Wednesday, November 26, 2008

The Frame of Thought: Fast Food Fiction

As the clock hits the gears to the transition of another minute, the boy in blue draws his dreams in a yellow pad canvass. In the middle of a heated discussion, absolute zero in reverse, the pen wanders around the tainted green shrubs and escapes through the sea of clouds making unmarked footprints along the way. Despite the reverberating sound of the mentor's plead, the boy in blue continues to paint the image corners as stepped on by the darkness of ink. His eyes absorbing the memories for which the mind bleeds synonymous to waterfalls. Streams of improvised creations decisively immerses each entity to an alternate reality. Every emotion, as depicted in the canvass, has its own world.

Joy. The mirror sheds light to the face of the darling boy enabling the stretching of his face muscles, forcing him to smile. As one enters the reverse image, grass teemed with all sorts of green splashed in human bathing glory can be visualized upon realization. Hills are streaming, flowing like rhymes in poems, lines in sonnets. Winds ever abundant, regulated, in as much dense as the sleeping brown soil in multiple worldly terrains. Animals planted as families feeding with self -appearing food in the mouth of the mother. Men and women in white clothes suddenly appear in the distance walking slowly towards him. Smiling. 

Upon being circled, smiles are showered upon him vertically with all the granted appreciations perforated in the mind. A thorn in the heart is disattached for the brightness of the sepia-toned (depicting the past) faces melted the bone-chilling, motion-stopping predicaments. They took his hands one-by-one shaking with much gusto as though your appearance is the light. 

Multiple languages of "hello" speak in melodic, chanting voices blending in perfect pitch and harmony. The music reached the peak of the excitement mountain massaging your currenltly being churned mind. Everyone invites you home. It is as though there is no time, so you went to their homes, their minds every filled 5 minutes of visitation. It looks as though there is no end yet it seems to tickle the boy's taste for knowing, longingness. 


The boy suddenly wakes up with soring eyes finding himself wetting his sun-painted canvass with his tongue water. Everyone deserted the area of academic battle, the classroom. He wonders if someone else made attempts to awaken his senses (other than his dreams) before they leave the vicinity. Covered by liquid human mouth waste, the canvass materializes in full picture. He now sees the greatest masterpiece that he has ever created. 

His own smiling portrait. 

As though for longing, yet never coming back, to the world made by his own. 


The surprise comes next...


No comments: