(please enjoy the smooth music of Angelo Badalamenti to set the mood while you read )
The Red Dream
Outside my window life is glowing like smooth jazz,
a sax solo structure of framed glass that reflects my curves, my long curls.
All I know is everything is going up or coming down,
and I don’t know or care really what is happening.
My red room now lets in the blue… like a doorman suspiciously lets in strangers…
To preserve the pureness of its sensual nature, my red room says “no” to too much blue. Purple fantasies will wash in like a lovesick curtain call, staining what was perfection, changing a room it was not invited into, a room that was just beginning to ignite in hues of unexpected passion-red. Wounded hearts wear purple, and mine is healthfully on fire. Just the opposite in fact from purple’s nostalgia, and I find the right spot, to position myself and feel the red light stroking and warm against my cheeks.
I drink down in one gulp what he left for me at my bedside, the crimson liquor, just waiting for something to happen… and now I think it is. Something is happening to me and I am starting to lose hold of what is solid and grounded. I feel my skirt begin to wrap and curl around me… it squeezes my calves and then breathes like a sea anemone, giddiness overtakes me and I close my eyes smiling, the idiot smile of hallucinatory bliss.
I lift off and my feet point and close like the stem of a flower heading for a vase. I am all on point and the red honey liquid begins to do fantastic things to me. I start to forget everything, why I am here, who pressed a finger to my lips and said..”just drink it like a good girl” or who was that figure behind the curtain who gave me the little glass and called me “good girl.” I forget all of that, but begin to remember so may things I never knew. Then the slow rotation takes me up and begins to twist me around..a little pinwheel being blown by the shadow of a stranger’s breath.
I twirl around and around, a dark red rotating figure, like a rare dancing flower from undersea. I fill now the window hovering only slightly above the floorboards that catch the light from outside like a projector, the scenes texture the wood panels so that the floor appears alive. I cannot look down because I will lose the last thread holding me that still remembers my name. I feel my legs and arms pulled out, all the while I am hovering and spinning, but now I am a lovely red clad piece of game, turning on a fiery spit and the windows suddenly lose their glass in imploding bits of back-draft and I am getting sucked outside into the blue…
I knew that pale blue would change everything, my mood is no longer liquid acquiescence, but instead painfully purple and flooded with such distant memories of cold calculated nights, that I curl up into my spinning flower and try to find the exit from these twisted bars of neon tubing caging me in pale blue. My scarlet dress of heat, now cold and dyed royally with harvested mollusks who gave up their tint unwillingly.
All my efforts, all my panicked desires are to return to the safety of my red room and seek out comfort to soothe my terror, having been sucked out of it against my will, and left trapped in this color I had feared. I fly, banging impotently against steel barriers, but a small ray of pinkish light catches my eyes and I twist and pinwheel towards it in my newly learned way of traveling. It must be the honey blood red fluid that allows me to hover with no friction, or limitations, and I will myself to pump it quickly through my blood stream and give me strength beyond what I know I have. When my flapping skirt panels reach the pink doorway, it opens wide for me and I am surrounded by strong massaging fingers, that mold and press my thighs soothing my terror until I close my eyes and forget even my name. I am lulled into pleasure where purple no longer has a hold on me and the red begins to rise up again and color my form.
This is what the red room promised me, pure sensuality and hours of slow discovery by unknown hands who without a melodious note, play me as if I were the instrument their fingers had always longed to strum. Each member of the pillowed orchestra takes a solo on me with only their fingertips and their mastery. I am the only sound in the room when I feel sharply yanked backwards and pulled away from these musical hands that reach out one last time to play a finale, before I am summoned to return to where it all began.
I burst through the glassless windows once again, but this time the beauty and comfort of my red room welcome me. I am still full of pink rising energy and the blood red drink the strange man gave to me, is still very much swirling around inside. My thighs feel flushed and lovingly pinched as I land gracefully back on my unmade bed in the corner. The drapes now quiver behind my sideboard, revealing a trousered leg that begins to push slowly through, parting the blowing curtains.
To be continued…
April 7th, 2011
Renacer Misty Shores, SL
*please see my comment