Saturday, November 11, 2006

Skyfloating

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Got to tell you about this feeling that’s running through my head right now… I feel like I’m flying. Floating – I’m a see through helium balloon, the string cut from beneath me, and it’s taking me up, up towards the night. I keep pinching myself, opening my eyes, I can feel the tears tingling on my cheeks. My tongue feels soft and velvety. The lights keep appearing when I close my lids. The light rolls around me like a million optic fibres swaying from the heavens. There’s a bleach taste in my mouth. I know I’m back in my familiar place.
I am high again.
Tonight – I just wanted it to last forever. I woke up under a Christmas tree, in a living room with the dawn warming my sweating skin. Bombed out on ecstasy, wrecked my brain after a New Year to end all New Years. Music playing loud from the decks, playing Ghost Town over and over. I’m rolling about and there’s people shouting, laughing, drinking vodka. A man turns himself into an upside down crab, walking on his hands and feet across the inspiral carpet.
Don’t know how I got here. But I’m feeling out of place, feeling sick, just want to open my eyes and be sat in an Oak tree orchard. I need this to stop. The drugs. I can’t take it anymore; I don’t know who I am. I’ve lost myself.
This guy comes over to me, blue eyes / black eyebrows, takes my hand, and pulls me into the kitchen, makes me a Sea Breeze. It hits my stomach and I retch. I throw up in the sink, fill it with pints of vomit, blood stained and acidic – no food for 4 days. He cooks up a saucepan with water and a carrier bag of mushrooms in it, a little sugar to sweeten the taste. He cracks a joke, lights me a fag. I come round a bit. Then drink the tea; the black nipples turning grey as they swill around in the sieve.
A girl takes hold of me, wraps me in a fur coat, pulls me down to the park, and I have to piss. There are people around, but I don’t care, I climb onto the back of a pick up truck, filled with tools and sheets, pull down my trousers, wet myself by accident. I piss in the wrong place. All over my hands. Don’t know where I am. Lost. Again.
Can’t stop laughing, the ground shifts from under me. Is this what the Shamans feel like?
We end up on the grass, this girl with pale green eyes and red hair, she looks after me. But she won’t stop talking. She is my new best friend. I know for sure. Nobody else would bother to pick me up off the floor covered in piss.
I sit in the Buddha position, a lotus, try and centre myself, but she keeps on talking, at herself, at me. I just want the noise to stop. The grass carpet is rolling up and down, dipping in the winds that blow through my hair.
Take my pissy trousers off, casting them aside, just sit there in my knickers and vest, trying to be sick again, shoving my fist down my throat. We smoke some more. I lay out, close my eyes, and float up into the skies. Relief from the chaos, I am locked in my own world. Taken away from the red bricks – I am free. To fly up from this mess, into the light. Warm light that calls to me.




Megan Hall

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