return, definition of

One.

An abundance of colours.

The World: Two Thursdays ago, a storm passing through radically changed the colour of the sky. From blue to grey to orange, green and yellow. I watched the entire thing, complete with thunder and lightning, mesmerized alongside an 18-month-old.

My Home: I’ve been working on my home. Spent days ripping up vinyl tiles by hand, purging accumulated crap, painting the particle board that covers a section of my floor. My home’s now bigger, brighter, happier. Moving on from a hodge-podge monochrome to include bright splashes of greens, reds and blues.

Other People: I’ve been seeing people’s colours reveal themselves. I can’t see auras, but I’ve always synaesthestically equated experiences, words, people, music with colours. I’m looking for a brown, with a golden tinge. My life as I know it will re-start when that energy comes into it. I’m done with the blues and greys, moderating my oranges and yellows. Right now I’m settling into a sage green, or is it the other way around?

Two.

A little memory’s a dangerous thing. Repeated scenario over the past few months; different people, different venues. Sometimes I duplicate food orders – a deliberate ploy to manipulate that already-seen feeling.

We sit across from each other over food, coffee. We talk about our shared past, and I’m amazed at the discrepancies between my memories and yours. Paranoia sets in, and I can’t help but think: this is what brainwashing feels like. I want to believe your truth, but the body yells out “NO!” with every single cell. I daren’t forget.

I’ve been writing everything down as I remember it. And I only stand by my words as my own(ed) truth. This fictionalized narrative is a coping strategy, making peace with my decisions. Remember, it never has to be factual, it just has to be true. Anyone can write their own stories, I’m just not necessarily into reading them.

Three.

Something about roads and the way they unfold in front of me. This summer, I’ve spent hours, days on roads following them and not always having a destination. A lot of guitar-driven music on the stereo. Skies for days. Home behind me, somewhere else ahead of me.

24 hours in free-flow short:

junk food petrol lorries bluegrass flamenco east south india gentlewoman bluegrass sodium lights tina turner scratch the tina steamy maybe bring back a little bit of tina paranoid exhibitionism claustrophobia cobblestoned dawn filter the sun make it tolerable hide behind find another way to transition into light technicoloured theatrics jitter come down disturbances in the reality field prairie reminiscing poutine. did we really make a vow we never had any intention of keeping? thank you for failing with me – remember, i’m on witnessing duty.

***

There’s more that I need to get out, soon come.

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