Lia: a classic portrayal of these strange and beautiful creatures. As scientists say nothing more than another mistake in a long line of accidental chemical reactions. As philosophers say maybe an ordered universe is giving consciousness to itself.
She changes her characters like she changes her appearances. A snake in the grass shedding it's skin. An actor playing a part. She is best noticed as a walking disaster or an eternal still-frame. A horde of outcasts have made her their queen. She is a virus, an infection that has spread. A curiosity in the matrix.
She has lived out many roles and fantasies: muse, girl next door, lolli, witch, angel, whore, seductress, time traveler, goddess, celestial visionary.
She is many things to many people and adapts appropriately to the circumstances.
She has found a few people she deems true friends and cherishes them, a few anchors amidst her instability. She uses and abuses the rest of humanity with calculated cruelty. She draws them into her web of both real and fabricatable drama and disbelief . She treats them as experiments, controllable and verifiable yet still generating new data. Every once in awhile she finds someone she deems worthy of her extended interest.
She finds herself oscillating between two opposing states. The fire in her spirit that magnetically draws her toward greater unity and harmony. The longing for revolution, change, community, to be part of a greater self-sustaining whole which would give her purpose and belonging. Ah... To be Immense, filling.
Yet also falls in an all consuming apathy for a transient and meaningless world that is filled with emptiness and chaos. She becomes the self-indulgent victim of nihilistic despair over the pointlessness of her individual existence. Running out of time, there is no place that can hold her. She is the Great Void staring at a false void whilst slowly becoming a true void.
Although the two being contradictory never really outweigh one another and she enjoys the freedom of such juxtaposition.
However, deep within her self, maybe in what one would call a soul, she still dreams of transcendence: Rising above into the sky and shining blindingly into all those starving eyes. Higher, so much higher and beyond, utterly beyond, all perfect and silent. Holy, holy, holy.
She wanders around in darkness. She loses her mind in the great mystery.
She stares into the populace and is disenchanted by their lack of depth and invidiuality. They are broken sheep who desperately conform to survive brutal social judgements. They vainly search for normality, a cure for their own imagined weirdness, or they fill their mind with notions of grandiose delusions while acting humble in public to be accepted. Some have become bitter, calous and careless, and some have become overwhelmed with their emotions. Lonely.
She searches for some hidden voice of God. A voice ringing clear and loud above the crowds. Someone preaching some obscure and undiscovered yet self-evident truths. Someone who has become a manifestation and medium for some higher idealistic science or art. Charismatic and compelling sounds and shades of color taking over the whole world from within. A self-fulfilled prophet. So far, no one.
She finds a body to satisfy her physical needs. An accessory to her madness and sadness. Despite her air of untouchable superiority, she is unfortunately as co-dependent as we are. A docile admirer who makes promises of no pain. At least it works.
Ultimately unfathomable: Realm of pure white snow. Blank slates of paper. A nightingale locked in the cage. A dyanmic sentience pondering determinism and free will. A butterfly caught between the constraints and limitless of her own nature.
As for me, I didn't really know her. A simple portrait made by observations of an unreliable message board. She appeared to be the girl I was always looking for but never found. Einstein's lucid dream or Keruoacs streaming consciousness, walking poetry who was able to wear whatever environment she was in. Precious and rare; a diamond in the rough. Sharp and cognizent enough to see me clearly and wise enough to listen to my thoughts and understand what I was saying. I never had the liberty to get to know her unfortunately and she became another aquantance in a sea of strangers who rarely pay one another more than a passing glance. Perhaps she prefer to remain an unknown, a potential of something great instead of being exposed as something or someone entirely ordinary or mundane. I still harbor my suspicions though.
unconsciously we share the same mind and bask in glorious bliss.
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!
Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower --
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum --
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
