Demente'
The somewhat cold, yet crisp breeze blew over the old man’s unexpected face. The creases in his forehead smoothed out as he aimlessly looked upon the window. A breath drew in his diaphragm and lingered frivolously towards the door. The door looked as if it were the exact opposite of what it was. It was dirty and worn in as it matched the house well, although the door itself had not been touched in many years.
At one time the man’s unnatural pale tone and withered skin was aglow with subconscious dreams and short termed goals. He once worked for the most renowned underground rock band in his time carrying amplifiers, Les Pauls, and an assortment of drums. The fresh mind that was once in aging care taker found himself up many nights attending the showcasing of manipulated echoes, solid drums, and screeching vocals kept him alive. Without even a movement in his body he seemed to find a way of getting every emotion out as he delicately put his thoughts to a physical rhythm. A beautiful reaction was sentenced to his body as he flew up and down, wailing the dome of which his thoughts rest and the roots of which kept him stable to the eccentric sounds. Not a drug in the climate’s perception could match such euphoria as his eardrums could capture.
The two worlds of the people he so incoherently shared thoughts and ideas with and the makers of the never ending anthems to his presence could never cross in his mind as the same. As he knew it these men were his familiar acquaintances when they indulged them selves in brainstorms and their dealing of the stress and stain their performances caused and were nothing short of gods and mythical talent when these performances were in action.
He never let the fabric of time fool him, as any other person would have been. Assuring one’s self that within such a long spectrum there must be something better, maybe equally, appealing of the music he once worked for. The thought crossed yet not negotiated in his mind became the reason for his solitude.
To take a step, reexamining the civil state of the idea you had just met. Could you imagine? Imagine the once charismatic light at the end of an empty darkened tunnel. A light that that would only be set to a beat on a reoccurring, yet perceived as seldom for such brilliant schedule.
For what it is worth the old man’s life was fulfilling for any untouched soul, but as for someone who witnessed the meaning of life for himself. He soon wrought in his mind as whenever the memory of that music played.
While real life was going on he continued in a state of almost unconsciousness, yet almost grieving, at the moment he once endured. His mind soon became to resemble that of which a recorder to only be turned at such times as who he worked for came together in a tightly packed and poorly lit venue. Uniting together with a charming quality, strumming and percussing, humming and bobbing.
To a fellow attendee the music that was playing was described somewhere between crazy and exciting. As for the once young character would have answered life. But to only bestow another hidden issue that this was indeed not his life. The music he heard playing with such enthusiasm as a rush of cocaine was so much better than the true life he lived, soon he forgot about everything else.
A very long period ago, before the gig of servicing such an appraisal, the old man had a significant other. She was of few of the porcelain skinned in her Latino family. Yet the darkness of her glistening mane and gentle face was as youthful as anyone’s perception of beauty was entitled too.
The two joined together for the love of the cultured music that crept out from El Paso. They spent many nights putting the action to salsa better than any other two organisms could.
To have thought that the band’s merchandise that was entrancing the man’s persona stumbled upon him one mischievous night with his love. With an absence from home the flashbacking youth and company, stirred up from usual teenage actions, redirected them selves to a small yet enticing club.
The band that was performing made it obvious to it’s first attempt of playing to a list of bodies. But as one’s messy sound hit another the songs began to take off effortlessly capturing the crowd. Being noticed for the way he moved the man found himself discussing the feeling of how the song set upon him to the players after the show. Tuned in with his sentiment the band agreed to ask him to share the excitement of their upcoming tour.
That was now a distant, very distant, memory as the mind of the beholder sat resting to the tune that never seemed to stop playing in his mind. The breathe made it’s way back to the old man and the visions in his mind projected out next to him.
Some were animals, some were people, some objects, some lights, and some just sounds. All though they all understood the man’s past and all acknowledged the sound of the music that the old man was still held captive of. The scenes his