As the red-eyes scavenge on the dawn..

I awoke with a peculiur felling of impending doom. Today might be my last day. What lay luring on me after the sun has risen?
With a heavy heart, I tasted the moring dew, thick in the air. I have to call mother, tell her that I love her. Tell her that she raised me well. Tell her to not fret, not cry, nor mourn my fate.
Maybe this was the last breath of magic in my life I took. I saw it evaporate on the carwindow infront of the orange stripe of dusk in the horizon. The last moring stars might have caught it, keeping the magic there for me 'til the day I die.
The headlights bump across the dark road and I gently pass into the rythmic bumps, so tired right now...

What I.. Nevermind.

Paranoia, slowly advancing on me. Like reading fortunes from a wooden spoon, I couldn't see shit into the future. Very slowly I was decending on teh slippery slope of nervous angst. What had actually changed? I had come to some sort of reasoning with the world. Only I had done so ten years to late. I was in my own way an enlightened retardation. To grasp with the harsh reality of losing the magic in life seemed unfathomable and quite distant.

Like a man laying in wait of an amputation, what would be the last thing to do?
Ofcourse! Wiggle my toe a last time!

Strong out and thin.

Strutting around the living room, the rain tapping on the steel balcony. A friend, my dearest of friends was sitting in the white sofa. His arms, where spred out across the backboard. His head swinging back and forth trying to follow this twisted caracter waltzing around.

-I always for some reason liked to walk barefoot when i can hear the rain against the windows, I said. It's like a challenge to natur, it's raining but I still got dry feet. And the ruff wooden floor feels old against my feet and toes.

The scene was a complete comedy. Walking around with a bohemian hat and peacock feather sticking out. A Blue woolen button-down shirt and a vest that looked like it had been made from kitchen cloths. Rolled up loosly fitting jeans and bare feet. Wearing sunglasses and smoking cigarett's from a long black extender. Clearly wound up on drugs. Nervous twitchings and frantic phasing.

-You know? I always loved Maggie Gyllenhaal. What a beautiful girl! She has the face of an thirties moviestar but still send out so much sex! I mean like she has the kindness of a grandma and the body of a godess.

-What does Maggie Gyllenhal have to do with this? He said. Patiently watching his friend frantic phasing. Wondering what to do next.

-Nothing really. That's the beauty with it, nothing means anything anymore nomore. When did you loose your feeling? That child feeling of that everything is gonna be alright?

-I can't remember, long time ago I guess.

-You see I just lost mine yesterday! I think, ah yes I do think that, ehm, ya.

The LP-player suddenly clicked and the music stopped. The rain seemed to have turned to drissle and damp was forming on the window.

The feeling leaves

And a flock of small birds flew in and out of the sycamore trees.

-I should be leaving now, I said. My bus leaves in ten minutes.

Walking down the staircase to my mothers appartment and breathing in the foggy air I realised what was wrong. Everything in my life had turned very real. I never experienced my surroundings in this way before. As a kid they were mearly there as to humor me and to my usage. This notion was almost unfathomable for me. Where had all the magic gone? When did the world stop to orbit me? And maybe, just maybe I wasn't that special selected by the divine person afterall.

As I passed along the gravel path the crackling sound of small rocks and pebbles almost sickened me. This epiphany I got really did complicate mathers for me. Why can't we always feel like when we were childs?

-Death, she said, is a friend and sleep is deaths brother. Don't fall aslepp yet, I'm still cold and I want you present.

Her long dark hair folded out over my chest as we layed naked in bed. After a little while she was sleeping in that same position. But I could not sleep, I half sat up against the wall smoking endless cigaretts and staring into the ceiling. The feeling from earlier had not parted from me. How will I ever live without that feeling? How can life be of any fun now?
Questions, questions, the only thing running thru my mind was questions. No answers arose.
Ah! This is useless! I gently slided Lucy in the sky with diamonds of my chest and tucked her in the blanket. I pulled up my blue denim jeans and pulled my t-shirt on, gave her a gentle kiss then opened the door and walked out in the early morning.

Deep inside my heart, I know I can't escape

-The lakes ought to be nice this time a year, said my mother. Up in the forrest shire where I come from, they have that peculiur smell of rotten leafs and a mirror surface is only ruptured by the willows branches scraping along. We should take a car ride up there one of these days, she said.

-When we where kids, she said looking out the kitchen window gently tapping the teacup with the inside of her designer ring. We sewd feathers onto our trousers and burned our bra's. We fought against the inherited prejudice of our parents.

It was a lazy saturday, shrouded in rainfog clouds with an oblique beige light. The clock on the wall silently ticked and tacked. My little nephew was slumbring on the sofa.

-I was in the riots yesterday, I told her.

A vague smile spread across her face, still looking out the window.

-The city had a strange feeling mother, like the morning after someone got murdered. It was thick in the air. All the kids wrapped in rags and throwing cobblestones and build barricades. There was an overwhelming feeling of what ever it was that we were doing, it was the right thing to do. Like that man on the LP-cover launching a rock on a empty street, we to felt justified. We were fighting, not really sure for what, but fighting. Our futile attempts to make a difference were grand at time. And when the news images cool down over the decades we will still have the fires on our retinas. Like the berekley student riots of your time mother.

-You see son, she said while cleaning of the table. We never believed in anything special, oh yes there was peace and love in all of us. But that wasn't the most important thing you see. We wanted to be a part of something unique, something that would stain the pages of history with it's greatness. No one remembers the generations of bankers, ivy-legue students and average people. You might be viewed as a punk today, but your actions and the likes of you will always be there in the mind of people when they hear riots.

The sun was fading in the hiden horrizon and the wet asphalt perspirated heat.