I decided to start writing these things cause I could feel hurricanes raising from the pit of my stomach. It’s like a whirlwind finding its course from the bridge of my head.
I find my mind galloping with ideas, images, thoughts, stories, colors, art forms, magic.
I presumed that if I didn’t write about how I was sprawled up in my bed this hot Saturday afternoon (like every other Saturday afternoon before the Corona Virus).
I’ll just crumble like a shelf and stick my head beneath my shoulder, whilst programming words in my neck to tell her (my head) to stop being a nuisance!
Whenever I want to create culture and magic, like Maya Angelou (GM) I enjoy covering my head. This act is also for the same reason why she also covers her head; so our minds don’t blow up.
It’s not like I’m trying to write from a desert or anything related.
My area description:
I place my one liter water bottle to my left, Bible to my right, phone to my thigh or table and laptop to my fingers.
Then I think, how do I enter this whirlwind?
The wind might be rusty or calm, but still I’m inside. Almost blinded by the rush of winds from my lungs. I try to walk around, find balance. After trekking for a while without direction, I see a young man, dark- skinned with a crown and many rings.
I speak : “Sir, I need help, I’m lost”
He answers, without emotion; “Where are you heading to?”
“My creative temple”
He looks at me
Then he comes closer
I’m uneasy, but I can smell his breathe, it smells like…coffee?
He hits my chests.
Look down at my chest and I’m blinded by the light.
I see angels and doors and mermaids and seas, I see scenes and happy people, sad people, numb people, angry people. They are all screaming my name, they are ready for me to choose them.
Choose one of them to tell my story.
“Let’s write this story!” They scream in my ears.
“Once upon a time”…
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