the spanish influenza.
I’m not sure how it started and I can’t recall how it ended but I do know that there was music and it was beautiful.
This must be how it feels when bliss and sorrow are entangled in a lover’s tryst.
I was driving through the valley at some undistinguishable time between nightfall and daybreak and the music was taking me away from the road and the earth and the memory of your scent and I swear I could have been flying if I weren’t strapped to my seat. The musical notes were thunderous as they churned through my bloodstream and escaped through my pores.
Feel each note as it gently slides down your spine and arouses your senses, like a breath on your neck or a hand on your thigh.
The music was so elaborately orchestrated - it’s perfumed aftertaste brought me from the valley to the coast of Spain effortlessly, like some harlot beckoning me with an outstretched hand and a vow of carnal deliverance. The sound of the crooning violins seeped through the speakers, like smoke under a door, and fogged the glass.
Close your eyes and remember to forget.
I am visionless. I am entranced I am distorted I am hypnotized by the deep voice brushing against my ear.
I am here again.
I drive over a hill and the snow is blinding, but the impaired vision is intoxicating and the haze makes the oncoming headlights resemble angels with flourescent halos. I have lost control again. It is welcomed. My hands slip off of the wheel and I provoke the angels to tango with the mass of steel and glass in which I am encased. The music reaches a forte and the beat of the drum leads my pulse to the top of a highrise.
This is how it ends, I am sure of it.
I am careening I am finally free I am nothing but nerve endings and you ignite every one of them in the most particular and perfect way. The blaring horns are barely audible and the ice on the median flips my vehicle. The seatbelt tears from the door and my face hits the windshield to form the most delicate cracks in the glass. My horn is resonating and steam is rising and the snow attempts to liberate the debacle at hand and the warm blood rolls down my face to bathe me in relief and resolution.
Embrace the ephemeral, taste the spectral tongue.
I’m not sure if it’s all in my head now, but the impassioned beat carries on and permeates the darkness. I can see the fiery bodies drinking and dancing so close that they seem to be threaded together by sweat. I will succumb, I am sure of it.
