Res Cogitans; Exposé

The dungeon is not only an enclosed room in which exist the man – the culprit. The culprit is a liar, a thief, the perpetrator of the crime. I didn’t do anything. I’m a loner. My dungeon is my harbor. Here I am hiding from the bad people. From the good people. From THE people. From the world. I am not just ‘hiding’, I am resting too. I am wandering for my freedom. In the lights of the walls, I can see a piece of heaven on which only I have the right, and I am not going to give you my piece, people. You’re too atrocious for it.

My thoughts are screaming but they can not overrule the silence of my being. I am muting the simmering thoughts. The fire didn’t give me anything good. Blue makes the ideal intersection. Blue is freedom, freedom who is opposing the fire. Even do my whole being is fighting and trying to survive, I feel happy because I am safe at this very moment. My blue, my chair, my part of the sky, everything is mine and all I have. All of this make me feel existentially anxious. But on the other hand, anxious is good, it forces me to create. I don’t create when I’m without my blue and without my harbor. Only in my shell, I am feeling alive. Anxious is the second name for the creator.

I am just sitting lost in thoughts. I am feeling like Descartes, who once said: ”I am used to imagining in my dreams what a madman imagines when he is awake”. Does it mean that I am equal to the madman? Probably, yes but ‘madman’ is just another name for ‘different’. What is sane? The usual. My blue is not common. My blue is ‘madman’ blue.

I sleep when others can not, I dream when others are not dreaming. I am painting in blue when in the red blood fire devastate my soul. Memories are malicious and the other colors are disturbing. For some reason, my blue stays with me. Gazing at the many windows I wonder which one of them is output. What am I imagining, they are just portals in my head. The true way is not far from me, just a few steps, but it seems to me that there is at least a mile. And if I dared to cross the mile, I would never have found the key. Because of that I am staying in my thoughts, in my cerulean color with no exit at all but at least I am honest to my true being – what about you?

~ Zorica ~

The Art of Joey Havlock