White Noise

Wake up at 3 am, thirsty, disoriented..Take a look at your phone, nasty habit..In your drowsy state, foolishly decide to answer that blinking message..Believe you are capable of summoning reason, that water will magically reinstate your mental abilities..

Using Facebook as a notepad is my new level of lazy; I’ve been breaking record times on social media lately in fact. I clicked the one thousand’s like on some random post from a random publisher on the site a couple of weeks ago, and it sincerely felt like the highlight of that night for me. 

Aside from procrastination, I have recently found a sudden interest in superheroes and fairy tales. When series, movies and books started failing to fill those humongous voids in me, I turned back to the oldest trick in the book, daydreaming. 

Daydreaming isn’t an easy task when charming princes and farfetched fortunes stop being fulfilling. Beyond that point, daydreaming becomes an art in its own, it starts requiring chunks of imagination sprinkled with intellect and a shy sense of adventure. It’s hard to break free from clichés in this field. It takes absolute, irrefutable boredom to push yourself in the direction of making art out of what you’d always taken for granted. Suddenly you start focusing on your imaginary expedition and before you know it, you realize it has taken a life of its own; it needs to be nourished now. 

But what is art’s worth without a muse? And what’s the definition of a muse if not a torturous creature voluntarily subjecting you to mind games and psychological disconcertion? A muse has swag but does not realize it. It knows it has got something over you, but is unable to label it, for if you knew what swag is, then you probably don’t have it. 

Usually, the fact that someone is interesting doesn’t automatically make me interested. But in some rare cases, you may be the most boring or neutral person to the rest of humanity, but to me you’d be the incarnation of some sort of cerebral heaven hemorrhaging intellectual stimuli and heartbreaking inducements.

Am I too lyrical tonight? It’s the muse effect. 

One of daydreaming’s many side effects includes an obsession with finding the best way to manufacture heels for mermaids, because yes, there are many, many ways to do it. It also starts seeping into your regular dreams, the kind you involuntarily have while sleeping. Combining your newfound daydreaming habit with an insatiable taste for independent movies might also increase your chances of having nightmares versus pleasant dreams, well unless you don’t consider the fact that you had deprived children of available noses when they needed them in your dreams as vicious. 

Stop by the grocery store on your way home..Get basil, you need to fix yourself a cocktail as soon as you step into your place..Pick an energy drink on your way out from the fridge next to the register..It’s raining..Stand under the rain, sipping a Red Bull, and decide to revisit the nonsense you had typed at 3 am last night..Cheese, all of it, cheese..

I started counting on my new hobby to get me through the days. It felt like an automatic approach to compensate for the infuriating way my soul is being eaten every day. It felt right to let the daydreaming take over while I, little by little, lost my ability to defend the remains of my worn-out soul. 

Creative daydreaming can only last for so long though. When the candlelight flickering on top of your muse’s head gets blown out by unexpected winds, you start giving up on the very lifeboat you’d began to rely on to save you from the oblivion of giving up in the first place. 

The best way to save face is to explain how your senses were clouded by midnight thirst..That’s what your silly mind, fuelled by the flying effect of energy drinks tells you at least..Trust your contaminated instincts and type..

It’s about time you acknowledged your defeat. You are just as boring and pathetic as they come. Temporary brilliant solutions or none, you have failed in the end. 

Cheese..More cheese..Who are you really? No really! 

Go home, resigned..laugh your daydreaming out..Build an imaginary shrine of the muse in your head..Decide that the best fashion to drown your sorrow is older than the oldest trick..Make cocktails, you’re becoming good at those at least..

*Author’s note: this dismantled, devoid of any - and I mean any - sense or purpose, is brought to you tonight by Jack Daniels, DeKuyper and Davidoff.

The Hiker Dude

I want to make this a modern fairytale, but I can’t. Because it’s not. Because it won’t be. But because I believe in the magic of words, I will retain them in here and hope the readers who have been asking for a drop of something positive will enjoy.

