White land and the modern mysticals

this uniform has a history of anger – a sick, pale green; the memory of schooling and military

hair, as an extension of old consciousness, is shaved off at 7.30.a.m. it takes too much time, too many stressors, chasing a clock that does not move.

the black, electric shaver goes missing while messy, missed clusters of hair remain. 

through a mirror I see my skull newly extended from the back with possible implants, growth, swelling or otherwise. frustration escalates but I now kneel on the master bed of the old house. She is propped against pillows, a face mixed with alien DNA, a stellar glare, hypnotic static as aura, almond starry eyes, a cascade of pitch black hair. she whispers something electric, my body experiences it. A white modern mystical intimacy. 
i’ve taken the journey to the land of all whites. i’ve gone past the safe zones, into uncharted.

white sand and gravel, white road side stalls, white mountain, paramount, white ghetto and sun burnt villagers in white clothes. a third world heaven, uncluttered, without heat despite all the light

there is animal meat, deep fried in black woks, there are cubes of oil fat swine lard charcoal burnt for sale

I wander through tents without walls where contraband figures of idols, important adventurers, war heroes, spacefarers hang high. I spend unknown time here, resolving, becoming home. 

a part of me belongs to this pirated conclave, to this white, primal universe. 


we wait near the high altar, in the tall but small house, in our grey and black suits. We sit in leather armchairs, legs crossed, contemplating the mysteries. 

she will come back through the room (it could be the room that makes her what she is) 

we wait for songs to manifest, for art to appear on the wall above the bed

we wait for blue lights to begin glowing, like those lights from the festival on that alien world. 

then we’ll know she has returned

we will meet her for the second time in so many days 

we would ask her about the food consumed, and how it made her frequency adaptable 

we will study the sounds and shapes she brings back, with hopes they can teach the ways to follow, to enter, to fall into the worlds she comes from 

we wait to learn her name in a house without clocks 
#irvingpaulpereira #dailywriting2016day20 #dailywriting #oneiricnovel #dailywriting2016


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