It’s that time again, that moment, the instant of certainty that takes me weeping through the black orchestra of golden sounds, the one who celebrates the end, from the joy of irascible notes, where I stand firm on the ground of truth and see.
This gate is mine to keep. The liquids agree with the solids who is the present tense of light, and everything ethereal communes in the recognition of ownership, control, infinite, eternal quests.
Here, I feel a myriad of echos bouncing light from my standing body (the one I use for perpetual movement) only to become again attracted by inherent infinite gravity, severe and critical as a disease, as an addiction pointing to a place of no return, history.
Again, the air becomes dust, heavy as the elements of the cosmos, and the whirlpool is now visible by humans, when particles are now in the most extreme excitement, light comes, and blades the air with the brightness of one, with the energy of want.
Pause. No note is lost, but the music stops. The musicians became aware that life itself is no longer a celebration but a reason to want death.
Pause. I make them see the story of their self. No mistakes, no doubts, just plain, pure, rational humans ascending to me.
Pause, for a breathe, for a spiting brass and a stretching cord, a turn off a page, because the master is right there, still and waiting, thoughtful but demanding, close, yet so far away, absorbed in expelling everything from inside, and the air solidifies.
Expecting motion, even the tiniest impulse of tension makes the musicians stop blood before their heart, keeping it near my instrument of choice.
Readiness, a simple gesture will make their world collapse, but the visible wand of dust keeps hovering the light for the moment of clarity, singularity, possession, unmistakable truth and, waits.
Pause.
The master starts to cry, the maestro is now a few centimetres from the ground, opening his chest for them to see, inside him, the entity.
Panoramic, rotational, made of impossible constants and laws of nothing. A thermoil of dark light, no blood, just sparks, excited molecules of precious moments collide while they see solid gases become the water they drink to live.
Blind, they see the finger becoming action and everything passes by me again.
the MONSTRUKTOR