open them and see what was inside. But she never understood the difference between people and the flowers: taking petal by petal would weaken a herb but it didn't feel it; for a human in it was sheer pain.
M. (let's call her like that) tried telling me stories of those she wanted to "heal". She would look straight in the eyes of her listener, curious to understand if they were getting it right. Her voice was turning sad, slowly dimming in the narration. The first time she opened up was when a friend left her. "I wasn't expecting that", she said in confusion. M. was very childish.
"I told him I didn't love him anymore. You won't understand it, Benjamin, because you are a boy. I didn't love him like I used to, with kisses and cuddles. But... I continued to love him as a friend, as my best friend. I tried to explain it to him... I didn't want to lie because you cannot command the heart... I wanted to be honest; he was shocked. He didn't want to listen and just kept on asking why... Why... And his eyes so sad, lips - a broken line. He wanted to know... And I told him. There was a very smart and kind boy, he looked like Jim Morrison. And, Benjamin, I knew I couldn't love him anymore... This, first boy. It was so strange, his name was Jim, too. And there I am telling the real Jim that I fell in love with the boy who looked like Jim Morrison. That we live closer. And, in all of a sudden, he began to laugh. Then, he became sarcastic. It was so hard when you are opened to the person you loved and he just changes in seconds. I began to cry. He wanted to touch me and hold my chin but decided not to. He stood up and went to the door. He tried to force a smile but couldn't. I haven't seen him since that day. But I still remember his red eyes when he looked at me."
Sometimes, after such monologues, she would forget about you and go in silence. M. always wanted to be a better person and for that she was trying to be free from lies. I still wonder if it was a virtue or egoism.
One day she came to me and showed her new mini-dress. "Isn't it pretty?" I smiled at her: of course it was. She apologized for not reading my poetry, she went to town that day. There was always an excuse for not doing something she didn't have the mood for, even knowing it was the only thing that mattered to me. She just didn't know how was to be a lonely writer with no one to sympathize you. But for me, who didn't have anyone to smile at, it didn't appear as such a big problem.
It was a red dress from BIBA. A brand-new one. She was radiating of joy and this enthusiasm would soon make me the same. We chatted happily, danced, hopped. She jumped again and, oh no, a careless move and the dress was tore. Not something serious but it was definitely visible. M. Looked at it, touched the hole with trembling hands and wept. It was impossible to calm her down, so I decided we could walk to her house where her Mum would fix the dress. I promised it would be alright and nothing could spoil her beauty. I haven't seen her for two days after we said "good bye" to each other.
The reason behind that was her dress. No one could repair it well enough and a big "scar" crossed the bottom part of it. I wrote to her but mail was barely ever delivered to her as no one checked the mail-box in front of their house. I saw her many times behind the windows when I came to find out if something serious happened but M. never bothered to let me know. She didn't want to hurt me but, knowing me so closely she could pretend to be as concerned as I was to her.
It is interesting how flexible a person is depending on the situation. M. was different when we first met. She didn't have many friends and didn't want to lose me; I promised her I wouldn't do it. We weren't in love but she demanded on me being all hers. This girl was as lonely as I thought I was. She knew I didn't have acquaintances in this area but some kind of bad feeling always surrounded our relationships. This was like a dark matter, invisible but powerful force that we didn't feel but knew about its existence. Jealousy could make her sick but she was always honest about it with me.
So I saw the tree and got an immediate desire to climb it. I wasn't good at it as I always sat underneath but this day I wanted to feel above this world. Memories sometimes make us dwell on the ground and forget how to fly. It gives us extra-weight.
I touched my face and felt something sticky. I scratched it and saw it was blood which I had forgotten to wash away when it was still liquid. Such a beautiful boy.
I embraced the trunk and watched the Sun. Purple and magenta clouds started to dance above the horizon, calmly and solemn.
An ant climbed on me and bit for nothing. I was offended but did nothing, as always; that seemed to be my life motto.
While I was thinking about my useless philosophy another ant got on my knee. Not paying attention to little insect's route I kept on glancing at the horizon until the bastard got under my shirt. I squeezed, hitting my own body wishing those annoying bites would end. Other ants must have smelled my sweet perfume and joined the march of their friends, joyfully testing my flesh and leaving their invisible marks on my skin.
Meanwhile, it was getting even more psychedelic than before. I can't tell if it was ants' poison or the weather was trying to Impress me but the skies looked and felt on fire. My cheeks tinted red and it became hot, my head was fizzy and nothing mattered anymore. Only the flames above me.
A woman in blue bended over me. She was beautiful but her glance scared me more than I could ever imagine. It wasn't hysterical fear but deep admiration with paranoia. But who was she?
Tender and soft, her fingers reached out to me. They haven't touched me yet but I could already feel an indescribable wave of warmth inside of me, the realization of something going better than you had expected. Sweet of getting freed from an anxious feeling yet bitter of understanding you won't suffer it through anymore. She was gone but I kept trying to visualize her persistence, to experience those harming moments again. It has disappeared, I came to forgiveness.
I now knew I could not revenge her. Sadly, I didn't care anymore.
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