Green Demons

I saw japanese taxi drivers dreamily surfing nocturnal wave sets of future events, somewhere, off the shores of distant tropical islands. Daytime mathematicians, nighttime surfers – money does not bother them, despite all that happened. Their minds are calm, their movements swift and smooth, but they do know well that beyond the veil of churning surf and greenish light of ocean mist that teems with life this world is not a joke! It is not a deep secret that we were the last who could have changed it all for good – but hey: why do something, just because we could?

I saw armies of psychopathic Lords wade through the shallows of our collective mind, for no other purpose but to joyfully fathom the abyss of pain. They enter all forbidden gates just by sporting their self printed letters of indulgence. Trusting acolytes of long dead deities let them pass, joyfully rejoicing while signing binding agreements of their own exponential dimise. The self enthroned masters of an invented universe would love to dance on my grave, but I just walk away. I, after all, am not a believer and I long realized these are not the days for trust or dreams.

There is a time to firmly hold on to the pen, deeply dip the feather into thick, red ink and strike with bladed words like a Samurai calmly charges his enemies. A time to live honestly and fearlessly hold the gaze of the abyss that swallows all hope. I must admit my guilt, admit all that I did, and more so, to be honest, what I did not. Nobody can as yet explain those faceless tiny things that silently dance in the darkness. Flickering glitches of time and space, a subatomic nothingness just beyond the edge of our perception pushes things beyond impossibility, tweaking the trajectories of probabilities. Within the cloudy nothingness of my floating mind a lazy insight slowly forms amidst the wavering mist of aimless thoughts. Poking me like a friendly dog's wet nose, unwavering optimism on four paws, it suggests with familiar furry smell and, what the hell, of all things the sound of a mermaids bell, that one day, despite it all, all might be well.

So what! Join me here now fellow Earthlings, not matter how many feet or paws or hooves. Sit down with me by the fire, you fools! And be it only for the sake of tradition, vaguely recalling those fleeting moments of happiness. Our silhouettes against the amber of the crackling, dancing flames. Together we breath in the moment, but we know when the sun will rise we will have to face them again, smell them, bow to them, the all penetrating green demons, paradoxically drawing their power from their very non-existence. Few are those who realize the futility of this all, because there is no reason to keep on walking when already we are in uncontrolled free fall.

Mist rises around the last glows of the fire below the silver light of a full November moon. Finally and without remorse I let go of my last resistance. Once I used to be an expert for those things that came to me in dreams, and I do not think I was the first who saw the inevitable. Yet I still do hope that never will I see a sunset spectacle without at least a maybe of tears, without at least a glimpse of faith and hope that something will change, one day, before I become the same and like them will indulge in the kill and the hunt and the slaughter of beings and worlds as a game. Never before did I see the shattered pieces of my dreams spread out, sparkling splinters on the ground, and never did I understand the reasons. But now on this cold and misty morning after a full moon night, an apprehension rises within me, hot and heavy as liquid lead, that they might be resurrected, restored in a much bigger, a different and an as yet incomprehensible form...