Capricious

3 - The Dark Side of the Moon

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."
- Oscar Wilde

And as I sit here, in this room, I feel as if there is an alternate world ahead of me. I can see it, bits of past and future. This life is a lie, a censored down version, part of a programme. Side by side they go, perfect metaphorical worlds. But there it is wilder, there is action, excitement, everything I crave here, where I only have the limits, the edges, just a scrape. Lives are simply parts of some unphysical being. Lives are the atoms of a universe beyond our own. We're stitched together, connected, this world is just the meetings of these lives. We don't quite know we are, but dreams connect us. Just knowing something of someone else, those memories stolen, that is connection, an exchange, a trade. As traditional of any civilisation, connections for lives. This world is a proxy, a lie, imagination connects the inputs making it seem real, but our senses are lied to every day, rarely seeing the full picture. We engineer this, convince this to happen, for the truth would destroy our fragile minds. It's all lies.

I'm melting into songs. Hearing them differently as if through a different sense, a chemical one. They envelope me, protect me, shatter me.

I see that world again. Different. My imagination, through friend and film and book filters in. It is part of me. My life, my soul, that power. That which carries on after death, along a different path, lives being the stations of an infinite train ride.

I imagine a room. Small, cosy. Pampered with lush silk duvets, cushioning the floor. Dark, black walls, flame covered furniture, stars in the background. There is light. I don't quite know where it comes from. There are others, girls and guys, faces I know, everyone quite like me, my true friends. Where in a different life it may have been easier. There is just love. No one hides under clothes, no one hides behind lies, no one minds. There is only love, in friendship, in lust, in desire. We don't care. We exist for pleasure. There is no need to worry. For endless time. And there are others. Scenes from other lives with a different mix of connections. Could they all be real? Was I handed the short straw?

I feel I need to rid myself of my sexuality. You can love, connect, with all these millions of connections, in completely different contexts. Every emotion felt towards someone is love, a different shade of it. Hate is love, envy is love, happiness is love. As is sadness, and loneliness, and anger. It is always love.

A memory unknown, five of us, smoking by a pier. In a world with tall castle walls. The city on the coast. Sitting on the edge. I was younger. It was colder. I can't remember who was there. It could have been any group of connections I've encountered through my life. Or maybe it was simply a repeating dream, a desire created by my imagination, yet seeming so real. Part of that world we lie scraped against. Just those pure love people, the ones from the duvet room with the never-ending pleasure. How will we finally encounter one another? In a different series of the crossings that may end up meeting at any time. In this dimension where infinity lies, where any may meet, where lives can contact any other at any time. What is the limit? What is real? How many dimensions lie above us?

For reasons deep in the recesses of our minds, we will use our memories, our imagination, our unconscious desire to create these dreams, these worlds that have never existed, that live in their own universe. Dreams are brought into existence. They may have numerous imperfections, but we are all distracted from the truth. An existence is created.

Beauty is the greatest distraction of them all.

There they go again. Little déjà vus. Memories that never happened. Flashes of lives unlived.