Just for the spirit of enchantment, I will begin this with a once upon a time…

Once upon a time, I met a guy. We will call him the Hiker. Or the Hiker Dude. Yeah, the Hiker Dude sounds much better. When I first looked at him, I was lying down. But in the blink of an eye, I felt elated. It wasn’t his dreamy blue eyes, but his dreamy words that transported me to some sort of cloud. Anyone who knows me, or has ever read me, knows I have a special relationship with words (alas not tonight though, I am here typing because I can’t concentrate on a book I’ve been wanting to read for 10 years and finally found, so don’t expect any poetic sentences from the tips of these fingers tonight, but do keep yourself ready for some of the Hiker Dude’s magic nonetheless). His words opened the door to some much needed daydreaming, at night. He didn’t even have to make an effort, his words just flowed out of him, and he struck me as oblivious to his own powers. He probably isn’t, but he was humble about it in any case. All he did was tell me a bit about him. The more I asked, the more answers he provided, and I felt I could keep on asking forever. I felt as if my thirst could not be quenched, but I had to stop at some point and get back down to my terrestrial couch, sadly enough. 

A sentence here and a detail there. A fact here and a joke there. And a mighty, graceful stitch between all those elements was all it took to bewitch me. He didn’t say much, but at the end he didn’t have to. He didn’t try hard, and he didn’t have to either. There was subtlety, agility and elegance to all his descriptions. And that helped engrave his words in my memory somehow. The following may not be a completely accurate account of his portrayals, chronologically speaking or vocabulary wise, but it’s the best my brain can come up with on memory. I am going to be as loyal as humanly possible to his discourse, and I hope you will enjoy it…The Hiker’s words: 

“Let's see here, I currently live on the Hawaiian island of Kauai but am moving much closer to you, to where we are right now, soon… I am looking for awesomeness… I travel often, hike, camp, backpack, and go on all kinds of adventures... I am the oldest of 5 and I am very tight with my siblings… I work hard. I play hard. Sometimes I don't play hard if I find a great show to marathon on Netflix… I hold great value in the connections with my close friends… I like to play scrabble and am largely undefeated… I build things; it's very gratifying. I can fix anything. If I cannot fix it then I will destroy any evidence that I ever tried to… I will hold the door open… I love dogs. I love cats if they behave like dogs. I wish I were half the man my dogs think I am...Mountains and water are a primal requirement to live near. That last sentence did not begin with "I"… I just made a couch that has been nicknamed the "comacouch"...I'm addicted to frequent flier miles. I like to make up stories about people I watch at the airport. I tinker... French press coffee is my favorite... My favorite color is green and it has nothing to do with pot or money… I am protective over my favorite spoon. I used to be a vegan who loved meat... I maintain eye contact. I listen. I plan on being spontaneous and sometimes spontaneously plan... I do my own taxes and wonder why… I am on a first name basis with REI… My favorite wine comes from New Zealand... I am the opposite of clumsy. I stay up late and get up early… I know a lot of really bad and offensive jokes… CAKE wrote a song about my dream woman... Yard sales and treasure hunting are oodles of fun... I use a check register... I have a face. I love life and all the challenges it presents to let me experience the full spectrum of it... I look forward to meeting someone who is down to Earth but can go to outer space as well. I am wanting to find the woman to spend every day with and have some little ones and dogs.”

Is it just me or do those bits and pieces sewn together make him perfect? And for those of you who are wondering, I concur, he does have a face indeed. Not that I am incapable of imagining such a dreamy character on my own, but aside from the words, I’d probably mess it up, and he most definitely won’t be a hiker. He’s real though, too real if you ask me. 

And just when I thought he couldn’t be any more perfect, he took a piercing, immaculate look at me, and then proceeded to satisfy his own curiosity with a bunch of silly little questions. No more than 5 minutes later, he took out his notebook, and he wrote an impressive introduction about me, one that my oldest friends probably, no definitely, couldn’t come up with if they tried. The following is a very accurate copy of what the Hiker scribbled down that night about me, someone he had barely just met. It looks like a newspaper ad or maybe an out of this world CV intro. I love it. I will cherish that entry forever.

