An Immortal Error
Days later Adriana asked me why my heart seemed such a reckless loner. I explained that my heart had chosen solitude after loosing Melody a woman that had much in common with the color purple, that had caused my heart to beat more and now beat less. A woman that had brought me extreme joy and extreme sorrow, since her, a certain despair accompanied my heart and I could not do away with it nor could I erase her memory, or her love from my soul. Adriana asked me why I had not pursued her, I told her that I had, but that I had made an immortal error and that Melody had found it impossible to forgive me. Adriana asked me why I did not search for her, I responded that Melody had to find me because our relationship was now her choice. I, in my heart, I that could believe in nothing, not even in my own philosophy had already abandoned myself to her. I was already committed to her, I have with every thought and movement told her that I loved her. I was determined that I could believe in no deity, that I had no faith in science, that I was alone, but above all things I believed in Melody, she is my faith. I believe only in her. Only my heart could love her so madly that in a sense I was now a celibate priest in her church, longing every sunset for her warmth and awaiting her return. Adriana did not bother to ask what the error was instead she asked me: “Would you be willing to reincarnate if it meant that you could be with Melody?” I thought about this with incredible wonder and while life was certainly not the thing that any descent soul should want to repeat I responded: “Why is reincarnation possible?” She said, “I don’t know but I know someone that might.”
We went into a prison sort of place, where it was apparent many crazy people were housed. As we walked by each cell the lunatic inside of each would shout reddish obscenities and curse at us mostly for not being aware of the troubles currently being suffered by vivid green, troubles which were apparently well documented however well unknown to us. I asked Adriana to explain but she raised her hand issuing an, ignore them gesture while responding, “Last week they were all in an uproar clamoring that the number 8 was, because of it’s shape, under severe pain and so they wanted us to liberated by allowing it another shape. These lunatics correctly noticed that the number eight is the only number that has to pull two contortions without having an open end line to release the tension. The zero which also has no open end is however perfectly balanced, its energy orbits, so it is the least strained digit, and since only tension can produce a value the zero ciphers, logically a prostrate eight is suffering infinite torture, or what emotion fearful mathematicians call, infinite value.
Adriana continued to explain the nature of this place, “It is well known to us that those which possess access to the truth are by nature insane, so we house them here and allow them to run wild with their thoughts, we deprived them of serious action to prevent their thought processes from being arrested. They understand the nature of their confinement and the idea of work repulses them so they seek not their freedom. Oh and here is something not well known in your planet, at best all any lunatic can possess is a single thought so they are each categorized by specialty and once they write their novel, poem, or utter their philosophy we dare not ask for more, in the end it would be pitiful repetition.“
“We indulge them with the finest cuisine, extravagance in wines, we immoderately provide them with information at any time and in any format be their choice. The gourmet foods we know cause their mental abilities to excel, the wines seduce their depressions and intolerable monstrosity, some not much, and the information is something they voraciously hunger for but always misunderstand but almost never misinterpret. In such a way they manage to produce strange and original thoughts. We do not know how they manage to do it, nor why they bother, their lives in thought appear to us as pure mortification certainly the best of reds could not be enough compensation. Some critic once said that the glue that holds disparate things together, that bridges the abyss has to be poisonous, I accept that.”
I was mortified by their existence but it did appear as if they belonged, as if this was their place to be, among themselves, deprived of nothing. I asked her if it was wise not to offer them the option of a normal existence, she responded that the maniacs had conclusively proven their lack of normalcy, to place them in a normal environment was to force them to see what they were not, to sent them into internal conflict, to push them to the dogs, which though less bright could bite a leg off, or a heart, a brain, sometimes these soulless dogs could mortally bite a soul. More interesting yet she said: "These maniacs abhor normal existence more than hating their lunacy they think that the most abominable thing that can happen to a person is to be normal, and this they think in their rare moments of lucidity.” I begun to feel a little guilty for having on occasion enjoyed playing crazy eight’s.
“No,” she said, “…we have really given these lunatics their best possible existence voiding the straight jacket constrains of reality.” She proceeded, “Well here we are what would you like to know about?” I noticed that the cages were marked by topic there were such exiting titles as reptiles, fusion man, religious woman, electrical properties, esoteric and mundane topics too like mind bending ice creams, killer music, game theory which was subtitle war, and there was one about Petunias, not quite sure about that one.
Wow I could select any topic and we came on to good topics like, monster time, and God stuff. The lunatics I was told would of course never tell me any truth directly, they like to tell tales, recite poems, never ever logical, reasonable or understandable. But it was known that they were speaking truth. I asked to speak or to listen to man time even though love was next to it and there were three crazies for love and it seemed only one for all the other topics. I asked Adriana if love and time were together for a reason and she said that all the other categories were fairly autonomous but for some enigma time and love were endemic to each-other. I did not pursue an explanation it seemed to me that the correlation had to be obvious love was absolutely timeless but time could kill it.
The time lunatic had red hair which dangle in every direction except one that would imply organization. He had many freckles and each of them a very different shade than any of the other freckles in its vicinity and sure not to repeat itself through out his face. His lips were unusually thick and closer to the dark side of red than that observed on most men. His teeth were peach yellowish, and my eyes followed those tall yellowish teeth to gums that had been immune to flossing, such immunity was regrettably uncomfortable to the unimpeded observer.
