Soliloquy III

Humdrum

Yesterday, I realized i was sitting on my couch at home without the faintest recollection of the 20-mins drive to reach there.
Nothing.
All erased.
Seems like one of these dreams that you know you had but of which you can't remember much;
Mere fragments of sighs and star dust that you see floating tauntingly, but can't seem to touch
Not even the monotone hunt for a parking space, pulling over under the gaze of the moon and the crossing of the street in haste, the usual salutations to the porter, the waiting on the lift, and the the habitual inspection of my attire and makeup on the back mirror just to make sure i wasn't looking like a loafer all day,
The stop at the 8th floor then the 11 steps to my door.
I counted them once.

When i was awake.

Stay, i don't remember at all reaching out to the keys in the left pocket of my purse and the two attempts at turning it at the hole.
Always two, exhaustive trials before i get it right. Strange, how I remember that
Not even my automated "I'm home" that is returned with a muffled voice with an onerous tone
Uttered by my echo from the living room busy ironing the shreds of disappointment that I soon wrap around my falling shoulders
Before i crash at last on the couch after that long, long day
That is all curtained by thick smolder
Of forgetfulness
Not even the thoughts that occupied me so, I could harness

How is that even possible ?

Perhaps, it is not wistful thoughts; the usual suspects, that stole my vigil
I can't seem to concentrate over this stanza of infinite frequencies ringing through my skull
And the constant bangs
In my chest that demand my full attention
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
You know, reigning quiet is actually disturbing
Ah, Ventricular Fibrillation, my Professor said earlier that day
I don't remember the title of the lesson, but I sure could put together bits and pieces as I regain my poise on my squeaking settee, shush down the noise inside my mind
And search for the voice
Of silence
The more I listen, the more i could recall
Or
ba-dum
Forget

It messes with your heart, he said, lighting bolts of l'amour,
And the slower they seep through one's pores, the more painfully their guard of reason discomposes
The jolt reaches so deep it causes explosions in their heart,
Makes it rain and decant fresh petals of roses
And a string of fervent poems would seep along the scum from their arid lips
That man looked like Zorba The Greek with eyes burning zelously
I could imagine him dancing to his own heart beats
Frantic kicks of la Mazurka, showering in the graces of the evening clouds
ba-dum
Strange man, long day
And my retention of events begins to wan
Oh, someone said that ephemeral strikes of existential implosions
Don't kill you
If they are short, no matter how acute
They make you ultra, instead, coughing smoke and desolation, true
Nevertheless an evolved species that live to carry through
Or
ba-dum
Something like that

The sleeve of such recollections always eludes my reaching fingers until I set still
And clear my ears
But i mysteriously started to forget my skillful ways
Could be when I was told to my face for the first time in many years
With a mocking scoff that I was a major
Disappointment
I smiled, and took off
Repeatedly sweeping my windshields on the way
Thinking it was raining when it was the tears in my eyes that blurred the world
I wasn't sad
Nothing of value was broken
I remember trying to laugh but the sound that came out was darkened
Along with my thoughts
Piles of chaff
Blown away by the wind through the cracked windows as I sped up hoping to reach
Somewhere
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
Do you sometimes freak out as you become so aware
Of your vital signs while engulfed in a bubble of silence and solitude, these lub dubs in your chest ,these green dwellings of your veins, and your swelling lungs, like the rising tide;

A consciousness so vivid of your being 
Alive and uproarious

It gives birth to bumps on your tremulous skin, though it was silence what you sought, and it was silence what you thought is going to coat you once you muffle the voices inside
But , alas !
Silence, eternal and solicitous, a nebula of mist in which you could hide for a life time
Is merely a myth, my friend

There is no escaping the loud chimes in your chest

And there are the thoughts you killed unborn,

All the words you bit your tongue before they were torn from the nibble of your teeth
These infinite records of white noise keep playing on repeat, until you don't feel the need to scribble the lyrics down

T'is so terrifying to realize that one can't settle in real quietness
Except for in the darkness of the tomb

What killed Schemkov wasn't an aching strike of ardor
It was the slow seizure of fullness 
The morbid mixture of fear and anticipation tumoring in his heart
The realization of his utter unworthiness , and falling helplessly into the vortex of existential degradation that his faint psyche
Just couldn't bear

Pray, who is Schemkov ?

Ah, I have a test on Lighting Protection this Thursday.