Solarwinds: Life in Linear Virginity
“Baby I'm angry; Baby I'm scared.
We're living in a dark time and nobody cares…”
- Hold On, Bif Naked
Cheese Holes
We are between two suns. One representing our past, the other our future, and just out of reach from our rampaging fingers. I lay beside you at night thinking, yes thinking, a dangerous pastime for one such as me, but I do it regardless of the consequences. I think about home, life, and family most of the time grabbing on and digging through the past for memories light a freakshowslideshow, watching the silent movement remembering the words. But others times, times that are becoming more frequent, I think of you and me: the figment of us, and love, lust, violence and death. It’s not that I want to think of dark things and dark times. They bore into my mind, into my imagination like maggots. A whole train of maggots squirming and burrowing into ever recess and working of my brain, that’s what those thoughts are. They create holes in my consciousness big enough that thoughts change and take on a different hue. Big fucking cheese holes filled with puss and the remnants, the slime of fat, scummy, sallow-sullied larva.
I think I see you die. Right in front of me, the lights in your eyes go out and your graceful body falters and you fall. You don’t even have time to reach out to me, even if I could move from my currently rooted existence. Your augusthands go limp, your lips lax in a last half-breath. Not far from my feet, your body curls in its last throes and pauses slightly in half-light, and your head rolls to the side slightly. A stream of saffron studded blood dribbling from your mouth. So this is death, I tell my self in a calm grief right before the storm of tears and desolation that threaten. So this is death, a place where everyone forgets your name and you are remembered only if the worth of your death outweighs your life. Where the memories are skillfully cut in order to face another day, another thought. Or they fade mysteriously into the background of life, the physical powering over the psycho-semantics of the brain. You disappear and I fear this is death.
But when I open my eyes you are alive and smiling at me. Your arms crossed over your bare chest willing me to jump haphazardly into them, there are no signs of death, no signs of blood. If missed you for so long. One touch will do it for me, I know. But the thought strikes me. I saw you die; I remember seeing the blond trickling down your chin, eyes lifeless, and limbs pliant with death slickly sticking to them like a stubborn sweat. But if I saw you die, then how are you here? How are you alive and standing right in front of me like nothing has happened? You are dead, I saw you die. I felt you, I felt you die in my heart. A hard crunching making it hard to breathe, and hard to see. My ribs constricting, my throat closing, my eyes misting: that was real. But so is this: your supple skin soft under my skin, your arms binding me to you, your soft heart beat in my ear. I am so confused. I look up from the haven of your hands to tell you this. But before I can you capture me in a kiss, so infinitely divine, it has to be real. With that you remind me simply that words are superfluous. This can’t be death because this feeling of two bodies melding together is the epitome of life. As you pull away to breath, our essences dancing playing together in the air, I make my conclusion. This is life. I have just been addled by too many thoughts and too many holes in those too thoughts. I’ve missed you. God I’ve missed you.
In the next thought you beckon me to come, to follow you. I do for that’s the only movement I am simply capable of at the moment. Down the hall to the air shaft we go. The door I see has been sealed tight. Good. But we go passed the shaft and I am confused again, our boot clunking on the metal as you stop at the airlock. We never go near the airlock; it’s akin to the forbidden fruit in the garden of eve. Before I can stop you or even make a sound you ply open the airlock with a swift pull. The shocking fulgid haze of the sun blinking out any other thought including pre-thoughts. After the daze of the light washes over me I turn to look at you, to tell ask you what is happening, what is going on and you’re gone. Again. All I see for leagues is the dead and dying. I am no longer in the airlock of our Spacer but glued to the dusty remnants of a dying planet I do not know. The red dust akin to red snow in April, reminds me somewhat of Mars, but the rest of the scenery is all wrong. Sprouting up from the lifeless rock are white trees, bare but glowing. It clumps of threes they emerge proud in such contrast with the ground. Blood of the dead and dying herded like Andean Alpacas give off a strange boiling heat that presses down upon my body like a migraine headache, similar to the ones we got after brain freezing on two scoops of bitter green tea ice treats from AlphaZeda 6. I look for you, scouting my surrounds for anything that would give you away, a feature of yours, anything. And Moving bodies with my heavily booted feet I zig and zag through the clumps of flesh and metal. As my vision strokes across what appears to be a metal hand, an idea jerks at my memory. Metal hand. Metal. Metal = Androids. And that makes me laugh, at first slightly but after a few hesitant sounds I am almost convulsing. I must look analogous to the mad crazy witchwoman of Parda. But the next thought somber me. The Androids are dead, have been for almost a millennia. But if the Androids are dead then I’m a dead. And this carnage must be death. I hurriedly look this way and that, even sideways. Are you here as I must be? All I can remember is the blazing, hot flash of sun. Scrapping the back of my mind for some memory of you I realize I have none. I know you, who you are, and deep in some crevice of the heart the mind can never touch I know what you mean to me – everything. But the memories of you and us are gone, seemingly stripped from my mind like the life from this planet. I blink again, thoroughly and utterly confused. And the planet is gone.
