Fragments of forgotten dreams and memories drift through my mind, like a cloud of revolving gyroscopes, bewitching my consciousness and transporting me through the vast abyss of space and time, back into the past – if only for a fleeting, ephemeral moment – reminding me of times forgotten, of lost loves, of distant memories and hallucinations; all coalescing and infusing within my subconscious, sparkling somewhere in the soft wet tissue of my throbbing brain. I am transfixed and haunted by their tantalising splendour.
It’s morning and – as I sit at my desk, looking out my window – I see a woman sitting barefoot on the grass, her long blonde hair falling loosely down her back, draped in a cosy cardigan of soft fabric, maybe cashmere; she seems lost in her own thoughts, the sun beaming down on her face, content in some daydream that wafts through her mind, as if she is a delicate flower soaking up the warmth of her own Eden-esque imagination, at peace with her surroundings, one with nature. I find myself musing upon what peculiar thoughts are being conjured within her mysterious brain, as she basks in the morning sun, and whether strange epiphanies or prophecies, visions or memories, drift through her tender skull, feeling the dewy grass underfoot, the peaceful breeze gently billowing her fragrant hair, gorgeous butterflies fluttering idly by; perhaps she may even sense my curious gaze, feel my stare wander across her face, feel my mental energy as I ponder what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling, whether some whimsical series of events led her down a starry-skied path of love and joy, or whether the cruel hands of fate puppeteered her soul into a chasm of nightmares and horror, from which the only escape was a bottle of booze or pills, or the lullaby of a sinister soothing syringe.
Journal Extract by Stamos Mardou