Capricious

7 - The Tree of Life: Part 1

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity."
- Charles Dickens

I believe it. Therefore it is true.

And then I begin to feel the power in certain frames. In symbols of beauty, art and music, sights and films. Oh, how we desire to absorb such things. Arts are simply ways of communicating, of conveying concepts and all we cannot say with mere words.

All those punishing reminders of what could have been. A machine gun to the chest. A hundred little blows hoisting deep inside.

I don't want to hide anymore. I want to be free. To burst forth, break my chains and scream eternal.

Rising like a sun so suddenly within me, waking me from life. The level above, a step up from dreams.

The disremembering from intoxication. The knowledge of living, the memory, that which we capture from the present to place into the past. Splitting every now and then, signals lost. Then wider, and faster. Glitches expanding, till it sends nothing, till there is blank. You're still living, though you will never know for sure you did. Then you wake.

Rolling balls of string, rolling down the hill, dusty plains.

We alone. Golden light. Wide smiles. Golden hair. A monster of a house. Wrestling, devouring, pulling each other's clothes off like rabid, slutty beasts. We claw at each other, grip each other in such passionate force. We roll into another room, kissing, biting, scratching and gnawing. Pressing, rubbing ourselves together, trying to merge, to become one. It feels so good. Wormholes into universes of pure ecstasy form within us, below us, in our tongues, our hands, our legs. Tastes of worlds that have found the code to nirvana. We unclothed, pressing our foreheads together, breathing so deeply, staring so completely. The undeniable pleasure. Trapped inside her lush, wet warmth, stroking me with its walls of winding bliss. Pushing into her again and again. Bracing her waist, her chest, her shoulders, her neck. We struggle to get closer to one another, as close as physically possible, becoming a single, raging beast with this single explosion of terrifying, shuddering beauty. Our feeling is one. Our pain is one. We are one. Leaving a trail of destruction in our wake. Every room, every piece of furniture. She clamps her eyes shut, squeals and constricts me, crushing me into her in aggressive jolts and jaggers. We so hot, sweating, light beads cover my arms, her chest. Biting, sucking on one another. Hands pierced and punishing, digging into my skin. Ravaging her whole body till she squeals once again. And my body sloshes in pleasure. The brightest energy spiralling up, round once, round twice. Burning hot light breaking out of me, into her as her nails cut fissures into my back. We stop. We have become one another. We connected ourselves. We lie where we ended. Resting on top of her breasts, they tipped with moisture. So warm, so soft. Rising with her heavy, but slowing breaths. We stare into each other. We no reason. We do not think. Not logically. We drawn to believe this is the best thing we've ever known, that we are gods. We smell so dirty, sweat, cum and sex. We burn away. The glow dissipates. We become aware once more that a world around us exists. I fall out of her, collapse on my side, staring into her still. My fingers brush a wet lock of hair from her eyes, caress her face. We talk so playfully, so sweetly. Insist we are so right. My hand plays with her still. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, rolls over, cushioning herself against me. I envelope her, encase her, encapsulate her. Her smooth against my chest. My chin rests on her shoulder, my arms round her tight. I press my chin into her. She wriggles and giggles. I raze my teeth against her chin, brush my lips up her face, down her neck, her shoulder. I bite into her, she freaks with a gasp. I tickle her abdomen. The tips of my fingers playing and massaging her soft flesh. She shakes out against me, hitting, kicking me relentless. I give in, smooth her out. She turns, takes my chin in her hand. Plants a single delicate kiss brief on my lips. We disembody once more.

It is that feeling of being free that draws us to it. It lets us dream so vividly, and yet without losing control completely. Because life is hell. An escape is all we can hope to achieve. An escape in affection, in sex, in drink and drugs and ecstasy. Your mind realises how irrational every fear, every worry, every chore really is against this. Why is freedom so hard, so scarring to find? And we addicted to it so.

I can't talk any more. Nothing comes out. Swimming in cream as I kick. The most euphoric, blistering hit. Water slides and milkshakes and multi-coloured marquees.

I am a waterfall, tropics out of my head. I feel like I can finally breathe. Shouting in a raining jungle crater at the top of my lungs. When I lived in the rainforest. That humid series of green and brown, of wildlife galore. I am standing in a pit, mud squelched between my toes. Raindrops plop and pound me, into my eyes, my face. I am soaked, but I do not care. The rain is warm, cleansing of the sweating soot of the forest flowerings. Sunlight glistens down through the foliage, pink and blue. You laugh beside me. Paraded by blossomers and flatterers, brushing our legs, just teasing. You whisper in my ear, something only for me. We sit ourselves on a fallen tree. Tis all that's true to the earth, nothing artificial, nothing that projects us to jealousy, for we do not possess, not each other, not anything. We are free for all. Only us, only not alone. Forever, never bored. No need for clothes, no need to hide, behind these labels that we value more than ourselves, that worlds before led us to believe the need to cover up our souls. We are born by the jungle, she lives inside us. Freedom to explore, not just the world that stretches forever and we with it, but each other, and each amazing thing we can do and with what. Each plant something new and unheard of, rich fruit and delicate herbs, juicy and perfume divine. We need not live anywhere, only together. Lying in the brush. Lounging in hot springs.

Like an eruption of a thousand needles to the brain, while pools of syrup surf up to my lips.

I like weird things, weird ideas, they remind us we have such an imagination.

These mystical powers we are governed in this time. We finally elite of realms divine. The world having such a glitter about it.

Playing in the park. Fading days. Bright and nostalgic. We so all over each other.

When you realise a record of something you lived, that you were a part of, that which you had forgotten. It's brilliant to think we lived more than we know. What quite have we done in those trips of subconscious? And that connection again. It is that suave heroin.