1. Will the gentleman in the green suit please stand up?
Invitations to Hell's Lair are RSVP only. You'll eventually get to hell - when you die -, no questions asked. You'll then end up with les autres, which, as we all know, is hell in its utmost perfection and simplicity, and that'll be the end of it till eternity. Getting into Hell's Lair, however, requires special invitation, even though there are only two requirements to get one: to partake of the Original Sin and be willing. Oh, and there's a dress code too; but that will be decided upon arrival (or possibly later; anything can happen - you're not the master here) at the front desk of Hell's Lair, at the whim of the Devil's busboys (who may very well be one of those unnerving little demons you see in the street, by day, wearing striped suits, looking better than they should or women who don't have cellulite - modern-day version of a goat's hoof - but are all alike, male and female, by night).
If you walk into Hell's Lair, invitation in hand and your non-refundable bus ticket back to the city where nights are red, you'll be shown into a room for screening. Everything works at random and it's pointless to try and figure out the Devil's order in that room as to discern God's mysterious ways.
There's then a door with a sign in bold letters saying PEACE - THIS IS NO EXIT.
Open that door and you'll probably feel the same as me. No pain hurts, only truth really does. Because there's at last the peace of the scorched earth and the dry lands of shedless tears. Beyond the threshold are the nightless days when time finally stands still, and where the wind blows from the East and warmed my cheeks. These are the days when I climbed a sand dune in the desert to lie down at its top to watch a sun that never sinks beneath the horizon. It's peace, at last - peace you craved for but never wanted. Too late, you're in hell now.
This is peace to the very bones of my skeleton, peace as barren and void as the desert before me, but which tells me a story - the story of me life as read by the Devil: an unabridged and completely revised and uptaded story whose beginning is always its end. A story where despair joins hope in a childless marriage. I take in that sheer nothingness as if it were everything there ever was; like a drunkard sipping tasteless colourless alcohol.
A flap of the wings of a distant angel - green-eyed, because that's the colour of hope, so they say, and with long elegant fingers on pale white hands (but holding no harpsichord; music being pointless here) - goes unnoticed to my closed eyes. The faintest movement of its wings carries a breeze, though: a warm breeze blowing from the East, softly (oh, so softly!) caressing the skin on my face and my eyelashes on its way.
And from a speaker in that room (invisible when I entered; invisible to you too) there's a voice: "Hell's Lair kindly informs its undistinguished guests that there's a dress code that needs to be enforced". And the doors are opened again, the breeze coming from the West now, and you can see the people in the lobby, like attendees to a conference in a hotel. "Green is the colour of hope, so will the gentleman in the green suit please stand up?"
He's shown out, but somehow I end up in the street before he does.
If you walk into Hell's Lair, invitation in hand and your non-refundable bus ticket back to the city where nights are red, you'll be shown into a room for screening. Everything works at random and it's pointless to try and figure out the Devil's order in that room as to discern God's mysterious ways.
There's then a door with a sign in bold letters saying PEACE - THIS IS NO EXIT.
Open that door and you'll probably feel the same as me. No pain hurts, only truth really does. Because there's at last the peace of the scorched earth and the dry lands of shedless tears. Beyond the threshold are the nightless days when time finally stands still, and where the wind blows from the East and warmed my cheeks. These are the days when I climbed a sand dune in the desert to lie down at its top to watch a sun that never sinks beneath the horizon. It's peace, at last - peace you craved for but never wanted. Too late, you're in hell now.
This is peace to the very bones of my skeleton, peace as barren and void as the desert before me, but which tells me a story - the story of me life as read by the Devil: an unabridged and completely revised and uptaded story whose beginning is always its end. A story where despair joins hope in a childless marriage. I take in that sheer nothingness as if it were everything there ever was; like a drunkard sipping tasteless colourless alcohol.
A flap of the wings of a distant angel - green-eyed, because that's the colour of hope, so they say, and with long elegant fingers on pale white hands (but holding no harpsichord; music being pointless here) - goes unnoticed to my closed eyes. The faintest movement of its wings carries a breeze, though: a warm breeze blowing from the East, softly (oh, so softly!) caressing the skin on my face and my eyelashes on its way.
And from a speaker in that room (invisible when I entered; invisible to you too) there's a voice: "Hell's Lair kindly informs its undistinguished guests that there's a dress code that needs to be enforced". And the doors are opened again, the breeze coming from the West now, and you can see the people in the lobby, like attendees to a conference in a hotel. "Green is the colour of hope, so will the gentleman in the green suit please stand up?"
He's shown out, but somehow I end up in the street before he does.
posted by Shardul at 4:08 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home