Читать книгу Maggot Brain Dreams - Cameron C. Duncan - Страница 6

“The wonderful thing about make believe is that it makes us believe. ” -A. Nobody

She came to me in a dream this night glowing in a gown of gold with fire on the tails. I sat anxiously my thoughts raced like a black corvette in a pitch-black night. My palms moist with sweat clasping a cheap pen low on ink trying to scribble out the first line of redemption. My glasses hung crooked and I ignored the fingerprint on the left lens that would have normally driven me mad. My eyes grew heavy and my head dropped as the clock struck 2:27AM. I drifted into the space where she could find me. Her gold gown glowing, her curly hair hung to her knees. Her eyes were bold and hazel brown. Her skin was as soft Egyptian down; her essence vivid and powerful, her lips were full and as moist as buttercup fountains. She was beautiful. Even after a million years she was ageless. Her smile was genuine and proud like her only son had been crowned King. The sky behind her became dawn and she spoke tenderly but certain.

It was you who left me!” she whispered

I recall the coat you wore when you left me there in the snow, but it was you who froze. You left me your heart in that blizzard and as the chills carried from your ears to your toes. I thought you would call for me sooner, was it your pride that kept you away?

Why now? Why here, this eve, this day?

Like a murderer in court, words of truth would be condemning, for this moment would be my reprieve, my crossroads or my ending.

“Forgive Me,” I whispered, so ashamed my words mumbled.

“Show me that you love me,” she said, her soft hands extended placing her palm gently upon my head.

“Speak to me as though you couldn’t have before; cry to me the tears you’ve never wept before now.”

“I am stupid” I looked into her eyes and replied,

Dry me a river

I earn my pain

My thoughts in a room full of mirrors

Why do we look the same?

I stand as a man with more feet than socks

And travel through the valleys when the road is blocked

When 6 come 9

Plus a quarter to 4

We only got a 1000 steps left till a Million more

It can’t be simple I’m just too strange

In my one good suit with 4 bad stains

I’m so stupid

Something super stupid

I begged you stay

But I ran away

Stone Free is too high of a price to pay

Though I love the land of make believe

I gotta find a way just to make it be

For if my next breath has no reprise

A waste of life to never be alive

I’m so stupid

Something super stupid

I soil my hands of cleanliness

In pursuit of the shrines of emptiness

Till a quest makes me whole

I battle for, not too wage war with you

Trade you diamonds for coal

For my genius wont comprehend

No classes or school

Not an entity quite like me

Just as nothing compares to you

I’m so stupid

Something super stupid

If you give all your love to me

Or hold me too close

You will see what you think I need

Is what I resist the most

I’ve been a Voodoo Chile and a Mannish boy

Color my world in Purple mist

Even if I aint much at all

I gotta be better than this

I’m just stupid

Something super stupid

Stupid says to dummy

You can’t tell me my hearts not true

Call me foolish

Call me cruel

But don’t call me out of Love with you

Super stupid I can feel my dreams cut me in my bed

And the voices turn to screams

Can’t get them out of my head

I’m Stupid

Something Super Stupid

Super Stupid but I aint ashamed

I can’t shake these maggots up off of my brain

Insect a side, Lord free my mind

If the Earth shall hath me bound

I’ve been the Bear amongst the beast of burdens

And the Prince of pretend

Even heard my own self knockin

But I won’t let me in

I’m so stupid

Something super stupid

“I pledge this to you in honesty and on all, the Lord has blessed”

She pinched my cheek and said, “I know that’s why I never left.”

I pledged I’d give her everything to keep her at my side, even if it meant spilling blood from my old wounds, searching for lost tears, and placing a torch to old burns.

I had sworn I’d never write of love again. Not because I had been hurt, not because it had abandoned me, not because I yearned for it. I felt that I could no longer be genuine, how could a man that pushed away any woman who would dare to love him, write with promises of affection and companionship? How could a man so eager to leave, vow to stay. The more I learned about love the less I understood, I didn’t know how to keep it so I just let it go. But I could not deny that every song is a love song. If I refused to write love songs, I wouldn’t be able to write about anything passionately. There would only be a black hole of utter emptiness, barren masses where creativity once lived abundantly.

I suppose you’re wondering what’s my story what went wrong for me to only see the dark side of the canyon. Well I could lie to you and tell you my heart was broken, that I was the perfect guy chasing the wrong woman, so you’d feel sorry for me. I could even tell you about the tears I caused but that’s just life. Those are events that happen to anyone who lives and cares for someone else. You will be hurt and you will hurt someone. Life is short and we are on a path to live it as best as we can and be surrounded by the people who make us feel the best. Conversely, sometimes we don’t always make others feel the way they make us feel. Your dream guy may have another dream girl; your wife to be may have another husband in mind. If life was all pleasantries and apple blossoms, what would your favorite song be?

