This feeling has a charisma I cannot distinguish from speciousness because I am sinking into it, losing my sense and sanity. I am in a beautiful world the charm of which is piercing my nerves followed by an outbreak of bloody emotions. As I go deeper into this world, I stumble at some stone and bump into a pillar. I’m hurt in my heart. I fumble my hand over my skin to find it slathered in blood. The gold dust around has a sweet smell, but I cannot pack an atom of it. I’m captivated, enraptured, lost. This world has all good that is not really good in the eyes of the outside world. I’m sobbing, overwhelmed by love and kindness in this world.
Everything has an end to it, so has this experience of surrealism. And, now that it’s time to sublimate, to leave this phantasmagoric wonder and submit to the social bondage that strangles me, I am nudged and disturbed.
But, I’m still smelling good. It’s the gold dust that has dissolved its aroma in my blood; glittering gold in barn red.