the red instrument of creation

here is where I want to be
the crammed and elongated room, narrow, with far off hidden corners
the bed itself is half a human size, I will sleep on my side, my body is stripped of fat and flesh
I understand now, why the past will be abandoned
it’s neck is broken
tuning ports missing
that blue instrument of creation is now defunct

so mother brings home a new, red guitar
polished, advanced, without its carrying bag
but it’s ok.
there is a soft wrap tissue keeping it safe

the strings are thinner than normal
on the fretboard, there are also rectangle buttons
the knobs are smaller than I know and it turns smooth
this red instrument of creation is like a computer
one must play it with a boneless arm, with speed, precision, in total flow.

I need to buy plectrums.

Emerging from the underground station, I enter the vast auditorium
Immediately, I see the greatness of the left and right walls before me, like a towering artefact, a praying wall.
I see hieroglyphics in statue form, like a black facade of hindu gods, hundreds of them. Egyptian.
my heart is moved deeply to tears.

An indian man with a white turban is playing a futuristic exercise bicycle like an instrument
he’s pulling several red, feather like strings out of small holes to make different sounds
I watch him for a few seconds, but it lasts long enough for me to hear the whole epic

then, I find video screens have covered the walls
and a child’s musical program is projected unto it

who are all these beautiful madams surrounding me, positioned at various tables, like grand secretaries and guard dogs and wives to be?

the complex i am in suggests a military recruitment drive
but the men, with their killing machines, and disguise kits and jungle warfare fatigues are nowhere to be seen.

Here, there are only women I could love and bring home to mother.

“let’s take a picture” a young girl says, “pose, smile like a gay man,”
I plan on showing her a duck face, a flying kiss. I become an extraverted version of my introverted self, chatty and noisy.

she’s out of film.
she goes back to her table to reload.
she and her friends are from the Lomography society.

“where is the plaza?” I ask one of them.
“we are from the video company” another dark skinned girl replies.
I try to get my bearing.
I seek sunlight shining through entrances.
I know I must cross a road.

I remember wanting to buy plectrums.

‪#‎irvingpaulpereira‬ ‪#‎dailywriting2016‬

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