Saturday, 22 April 2017

house of books #5, 22/April/17

after tripping the night away our hero emerged into the full glare of the unforgiving morning light finding himself outside the room inside the house of books where he was.. and now isn't...... or is....... he couldn't be sure whether or not this was still the trip or not...... gnawing away were absurd impressions of superman.... was he Superman?...... a mere comic creation wearing a brightly absurd cape and getting away with it, or Nietzsches ubermensch or Emerson's oversoul or even Goethe's beyond-man with Faustus accoutrements, a hyperanthropos... an extension or integration, actualisation or reflection.... or deflection triangulated to this very point....... the light hurt his eyes like someone who hadn't seen the sun before, ever..... there was air which he breathed and felt commandeering his skin.... he wasn't sure if he liked it or not........ there were others too, standing at a bus stop...... our hero approached not warily nor so cautiously as would be his normal demeanour but locking them in his gaze like a hummingbird flapping a hundred beats per second but keeping its head perfectly still....... he heard himself speak, his mouth opened, it was his voice which he hadn't heard for a long time almost not recognising it and pointed to the sunrise extolling how starkly brilliant it was and they should look, see, pay attention to it and not their feet or impatience at the bus still yet to arrive and scoop them away to some neverland........ our hero found them most unwilling to cooperate to the point of hunkering their backs even higher into their layers of coats, hats and scarves...... it was January, momentarily aware he wore just a tee shirt, as he had been wearing in the house of books.... yes, now he remembered....... he wasn't cold but felt snubbed and baffled by their seeming lack of interest......... he wasn't outside after all, our hero knew it in his dark heart of hearts, there was no outside for him just inside........ he was still inside coming down, as once more the walls closed in around him refining and defining lines upon lines of shelves upon which sat rows upon rows of spines of books while round his feet stalagmites of varying piles of print-laden pulp.........

© robert greig 2017

2 comments:

Martin Kloess said...

...so closes another chapter.

Robert Greig said...

indeed....... until................

(thanks Martin)