The Book of Incoherence

Section 2- The Book of Incoherence

 

Chapter 1:

 

A spasmodic bubble of feelings. I stumble on the incoherence and irradiance. I have no idea why. It becomes so catastrophically detrimental, that it begins to dry out the falling water falls within my head. It begins to tear away at my sanity. I fall. I fall from the tallest building. I feel the weight of the world. The weight of the world’s laws, the law of motion, the law of commotion, the law of limitations, the law of progression, oppress. I hear yelling, I hear bullying, I hear the complaints. I scream for guidance. It’s too late.

This is what I don’t get. I don’t understand why I must fall in this hole. Why I must feel this weight stab me in my back. The crushing blade violates my heart into a drowning mechanism. A machine that pumps irritable fluid through my capillaries and exposes my invisible soul into a searing umbrella of a light that surrounds it. A light that looks simple and elegant but profoundly misunderstood. An exaggerative and misinterpretive artistic deliverance that forwards a message of doubt into our internal inboxes. I sulk in misery. I catapult into a different gullible creature, that believes in anything he sees. I believe I find it easy, and tempting to follow this path because I’m afraid of the unknown.

 

Then I have moments of courage. Moments that I can firmly step into the unknown with a sensibility of affirmative strength. I can bound with stronger character. An artificial mask to express my sense of inner self. A mask that stretches my chin and sculpts my cheek bones. I am to live with it on until I can grow older. I look in the reflective sculptures built around me. The sky showing its true spirit through the abundance of windows, but then there’s me. My reflection is blurry. The only thing visible is that sculpted mask set over my face.

 

I fill my nose full with the sporadic fragrance of promises and fear. My ears pick up the voices that partake in detailing my curious passions and giving strange looks. I somber in this. I find it miserable that the only people I know, don’t understand me. It’s an unspoken heart that whispers through my thoughts and settles by the sea and pursues the edge of the world. I will wait for the moment I can cry for the misunderstood. I can narrate their lives through their feelings. I can support their stories through a couple words and a compassionate thought. A tangled cord is undone to feel a sense of relief.