“My name is Mimi and it is a nickname for… Why you would just have to find that out won't you!... I love to read and am quite the bookworm… As an Aquarius I have a thirst for knowledge as well as a thirst to know why I have a thirst for knowledge...  I also possess some very powerful eyes. If I meet you in person I will be able to see your soul on the edges of them.  If you are not worthy then you will turn to stone but if you are, then you will melt into a puddle of joy… I work in a cutthroat industry but I like to leave my work at work and be more of myself when I'm at home. Sometimes that is difficult to do so I write a blog which helps ease the tension between my two worlds... I like big sunglasses, big earrings, and red.  I like red because it is the color of passion and I am in fact a passionate person…  I have a need for dynamic conversation and witty stimuli. If anyone has ever called you a dialtone, then please keep moving along...I work very hard and I like what I do… I also like to play hard to offset my career challenges. I have a primal need to be compelled….so compel me!”

Do not ask me where all this is coming from. Do not ask me who the Hiker Dude is. Do not ask me anything in fact. Just read those entries, appreciate them; appreciate one man’s talent and one woman’s inspiration. Leave it all behind you. Get over it. Get over it just like I am. Hold on to the fleeting optimism in those sentences. Preserve the memory of those blue eyes you have never seen but you’ve so often imagined while reading their creations. Don’t take any of it to the next level, for the next level simply does not exist. Be grateful you’ve reached the cloud, stop aiming for the outer space, at least for tonight, in respect of those of us who are disillusioned and don’t dare expect anymore. Sadly so, but rightfully so. Good night.

Wanderings

I opened my eyes and for the very first time, I truly understood the essence of magic. For the very first time, I felt bewildered, swept off to a land far, far away. I felt submerged in rivers of honey. My hair soaked with heavy drops of sweet cocoa and my nostrils widened to the smell of exotic flowers, of raw nature and of weightless air.

Golden shades flickered all around and bright glittering sparkles surrounded me. I swam effortlessly in the thin air and flew between tall flamboyant trees in search of nothing.

I encountered many faces I never knew and few that have forever been encrusted in my memory, since the beginning of time, since the shaping of nothing, since the molding of emptiness, of frugality, of thoughtlessness.

In the light of shimmering, void stars, I instinctively drew my way. I used imaginary silky brushes and satiny wonderful palettes of colors never discovered.

Unripe, beautiful fruits fell off barren trees and gathered around me, pinning me down to rest with their ever so soft stems. Beds of feathery flowers welcomed me in the comfort of their illusion and the sweet breeze whispered lies of no language into my ears.

My eyes thrived to open up, to succumb to the magic, to see the wonders all around, to swallow the sweetness of dreams and the end of what was never there, what was never here, what will never be.

Tremendous was the word that kept occurring to the safety of what was left of my shaky, shady consciousness. Ts and Rs and S's kept rolling on my heavy tongue until the vowels left me and joined the shiny birds chirping over me.

I heard a sound so peculiar, so sincere. I strove to retain it, but the birdlike creatures kept hovering over it, collecting the vowels and stealing the truth.

I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the only glimpse of the already thrifty image I had of you. I concentrated, I focused so hard, but that ferociously friendly wolf that brought me here kept draining you away. It kept digging into my soul, into the roots of my evil, into the very branches of my existence. He dug sweetly, yet fully. He enchanted me with more glitter, with more tall trees, with more honey, until I felt one with the flowing stream, until I took the rising trunks as my shelter and collected sparkles in the hems of my imaginary dress.

My hands surrendered and stopped chasing volatile vowels as Bs and Rs and Ls voluntarily left me while my heavy breath tried to say bring me back, leave me alone.

My unconscious now belongs to a beautiful wolf, living against all odds in the driest of deserts, only drinking honey from the rivers of my imagination. This is how it tastes to succumb to the sweetest yielding, to the magic of the best charlatans and to the will of the way, leading to nothing.