The Dancing Lights

I saw the dancing lights: the blues, the reds, purples, yellows, and greens. The neon perfections swirled about the tile floor, shimmering off the windows in the room and reflecting from the jewelry on the girls. My eyes bounced, following the fluourescent lights, from ceiling to window until my attention was directed and absorbed by a girl. Her skin was smooth, painted cream by the light and ever changing colors. A black dress silhouetted her curves in the dark. I pictured my hands sliding down her body. I'd put a finger to her lips, feeling its soft curvature. I would pause ever so slightly, her lip's glossed groves waiting for a kiss. I'd proceed to her chin, cliffhanging to go onto the neck. She'd tilt her head back, arching her neck for my support. My finger would glide down, and her tiny hairs would stand on end. I'd come closer, the magnetic field charged between us. My hand would slip along her collar bone, caressing the rounded ridge. I'd rest my hands lightly on her shoulders, enough for the hairs of our bodies to touch. My petite biche would shiver at this. The soft shaking would ensue as my cold fingers tapped lightly down her spine. Coming to the bottom, I'd slip my hands back around her waist. She'd be secure.

But suddenly, the vision began to fade. With one blink, one ephemeral and green, intensely green, movement, I watched her coalesce into the background. The lights danced before me once again: the blues, the reds, purples, yellows, and greens. The neon distractions mocked my shuffled feet. My craining neck and scouring eyes searched about the northern lights. The lights played on windows, tiles, and mirrors, leaving only the kaleidoscope view. Where did she go? Abruptly, the colors, the awful hues, all faded. The room went black.

The emergency lighting came on. My eyes refocused to see my white sneakers resting on black marble floor. Rolling my eyes up slowly, I encountered glass cases. They contained incongruent vases painted, and spotted, cracked and chipped. Each one was aesthetically pleasing. I turned left beginning to scan the walls; nothing but white. With inch turns in my feet, I continued my search about the room. The walls were bare. Yet, I could see discolored places here and there. Perfect grey squares popped out against the white washed wall. Some spaced above one another; others askew to form diagonal patterns on the wall. Paintings had been here.

Inching my way completely full circle, I beheld the magnificent creation before me. I saw the painting. I saw the dancing lights. The blues, the reds, purples, yellows, and greens waiting for my return. They greeted me kindly, shining through a reflective covering. I stared into the glossy glass. But, they revealed no girl. I squinted and looked closer. The sconce lighting and the painting's colors began to mix on the glass as I edged up. I stopped just before my nose could touch the glass. I tilted my head just; so; to reveal a gossamer fingerprint. Backing away from the case, I thought, "Did all this really come from a painting?"

Recipe for Change

Perspective. Its everything we need to understand the world around us. Our friends and family my fail us or leave us alone in suffering, but their presence must be remembered. They are the few things that have presence and power in our lives. To discount them would be wasteful, and to forget them would be soul-shredding. I, for one, did much of this with my family.
I disregarded my father over Christmas break, but not without effort. His phone was saturated with my voice-mails for weeknight dinners and a weekend of blowing the $200 he gave me for Christmas. Sadly, nothing came of it except his return phone call with the everlasting possibility of rescheduling. I kept the $200 so I could purchase textbooks this semester. Thanks Dad. Now, I'm waiting for you to answer my e-mail. I owe Emory a lot of money, and the bill remains unpaid. Will you save me once again from my arrogance?
I normally keep this kind of thing couped up within the vault of my mind, waiting to be cracked by the locksmiths I call friends. But, its time to adopt new policies. I'm the only thing that can willingly change in this world. I might as well start doing so.

A Late New Year

I haven't blogged in a while, but to bring in the New Year appropriately, here is my piece.

I trecked over to Loretta's apartment to celebrate, complete with Sangria and plastic champagne glasses. The glasses came with a New Year's Celebration Kit, and Loretta spent her time decorating the paper circulars the go around the bottom of the glasses. We watched her artistic ability, insulting any stray mark or smudge. It was exciting. Then, I talked to my girlfriend over the telephone for the ten second countdown. After toasting, I didn't make out with Loretta (haha for that story) but instead we all watched Serenity. Those were the first hours of January 1, 2006.