The world is mine, the echo of a thousand voices reminds me of the destiny I forge each and every heartbeat of life that I let pass through my mind and body. I am my experience and will become the result of my ability to learn and become wise from this. I take a ride into a symmetrical universe where what is not on the left is balanced on the right. Never the same yet encompassing. The ride is three hundred and sixty degrees.
I gather the tools I need as they lie in front of me. I must destroy this yearning to find what I had beforehand. She creation is the next path I must take. Again I have to let go of a guiding hand. Leave the past behind, having wisely extracted its only nutrient, knowledge. I’m a pimp, a hustler and a player. Better yet a dope rhyme sayer.
Stick to recalling that which was good is living in the past. I live in the present hoping to be the future. My mindset is how I imagine the world to be in its perfect creation. My fluctuating emotional state the only interference. My negativity dampens my hopes and rain falls like a tragedy.
How will she be who he wants to be? The feeling is extraordinary and he plies his trade while at full awareness. There is no sauce, no milky tea, although one suggests these as the way forward he knows deep down that all that is necessary is already there with him. Hisself and the instrument. The emotion and the ability to record it. Taking the body away from his mind and imagining it as the extension of the computer.
The machine sits in a wry fashion on the table, its mouth open ready to accept my diarrhoea. The projection it makes is a man in a room, wearing gentlemen’s shoes with Adidas tracksuit bottoms and a bright blue jumper made of some petrochemical-based man-made fabric. There is hope. The style emerges.
It doesn’t matter how he is dressed as he is out of the public eye. While he is leaving at 9.30am he is doing well. There is no need for any soul to know of his habits. The material of his mind is further yet from ever being accessible to the masses. He forces himself into secrecy yet with his ability to manage the environment he finds it difficult to not draw attention to himself.
Have compromises been taken? He takes the first sip of what he said he wouldn’t touch again. New Year’s resolutions become fuzzy and faint signals, weakened by the passage of the addictive substance through the darkening passages of his creativity. Justification after justification reminds him that he can never be put down, even by his own failures. His mind will always create an artificial balance, as the hall of mirrors renders him beautiful so too the flat, plate-glass reflection pounds away at his self-image. The over zealous sculptor ruins yet another unfinished piece.
Whatever is still wrong will be beaten down not only by the footsteps of the Inca runner but also the time he lacks. Always there and persistently ever-present is the indelible pacing drum, the boom of repetition that contains the rhythm of discipline. The god that is music, the slave master that is practice and persistence.
He knows the route to his goals begins in the first step yet nobody has spoken widely of steps ten, eleven and twelve; who will be the guide to his mid-life. Who will carry him over the rough waters with Neptunian strides and through mountains with Herculean tunnelling power. She is on the verge of rising from the waters with intelligence dripping from her skin.
Surface tension grips silvery bubbles which lodge between the erect blonde hairs that cover her Boudican body, follicles that have until now sustained an envelope of oxygen trapped close to her throughout this gestating metamorphosis. They peel away, no longer useful their supreme master. She calls to them from a long-boat as it draws to the edge of the lake. The conclusion is imperceptible in the shadow of her beauty; she strides from the water and onto the shore. She is produced, stands proud only to kneel, turn and lie back. She saturates the sand with her knowledge, basking her naked form in the sun. Once her skin warms and the steam finishes evaporating, she will be ready.