OK so, maybe there was a girl, in fact or fiction, with soft thick hair, sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes light, and sometimes dark. Her skin tinted the shade of mocha in the summer, flavored with butterscotch 3 weeks after fall. I knew that her smile was pure from the moment I met her. For I was pure myself, I was the recluse who only knew of books, and music, and she was the outgoing free spirited art student, I was the introverted Pre Med pupil short for Pre Meditating. She was warm and comforting like your favorite blanket as you nestle into the couch on a lazy Sunday. Why would such a beautiful girl sit next to me and smile? She must want my class notes. I was pleasantly surprised by a bit of Serendipity, which is also classic movie starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale. From the first words she spoke to the next few that I stuttered. I knew that this moment was the beginning of something, some type of story, something that would be told over the years. I didn’t know how it would be told, from whose perspective or who to, but it had the ring of “Once upon a time”

Time is a precious thing, the present, immediately becomes the past, relationships blossom, color, fade and wither, friends are separated and reunited, love grows, or shrinks but never remains constant. She was the essence of time; time was lost when I was with her, time passed preciously when I was away. Time watched us drift apart; time had brought us back together. Time was taken for granted, as I believed the perfect time would come. In time I missed moments that I would never get back. Time brought her to me in the right place at the right time, on the right hand and time revealed that our time would one-day end, sometime before never. I realized that in real life “once upon a time” doesn’t end in “Happily after ever” and just as we all eventually lose our loved ones, I would lose her too. One day I would attend her wedding and smile as I fought back chills that stabbed like a stiff arctic breeze. One day when I came home she would no longer be in the house over yonder. The last page will be turned and she will embark upon a new volume elsewhere. While I ponder alternate endings like those choose your own adventure children’s books. I think of times I should’ve kissed her but shied away in fear of losing what we did have together, even if it wasn’t enough. I could choose door #3 and find more than I imagined, I could choose door #1 and lose it all or I could stand pat and hope to ride the wave of today into the tide on another.

We danced close one night, this moment the penmanship could’ve changed, the dialogue could’ve become written in italics, punctuation could’ve have been placed at the end of sentences. The music pulsed, our bodies were aligned and in tune, her breath was sweet from the Captain Morgan and coke, and half a drag of cig, (she only smoked when she drank.) I felt her breath on my neck, and I’m sure she felt mine, my heart raced like a novice high school debate team captain in a backseat of a 67 Cadillac with the head cheerleader, bababa boom baboom. The base pounded in our ears, my left hand was placed gingerly on her right back pocket, and my right hand clutched her belt. I felt her lips softly brush against my neck. The rapid heart rate turned to nervous shakes, which I hoped were hidden by the music, bass vibrations, and her modest buzz. Her hips sunk into me, her pelvis pressed against mine, the friction was so strong that the next touch could’ve meant static shock. Her skin was warm, but she was cool, her movement fluid, she was temptation, she was fantasy, only she was real; she was seduction, she was sex. I was a virgin puzzled by my own passion. I had only seen this in movies. It was too good to be true; things like this didn’t happen to me. I must be reading the signs wrong, like when my high school baseball coach told me to take the pitch rather than swing wildly. “It’s just a dance don’t get excited, too late you’re excited. Kiss her! Say something sensual! Say anything! Do it now!” The music faded the song was over. The moment was lost, the opportunity had passed, the sands funneled faster through an hourglass. I said to myself

“If only, I can get another chance,” I didn’t.

“If I could just get one more dance,” I couldn’t.

“If I could just hold her that way again,” I wouldn’t.

In a life spanning 10,000 days, my only regrets are what I had not done, what I had not tried. Even in deception my regret was that I did not tell the truth, not that I lied.

Another one walked down the hill, she tried to give me a shot but I didn’t offer much. So I deserved the nothing that I got. Playfully I perplexed her, sent her to the moon with frustration. She just wanted me to say something from the heart and act without calculation. From the moment I wrote my number on a napkin, to the last email; I never pushed, I never pressured, I never persisted, and I never really tried. It felt better flying on the wings of maybe then dragging on the tail of No, sometimes you just want to hold on to the dream so tight you let the real thing go.

I could not blame her for moving on. I didn’t even resent her for it. I was a wayward ship in a rocky Sea, so when the jet came to her rescue it was probably meant to be. Despite my wanton for words and expression, the goodbye would be expressionless without a soliloquy for a fairy tale farewell. It would be simple, the frigidness of I’ll never see you again would wear the same scarf as the lukewarm sentiment of see you next week.

I know it’s not what you read on Marshall’s inspiration posters, or see in sappy films. But real life isn’t perfectly scripted for theatre. We can only hope that by the end of it we have enough good clips to put a good film together. Love was a fantasy to me. And we adorn fantasy because we are dull without it. But to truly appreciate fantasy, it’s important to understand how elusive and rare it is. As adults published fantasies are sometimes all that is left to remind us of the dreams we once had and the imagination we once nurtured. Fantasy is the reason that some people would rather masturbate than sleep with their partner. Fantasy allows us to refrain from stabbing an evil boss or choking an annoying neighbor. It even sheds light on how shitty our current existence is so maybe we will do something about it and then just maybe something good could happen.