The Blueprint of my Hometown

Time is running out and I am at last realizing that there has been a black and white filter altering the first version of my town. That being said, the original account is no longer available in its full life edition. What has been recorded in memories, pictures, written proofs, and so on are all valid for the sake of this account.

Alexa? Siri? My dad told me that you don’t speak my language, that you can’t understand what I’m saying and that it needs explaining. It’s 4:33 on your clock, another red light. Perhaps green. Puppy’s sleeping so, I thought I’d tour you around; shake up the grounds.

So I brought my friend to give me a hand. It’s Mr. Hawkskin from Hawkesbury. “So you see here, all that valley covered with light is our kingdom. Little ants are working really hard day and nights over there.” “What about that part in the shade?” “That’s the sheep’s cemetery, you must never go there.” “But I thought we could do whatever we wanted?” “Yes but that’s where toxic Phoneutrias hide. When they bite, their venom violently attacks the nervous system causing irregular heartbeat. They are extremely poisonous to humans; the deadliest of all spiders. It’s very scary, really spooky.” Things come and go quite unexpectedly here. “Goodbye Mr.Hawkskin, see you next time.” And up for a fly he went.

I work at La Maison des Artistes. It vibes quite the good flow here: I look to the left and find an old photograph, I look to the right and find a collection of paintbrushes, down over there I see footprints, and up over here I see a shimmering light. With the tips of my fingers, I caress the woodgrain of my dresser. At first I’m reading braille and then it gets weaved with numbers, and equals, and divisions. My hand passes through its mathematics; the X marks the spot.

I delicately open the old drawer of an even older dresser. I hear the tic-tac but the bells didn’t ring yet. To my great astonishment, what do I see!? It is a black little notebook. Inside, I find a tiny envelop with the scribbles of my name on it. I opened the little envelop and to my great surprise what do I find: twenty-thousand-dollars! I hit it twice in a row! It’s good fortune. Luck shines upon us; it’s rather a blessing than luck.

Over there, that’s the lake. It’s also where the ballet school is. I have many swan friends. Then, out of the sudden, I flew away to explore the other side of things.

Actually, we all heard about the great beginning many times already; of how I grew up in a wonderful and nurturing family who absolutely loved me and where everything started perfectly, and so on. There seems to be no need for repeating the same old story over again. It had all been said and registered already. Have you even fallen on the chance to read “The Vivaldi Moment”? No worries, I understand how harsh it is to get our hands on an unpublished book. Although, it does offer a somewhat truthful version about my debut, perhaps I should point out that some untold scandals had happened. Actually, after the episode of the great old pine forest, my meeting with Capitaine Lieutenant D’Artagnan was not such a merry adventure for all along my son was mistreated! It happened every time I had my back turned. And I was a poor sorry little wimp with no backbones and no voice!

So, I am here today to bring forth the untold truth of what happens after the Vivaldi Moment. But first, I must say that I feel appalled since I now have to beg with my white gloves every single time I miss a little something that has discretely walked away from me; unjustly stolen. In addition to the fact that I have to earnestly ask for charity, after, I must patiently wait, only to find out IF things will unfold as must be. And if not, I need to stay shut.

It’s true that I walked the desert land in the early mornings, and I witnessed many sunrises elevate from the opposite mountain chain. It was a sanctuary of peace where I silently practiced the great art of Yogis. One day, under the burning heat, ought to be wed in order to perform some administrative duties, I shed noisy tears when I was brought down The Strip to the chapel, and it was not at all glamorous. Please note that I was never able to remember neither the date, nor wear the ring. Who in their right mind would dare to wear an altered ring? Never in the first place have I designed it with a diamond, as it was supposed to be only all plain silver, nothing else. This explains how I was forced to leave everything behind, including the memories engraved in the pictures of that phase of my life. This one is a rare case that deflected from the course of actions:

I kissed the beach down on Denman’s Island before I finally accosted the shores of the St. Laurence River, running my way against the south-westerly current, from the Atlantic Ocean. The ride was rough, but I miraculously escaped “The Perfect Storm”.

Montreal was very welcoming to faraway voyagers like myself. The city was filled with life, excitement, festivals and events. I stayed there for a little while before hitting it off back to the old fashioned log house.

Then, quite unexpectedly, in the open sea, one January, I saw a shimmering light that revolved endlessly and it whispered the sweetness of a true bond. So, I did what anyone would do in their right mind; I took it, and since then, it is safely kept in my pocket. What I found represents the world to me; a magical sea shell echoing infinity.

But what if that world does not want to be here with me? Then later, there shall be no more wild horses running in the field of golds. The deers, skunks, and rabbits would be gone. Many of those takeaways can be attributed to a pickpocket, and in one sentence; the closest thing that my heart would beat to, may perhaps, remain the pearl for my lonely eyes; like a blessing in disguise.

What? You heard it too? Yes, well I hear it a couple times a day. It’s real deep. It comes from the West. When I climb to the sunlit summit of that mountain top I can see it. It’s not even gray, I mean it’s pitch black. Well, I would say… it’s hard to tell. I mean, it could take a few years before it gets here, if it ever gets here. But yeah, it depends where you are. For my friend Sip, it started raining on him already. It’s not as sunny outside his window. But he doesn’t feel it. He’s Supersonic, electric. With him everything is double vision like I can see him see me. But he doesn’t know it, plays hypocrite, plays Hippo’s Script! Like if I can’t guess it, like where is it? It’s me Kermit! Play hide and seek with my limits, but if you cross it, got to kiss it. You get it? You need a permit, come catch it.

I then waited at the small airport for nine months in the hawk nest. There are a few little words I learned in there, and its bones are as delicate as a chick, that I must stammer it lit as if it were from an unknown alphabet.

My land is burning. Feel it shacking from the desert to the sea? It’s opposite, it’s attracted, it’s thirsty, needs the water. You got me open, I take the pen, I read the lyrics, I write the story, it’s urban legend, it’s from the nature, and it’s getting richer. It’s all going to happen. It’s falling from the sky into your eyes so you can see it. I’m going for it, burst the limit, I pass straight through it and Bam! Master the rules like a pro, then, you can break them like an artist. By the tip of your toes, tic tac toe. See you at the show at 8 on the clock: Infinity’s locked. Pull yours with the string if you hear a Ding. You know where to go. Tik Tok on the clock, 7:47 the sky is cracking open. Hatch a baby chicken. I’m off dancing, or painting, or writing, or praying. I’m crying; it’s all going to happen. It started cracking, it’s coming. The sky is graying. Amen.

In all honesty, a few months ago, my land has been taken away from me, sold for peanuts at some street corners down Sesame Street. The American television series is still on, but is now taking place on native lands where rests sensitive vital issues. Sit back on your chairs, relax and be ready to take a spin.

It has all been quite the long jump, my best achievement ranked forty-nine on the mark for now I live in the presbytery by an old abandoned church; I am going Halal and last night my friendly roommate kindly woke me up to politely advised me that a pregnant lady who lost her right mind wishes for me to depart by tomorrow for she fears the virus for her sake and of her offspring.

Perhaps art is where my home is; home is where my heart beats. It drinks in the holy waters of the earth to depict the secrets held in the deepest oceans of Mother Nature. My mermaid friend promised me that our castle down south should be ready promptly. She whispered “in May”.

My friends, in due honesty, now that I have unrolled the fringe of my carpet before your eyes, if you are not pleased, I am sorry to ask that you please leave. I will leave it up to you.