Valve Release

I have achieved it.  It is accomplished.  I can now do my job, as it were, as I might refer to it in a beggar’s paradise, halfway to lying down.  Like a new slice of easy going heaven for me, this pathetic dreamer, non-achiever, in the work-a-day world.  I look forward to those bodies, who idle in the same fashions as I, nearby and far far away in their caricature worlds of holiday and dinner commutes, gazing upon This – my half elated, half fearful stretched out form lying back with my pretty little head just a few feet from the radiating bliss emanating from my colour printer, the one it took six months to get moved one desk over to mine.  Now, I can lie back, eat my bon bons, read my Sade and put my feet up (I will have to secure a foot stool of some kind, preferably one with golden tassels around it, to match my demeanor and mood) while my heavy, fulfilling mind sleeps the sleep of drunkards on the cobblestoned alleyways that exist just atop this loud, sleepy printer.  The yellows of its radiations reminding me daily of why I am here; a simple pillow for a wayward girl, and me, in my kimono robe of red, creams and black silks, taking a nap poolside.  The trees gently swaying above me, the sunset I have never been allowed to see here, always and forever out of reach. 

I dream of that day, when my witchy gypsy medicinal fact sheets are checked, my hands their most adept, never cold again, when I can stand up, in the robe of course, flip off my crystal clear high heeled slippers, knocking every other person who irked me in their eyes, circle my model graveyard of places gone and picking up the bon bon wrappers and the old coffee and tea cups (my god, how many of them would there be by now, if I counted all of them), climbing upon the high level shelving all the way round the place, like a mangy cat in heat, and walk away, going the long way, gazing with a grin at that warm, golden orange sunset though glass, misting in between the panes at me and ushering me onwards, away and beyond (but actually away and beyond, not just the away and beyond which exists in my head, pulsing with an anxious heartbeat all the time….like when you can feel your heart beating in your arms and legs; you want something so badly…when your body tells you there is not another way).

For now, I rock back and forth, a traumatized queen of circumstance, and sip my 3^rd hot beverage today, happy to think about blue waves, and French wine, and those slippers I still have to buy.  My chair moves in all directions, now.  Soon, I will follow it and spin myself a new tale, spin myself some comedy gold – right into every freedom I can still recognize.  Eat the dust that kicks up as I leap out of here barefoot, you motherfuckers.  Sorry the circumstances under which I exist here force me to never allow you people to see my softer side.  Better to hide the softer side, than let the mean, hard one out when people least expect it.  As I suspect more of you than not, do.

I have cried, laughed, been dejected, mourned, celebrated, aroused and numbed myself in this place…this chair is going to shoot straight up to the heavens, in those holes between the stars and the atmosphere- billowing blue smoke expressing itself from the truth, catching itself in my lips as it exits my mouth and cascades me past the dirty carpet.  I’m taking the chair with me.  

~ M. Lucia