She.. The Mistress of the NIght

She was sitting there, in the far corner of the bar basking in the ultra blue light of the bar. Legs crossed. Sheer black dress. Ruby red lipstick.

A slim cigarette in an ivory holder held firmly between her lips. Puffs of little clouds escaping with every breath.

Slightly chipped nails playing with the curls. an inwardly pressure building. an eruption of feelings. Feelings across the spectrum. The need to be held then released. Kissed and left alone under a lamp in the street. Wined and dined with no promises beyond 9pm.

Spiritual Alcoholic

Back a few years ago..on a night in February.. a Tuesday or a Thursday… a day that ends with a Y.   A night..my door was ajar..in bed, reading Civilisation and Its Discontents by S. Freud – 2002 Penguin edition. A dry read on a winter night.. knock knock.. a slight knock; feathers against a window. One moment please. A blond head appears from the corner.. A Julie Christie look-alike, blue-grey eyes..olive coat..jeans and a coral colored top. Is David here – the roommate-. No he is not..just left; maybe to the cafeteria or the store to get something..

What are you reading

Just a Freud book- Psychology

Can you analyse me? A slight smile

Not from the 1st meeting, perhaps I have to know you more

Would you like a beer?

Sure I would like a cold one..

I gave her a cold green bottle from the white fridge in the corner of the room..the one with the magnets..the papers..the Rolling Stones lips on the door and a magnetic bottle opener..what a genius invention.
She took off her shoes.. and i saw her wearing sky blue anklet socks.. sitting like a calm meditating Buddhist on David’s bed with a bottle of chilled beer on her lap.. an image of a spiritual alcoholic.

Lonely Night

Random faces..more like random feet that would leave a minimalist impression on the street..white meets black..enemies..friends..passing the same row of houses..sharing the same view…taking in the city of the rainbow homes.

Still walking …crossing abandoned intersections..under lonely traffic lights; traffic lights craving the smell of gas, craving the honk of cars, the pulse of the city. A city in a form of clinical death this night.

Streets craving the pulse of the city.

The life of the morning…needed at night.

 

#Notebook #54

A lady in green…emerald green..grass green..the green grass of Ireland..fresh hills…with the morning dew… so soft and tender…that was the first time I met her…a chance..perhaps…or did destiny put her in my way so I can stumble upon her and realise what a miserable life I lead in the past?..

Red…fire..inferno of hair.. the perfect hue of red..the sunset red…that colour that takes you to am amazing sunset by an abandoned beach on an exotic island..an inviting sunset that asks you to admire…absorb..embrace..and feel each ray of sunlight setting on the horizon…

A tumbler of whiskey with five clear cubes of ice…a sort of liquid amber suspended between floating icebergs…her long red manicured fingers playing slowly with an ice cube..twirling in in the tumbler…and looked straight at me..a simple gold bangle …white gold with emeralds on her arm…Lara Philips … a name I would never forget… a name that shock my destiny..my future and life…a four lettered word that changed me…like love, hate, rain, moon, date, mate, and other variations of four lettered words

 

#Notebook #45

He stepped into the fog of her mind…did he get lost?

He went around the corner to the drug store…went to gt the prescription..fill it…yellow pills..small yellow pills..his little helper pills..

He left his damaged kingdom of syntax…of letters..words..and followed his heart into the unknown forest of sin ..the sin of a 4-letters- word and there are many of those words…h-a-t-e, l-o-v-e, f-a-l-l, h-o-m-e, and plenty of other 4 letters words that would lead to a catastrophe…damage his psyche…snatch him from reality…from the bitter harvest of the present to the rosy dreams of the future….

Yet he walks calmly toward the fog…into the fog…the fog of his mind..will he survive?