the boundary between dreams and reality is thin.
the ghosts and demons of your darkest dreams leak out of your nightmares, tainting the golden glow of the sun on once-bright blue days. instead, the brightness is tempered by a darkness flickering on the corners of your visions.
the insane laugh at the sane. in asylums, they drink the wine of gods and dine on the hearts of mortals. they claim they see the reality of the world. the reality that the sane is blinded to.
the sane shrink away from the insane. the disgust evident over their faces, they wonder if the disease that taints the madness echoing off the latter’s smile will infect them too. the reality that the insane see is nothing but a figment of twisted minds, lost in time. hearts of mortals is simply meat stewed in a pot for hours, and the wine of gods is the water flowing through streams.
then what is reality? the insane see the reality from eyes that are too old. the demons from their nightmares have infested their lives. they see the world without rose-colored lens. instead of flowers, they see wilted leaves and thorns.
the sane see the reality from eyes that have seen all the beautiful things in the world. they find the harmony in the bees buzzing and cars honking. their dreams have melded with their lives. they see rainbows in the heaviest rain, and stars in darkest night.
the moon hangs in the sky. some days, there are two moons across the sky. a shadow of the real thing. the real thing no one can tell. is it the circle that shines bright? or is the circle that is swathed in shadows that cover half of its body?
and the clock continues ticking. ticking, counting time.
time is incalculable. it is infinite. it is immeasurable. it is a concept that is not meant to be grasped. we have only grasped the corner of the vast blanket of time – only have lifted a corner off the blanket that covers skeletons long buried.
the sweet melody plays through the night.
cymbals clash in the insanes’ mind. colors tumble past each other. there is no darkness – only blinding light that seeks to blind. the end is coming. the ending scene – cut. fade to black. the darkness, no one understands. is it the end? or is the beginning? did time begin with darkness? was the moon born out of the night? do demons come from the night or from daylight? crawling – their insane laughs. insane? are they insane? or are they sane? they see a reality. they see a world that is real to them. does failing to conform to what is conceived as real by the rest of society mean they are insane? staccato sentences. there is no flowing melody. there is no flow in life.
only a series of mismatched moments stuck together crudely.
yet the piano plays on in the background in the sane’s mind. they hold hands with their comrade. see the light, they demand. the end will never come in this lifetime. to enjoy each second is to find pleasure in the color of nothing. the moon brings hope when candles cannot be lit. the demons are burnt by holy fires of dreams and happiness. they know they are sane because they see a reality. they see a world that is real to them. they conform to the reality of society. and they see the flowers of beauty bursting forward in deserts run dry. the river of life flows through them. chronos calls attention to death, but the sane ignore his calls. they revel in life.
life – a beautiful contradiction of what is real and what is not real.
to when dreams and reality clash.
the gods and mortals meet on this earthly plane. the beauty and pain coexist on this earthly plane.
the sane and insane laugh and drink together on this earthly plane.
there are still two moons in the sky.
all of this is inspired by Haruki Murakami – a Japanese author.
read Haruki Murakami’s works. i’m currently reading IQ84. i also recommend Kafka on the Shore. Killing Commentadore is a shadow of Kafka on the Shore – it is not one of his best works, but still a pleasant read.