"To even see her as a human being-" he says,
"you have to look past all the layers of chaos constructed around her."
As my ears encounter these words they hone-in on the love-sickened speaker despite my mind's strong aversion to eaves-dropping. They seem to do so in much the same way that flies are drawn to the scent of excrement. Upon realizing this I immediately muse myself in thinking that perhaps this is just the kind of pschyt that humans instinctively feast upon despite any inherently negative connotations.
Meanwhile the love-sickened rather eloquently explains how it isn't just the graffiti-like tattoos or their juxtaposition to her otherwise scantly-clad flesh that obscures her human-essence. The innumerous assortment of piercings that renders her likeness as somewhat of a low-tech cyborg or some shrapnel-skewered soul does not explain the extent of her humanity-masking obstructions either. Even to look past the hyper-colored arrays of her ever-altered phosphorescent hair-configurations which perpetually obscure her eyes- that have been rendered unnaturally black by either contact lenses, sorcery, or some other modern scientific advances in cosmetology will still not offer even so much as a glimpse of her human-essence according to the love-sickened.
With a hint of some inner-conflict the love-sickened continues to elaborate as to how even for someone to glimpse beyond this fabricated-facade she's constructed around herself one must tread through the wake of this chaotic circus that seems to constantly envelop her. This circus contains (among many things) a coven of similarly chaotic characters that he describes as though they continually revolve around her with constant cackles and chatter. Upon hearing these supplementary characters described my mind conjures-up images of swarming bats that screech-out protective spells as they create a cloud surrounding her.
Supplementary to these uninhibited familiars the love-sickened depicts a wake of fragile and shattered male psyches that figuratively fail both as suitors and as drama students. Despite the failure of these supplemental creatures the love-sickened articulates how they are seemingly unable to get out of their costumes and relinquish their addictive-auditioning for the role of leading-man in the highly improvisational comedic-tragedy of this chaotic central-character's life.
After discussing the minutia of these addicted-auditioners, the characteristics of the chaotic-coven, and a host of social-constructs the love-sickened's conversational-counterpart advises him that any attempt for him to peer deeper into the human-essence of this chaotic-character will likely be futile.
The love-sickened concedes this point to his conversational-counterpart and goes on to provide what would seem to act as supporting evidence to the validity of this rebuttal. After arbitrarily asking to suppose these barriers can be perceptually-penetrated the love-sickened describes how so many layers of obstructions and disguises further obscure his affectionately-adored's humanity. Much of her speech is described by the love-sickened as consisting of referential regurgitations, banal besmirchments, and a plethora of pejorative-platitudes that function as cynical-shadows that swallow and conceal any real sentiments within the oblivion of their domain.
After listening to the love-sickened describe a myriad of masks of this affectionately-adored's non-verbal idiosyncrasies, gestures, and facial expressions it seems as if only a series of disguises could subsist in the depths of her true & abysmally removed human-self. From his depiction it is as if she is so purely comprised of deceptive layers that it even seems as if her very soul must consist of some series of confounding riddles encrypted and inscribed on the surfaces of some hypercube-puzzle-thing.
Just as it seems as if the love-sickened's account of this affectionately-adored soul is too dismal to permit my ears from continuing their heist of my mind's attention he says some other pschyt that recaptures my insect-like auditory focus.
"...but if you could see through all of these layers..."
Without completing this sentence the love-sickened seems to settle upon some quiet and esoteric sense of comprehensive catharsis. His conversational-counterpart silently nods his head along the invisible affirmative directional axis, and he seems to observe this moment of silence in much the same way as those called for in instances of collective commemorative mourning. I find myself in a similarly strange state as my mind can only understand this silence as a form of absence, and I cannot accurately or acceptably conceptualize what it is that has vanished and thus created this hollow vacancy.
As the silence becomes unnerving my mind welcomes the sounds of buzzing machines, un-synchronized footsteps, and the greater cacophony of what must be more than voices and insects. Then as my mind becomes re-acquainted with this subtle and constant chaos I begin to hear the sounds of my own heart beats and breaths. After a while my mind serves-up a few words to fully pacify me as I slip comfortably back into a state of homogeneous solace. "Humanity will always remain in hiding"...
No comments:
Post a Comment