The haze inside.

Sing, Goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus.

I am – yes, I am! – alive. Yet I don’t know where am I, what year is it not not who am I anymore. I feel like I’ve woken up after a long drinking bout and I am trying to analyze what has happened since I was, speaking in mild words, “absent”. And the whole idea of exploring the reality around me does not seem successfull. I understand the thoughts of Ovid, Catullus and Homer much more than my own ones. I keep talking to Dionysus sometimes, both literally and figuratively. This is not the scariest thing. The fact that it does not feel wrong is.

I close my eyes and hear the roar of waves in a black night, so black that I don’t see the difference between the Universe and the air around me. We’ve lost this feeling in the last 25 centuries.

I open my eyes and see a few comments under my articles on Russia Today’s website. I am read by people on the opposite side of the planet. Did I really open my eyes?

I close my eyes once again and the first thing that comes to my mind is the word “hedonism”. I think I’ve found how to describe the motivation of several episodes of my life.

Something is tearing apart. Something. Slowly, day by day. Yet I cannot catch what it is. Add this to my whole condition of disorientation described in the first paragraph, and voila, you have the full picture. Now the only thing that’s left is to frame it and hang it on the wall with a writing underneath that says “The haze inside, or Someonepunchherintheface” or another similar name of a “modern art” piece.

Maybe the snow will put everything in its place. Last years the snow was the salvation I needed.

And thus they buried Hector, tamer of horses.


~ by Anna on November 12, 2010.

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