Die Writing

A floating house of muisc

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 29, 2014

It is a large house, with arches leading from room to room. The ceiling disappear somewhere high above, lost between the white, billowing sheets hanging everywhere. Perhaps the ceiling are not even there – all the rooms are filled with warm sunlight filtering in from somewhere; its source is not exactly clear.

I wonder between the rooms. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of the outside – the sheets, the languid sails, part, revealing fading green grass and gnarled, vast trees. I seem to be alone, though voices of people and instruments fill this house with melancholy music. Who produces this music I do not know. Perhaps, it is the imps of my own imagination’s making.

The sheets glide past my limbs, and the music washes over my mind. The house is shifting, turning, embracing, perhaps endless.

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On the streets 4

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 7, 2014

Aside

The rainy day edition.

Drip

She was walking in fast, wide strides. The night was cold and wet, yet her black leather jacket was not even buttoned up, revealing a tight black tank top. Her frame was slight and angular, filled with a visible, palpable heat and fuel that drove her through the autumnal darkness. I could not see her face because she lowered her umbrella, bracing it against the gusts of wind and rain. A brief moment, and she disappeared down the street.

It took my mind a few minutes, but I realized I have seen her before. Of course, I could not have recognized her face. But her bursting way of walking and the feverishly energetic, unbending figure cutting through he nighttime darkness were unmistakable.

Maybe I just remember people better at night.

***

It’s a century-old colonial brick house, fresh and clean from the slow rain. The sparse street lamps give it a suggestion of color, but mostly it’s just shapes, outlines, and a wet glisten. The front door is wide open, casting a soft glow into the night. The house is filled with brilliant white light, warming like the sight of a distant hearth.

A woman appears in front of the doorway. She stands tall, with shoulders square and feet set wide and firm. Her smart peacoat adds to the air of alertness and confidence. Her silhouette is sharp and dramatic. If an edgy TV cop show wanted to send a daring and brilliant young detective to a delicate scene concealing a potentially grizzly crime, they could hardly paint a more perfect scene.