Snatches of Senselessness

“Feel”, ‘she’ tells me. “Don’t stop. Just feel.” And then suddenly I do. “Write it down”, she says. But it’s happening too fast to capture. And then the beats of ‘Star Guitar’ ensnare my feelings. ‘You should feel what I feel.’ ’You should take what I take.’ But thoughts and feelings and what’s up for grabs are never what others mean them to be. My mind races, doing Mach 5 in a Mach 1 zone. Is it really my mind racing? The lights are fast. There’s stamping. Paper dragons fly. A boom is sonic. Where did the bald guy come from? The lights are bright. Are things racing by me? A black coat cloaks a woman, hiding her, making a mystery out of this being with short hair.
That’s it. The feeling’s gone. The sound dies. The feelings are replaced. The chatter resumes. But Meatloaf objects to the resumption of chatter. ‘She’ is pushed to the outer spectrum of the frame. Chatter stops. And as objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are; the feelings converge again.
An idyllic farm house looms up. A vintage car is being driven. Two brothers move into the frame. With dreams unfulfilled and time to make them exist. For some reason; inexplicable, a black belt appears closer. Why a belt? Why black? But the mirror doesn’t allow me to dwell on these thoughts as it reflects racing soldiers of fortune. And then, dreams that crash and burn. I know what comes next and I want to stop his pain. But fate’s more flamboyant relative; destiny, implodes the silver lining in the mirror. His anguish is channeled into the thudding of his feet through the fields to catch a glimpse of a face in the sky.
My thoughts congregate in the mirror. Distorting all feelings to form the eyes of Meatloaf through the glass. And he shows me why ‘she’ forces me to feel and not to think. To live and not to exist. But another superimposition occurs. Her body is like a bandage. And mine, just like a wound. Has the rubber met the road?

Pas a Pas se va luènh