This time I’m floating through space on the wings of a Lightbearer – a space angel for better lack of term. Beautiful streams of kaleidoscopic colors skirt the edges of the Solarwinds, a spinning ball of light that it is. It’s carrying me towards a sun, bright and shinning in Delphian splendor calling me cryptically to touch. To touch the blinding rays and except that I am not the only one without knowledge, not the only one without fluid intelligence, not the only one with holes in their space and time continuum. I want to touch it, to embrace the feeling, let it wash over me but an itch reminds me that I shouldn’t touch the scalding energy that is release. The reason is you. Even though you are not here in this byproduct of thoughts and imagination I know that I don’t want to lose you, not now, even though you are not here and if memory serves right never were. I shrink from the sounds of the melodic inducements and try to fly, even though some part of me says that impossible. But you flew once didn’t you? I’m not sure where the thought comes from but I follow it. You flew, yes I remember now. You jumped and flapped iridescent, invisible wings. And fell through the universe at a blazing speed faster than sound at least; until you found you feet again next to me in the small cantina aboard the Pegasus. You smiled and asked me if I liked men with wings. I said I don’t know, never knew one who did. But you reply, short but cheeky begged me to reconsider – But I have wings, can’t you see. When I said no, you stared right pass my eyes into my heart and told me I had no imagination. I didn’t, not back then, imaginations were as useless to me or any one out here in the last ventures of space, they made you think, they made you want more. But you then and there with your iridescent, invisible wings gave me back my imagination and made me want everything that flowed from you. So I balk at the sun as it cries, “I am your future.” Before the space angel and I ram face first into the rolling ball of flames, the feeling of hope washes over me slightly and the great mass in front of me shakes violently and blasts into tiny little fragments, like a broken mirror. I am left in a quasi darkness reaching for something familiar. And I blink to make it go away. And it does, leaving in its place the surroundings of dusk and sleeping tentacles of musk and matchsticks.
I am confused, in an in between place; hazy, dreamlike consciousness to my right and alert wakefulness to left, floating this way and that. Pulling and struggling with what came before I open my eyes and engage my mind.
This time I blink I know exactly where I am. Beside you, in our bed, on board our Spacer, The Nereid: named that because of your love of past-ancient mythology, nothing that I know of, but that’s so normal between us. In the dim light of the bedroom, the two moons of Marus scintillating off the metal walls my thinking has stopped and I succumb just to feeling. Feeling the light, white verien sheets against my skin, the scratchy: tingle and sting, of the tag of your large shirt that I wore to bed and you. You, who are curled on your side faced away from me sheets pooled against your side. Reaching out trembling fingers, I skim the skin on your shoulder blades, the warmth emanating at the touch and at that I know that you are alive, and real, and here with me. I’ve awoken you too; the steady breathing hitches as you pull out of fuzzy sleep and turn towards me. Blinking your blue eyes drowsily finally catching up your surroundings you smile, I can’t help smiling back.
Your breath warm against my lips, you reach to tug a piece of hair behind an ear and I just lay there my whole body alive with pathos.
“Hey,” your voice deep and scruffy from sleep fluxes over me perforates my entire body, “Beautiful what’s wrong?”
It’s funny and eerie at the same time that you know so much about me just by looking.
A half smile and sigh knowing for now everything will be all right, “Fucking Cheese Holes.”
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