At last his nose was this globular structure much like a retarded mushroom, that suffered from a severe case of nostril hairs that unpretentiously, though rather ostentatiously, dangled themselves octopus like while dazzling us with their ability to hang upside down with so much mass, without falling victim to gravitational forces. I sat in front of him and behind him, his aurora carried a severe dose of yellow with the occasional interruption of a reddish hue, which was often assaulted by what looked like black sunspots. His multi-checkered-checkered, multi-layered cotton suit staring at me made me wonder if I was asking the wrong comedian the question of time. Floating in a mass of yellow puss man time begun...
We went into a prison sort of place, where it was apparent many crazy people were housed. As we walked by each cell the lunatic inside of each would shout reddish obscenities and curse at us mostly for not being aware of the troubles currently being suffered by vivid green, troubles which were apparently well documented however well unknown to us. I asked Adriana to explain but she raised her hand issuing an, ignore them gesture while responding, “Last week they were all in an uproar clamoring that the number 8 was, because of it’s shape, under severe pain and so they wanted us to liberated by allowing it another shape. These lunatics correctly noticed that the number eight is the only number that has to pull two contortions without having an open end line to release the tension. The zero which also has no open end is however perfectly balanced, its energy orbits, so it is the least strained digit, and since only tension can produce a value the zero ciphers, logically a prostrate eight is suffering infinite torture, or what emotion fearful mathematicians call, infinite value.
Adriana continued to explain the nature of this place, “It is well known to us that those which possess access to the truth are by nature insane, so we house them here and allow them to run wild with their thoughts, we deprived them of serious action to prevent their thought processes from being arrested. They understand the nature of their confinement and the idea of work repulses them so they seek not their freedom. Oh and here is something not well known in your planet, at best all any lunatic can possess is a single thought so they are each categorized by specialty and once they write their novel, poem, or utter their philosophy we dare not ask for more, in the end it would be pitiful repetition.“
“We indulge them with the finest cuisine, extravagance in wines, we immoderately provide them with information at any time and in any format be their choice. The gourmet foods we know cause their mental abilities to excel, the wines seduce their depressions and intolerable monstrosity, some not much, and the information is something they voraciously hunger for but always misunderstand but almost never misinterpret. In such a way they manage to produce strange and original thoughts. We do not know how they manage to do it, nor why they bother, their lives in thought appear to us as pure mortification certainly the best of reds could not be enough compensation. Some critic once said that the glue that holds disparate things together, that bridges the abyss has to be poisonous, I accept that.”
I was mortified by their existence but it did appear as if they belonged, as if this was their place to be, among themselves, deprived of nothing. I asked her if it was wise not to offer them the option of a normal existence, she responded that the maniacs had conclusively proven their lack of normalcy, to place them in a normal environment was to force them to see what they were not, to sent them into internal conflict, to push them to the dogs, which though less bright could bite a leg off, or a heart, a brain, sometimes these soulless dogs could mortally bite a soul. More interesting yet she said: "These maniacs abhor normal existence more than hating their lunacy they think that the most abominable thing that can happen to a person is to be normal, and this they think in their rare moments of lucidity.” I begun to feel a little guilty for having on occasion enjoyed playing crazy eight’s.
“No,” she said, “…we have really given these lunatics their best possible existence voiding the straight jacket constrains of reality.” She proceeded, “Well here we are what would you like to know about?” I noticed that the cages were marked by topic there were such exiting titles as reptiles, fusion man, religious woman, electrical properties, esoteric and mundane topics too like mind bending ice creams, killer music, game theory which was subtitle war, and there was one about Petunias, not quite sure about that one.
Wow I could select any topic and we came on to good topics like, monster time, and God stuff. The lunatics I was told would of course never tell me any truth directly, they like to tell tales, recite poems, never ever logical, reasonable or understandable. But it was known that they were speaking truth. I asked to speak or to listen to man time even though love was next to it and there were three crazies for love and it seemed only one for all the other topics. I asked Adriana if love and time were together for a reason and she said that all the other categories were fairly autonomous but for some enigma time and love were endemic to each-other. I did not pursue an explanation it seemed to me that the correlation had to be obvious love was absolutely timeless but time could kill it.
The time lunatic had red hair which dangle in every direction except one that would imply organization. He had many freckles and each of them a very different shade than any of the other freckles in its vicinity and sure not to repeat itself through out his face. His lips were unusually thick and closer to the dark side of red than that observed on most men. His teeth were peach yellowish, and my eyes followed those tall yellowish teeth to gums that had been immune to flossing, such immunity was regrettably uncomfortable to the unimpeded observer.
At last his nose was this globular structure much like a retarded mushroom, that suffered from a severe case of nostril hairs that unpretentiously, though rather ostentatiously, dangled themselves octopus like while dazzling us with their ability to hang upside down with so much mass, without falling victim to gravitational forces. I sat in front of him and behind him, his aurora carried a severe dose of yellow with the occasional interruption of a reddish hue, which was often assaulted by what looked like black sunspots. His multi-checkered-checkered, multi-layered cotton suit staring at me made me wonder if I was asking the wrong comedian the question of time. Floating in a mass of yellow puss man time begun...
posted by Ricardo Correa at
1:50 PM
