A crack, and an echo, and the rain falls, and a voice, and the rain, and the silence. Music, and the rhythm of the rain, and his voice comes through in radio signal, in phase and in words and in music and he talks and I listen and I wait, and I wait for the music. The drums beat the rhythm of the rain through the rooms and through the walls and he plays, and his voice comes through:
He told me he would be back, and he turned and he walked away, into the pouring rain: the tears of the universe falling in syncopated rhythm. The guitar howled like a wolf into the night, and my legs melted into the sustain. His voice echoed through the notes through the rain and I watched him cross the street in the pouring rain through the window of my apartment. A repeated phrase ebbed and flowed through the rain and modulated and phased and sank and rose through my brain and the guitar howled into the night, and released into the pouring rain and my brain fell through my eyes and the notes rang into the rainy night and followed him across the street and I fell into the flood, and he was gone, and the guitar played louder and faster: in crescendo and fortissimo and climbed and climbed to its climax and rang out into the pouring rain and he was gone, and I sank into the flood.
The city rises around me in ancient monument to a sphinx long dead. The fossils of lost loves and hopes and dreams cycle through the dusty streets leaving nothing behind them but empty and hollow spines of what once was ours.
I feel the lightning in the notes and every electron and every wave and every particle coursing through the air and my skin is alive. My mind is melting through the night into the rain and I am following him: chasing him through the night and through the rain and through the streets, and I've lost him and I am melting. The music follows me into the night and the crash of the thunder and the flash of the lightning is every note that rings into the night and into the rain, and I run after him into the night, and I've lost him in the rain.
I can feel the emotion, taste it on the wind, and taste the music in the universe and I'm drowning in the lightning and the thunder and the guitar sings to me through the night and through the rain and he's gone and I don't know where I am. My eyes sing colours to me into the city: colours I can taste and colours I can smell and colours I can feel on my skin and my skin is alive and my nerves sing colours to me: colours flash through the rain into the night and colours follow me like a stalking synaesthetic wolf and the rain softens the city and I'm walking on melted legs in liquid city as the rain falls and the guitar howls into the night.
The streets run like rivers around my legs; cigarette butts and neon lights fall through the buildings. His eyes burn in my mind and I want to drown my soul in the hollow beauty. I walk the streets straining to hear his voice; the city silence of traffic and drunken teenagers drowns him; my legs move on their own, as if they knew where they were going. They follow an ancient path laid out for them by long dead kings through streets whose names are forgotten by those who walk them, and monuments and statues whose inscriptions are long eroded. The city falls to ruin around me, and cats pick rotting meat from the rubble of the streets, empty pyramids in the sand lying face down offering themselves to the night, wide open squares of desolation in memory of wars once fought and wars once lost and wars once won, and the smell of gasoline coming through the rain and choking.
I stop and I smoke and the rain falls on my cigarette. It's 1968, and I'm falling through youth. My cigarette melts in the rain. It's 1973, and my mind is melting. The city is stretched out before me. It's 1975 and I can see where I'm going. It's 1979 and my skin is alive. It's 1981 and I can feel the colour on my skin. It's 1984 and I'm breathing in ice. It's 1987 and I'm facing myself in a mirror. It's 1989 and everything's changing. It's 1992 and I can taste the wind. It's 1994 and the gasoline vapours choke the wind. It's 1997 and the music follows me. It's 1999 and everything's changing. It's 2004 and the city is crumbling. It's 2007 and I don't know where I am. It's 2010 and the guitar howls into the night. It's 2012 and I'm falling. It's 2015 and the sky touches me in my dreams. It's 2019 and the rhythm of the rain. It's 2063 and everything's changing. It's 2154 and I'm alive in visions. It's 2373 and the stars are talking to us. It's 2626 and a voice comes through. It's 3054 and I wait. It's 3473 and an ancient sphinx dies. It's 3999 and everything's changing. It's 1973 and the guitar howls into the night and the city is stretched before me and I can taste the universe and my skin is alive with colour and feeling and the emotions of the universe are stretched before me, howling into the night and through the rain and everything is stretched out before me and I can see everything and I can know everything and I know where all the streets go and where everyone is and I can taste their emotions and my skin is alive with the unity of the universe and the city is one and the guitar howls into the night and a voice comes through.
“This is where your life begins.”
He turned and walked away. He walked away through the city, spread out before him and before me. All the streets leading somewhere and I don't know where I am and he's walking out there through the rain and into the night and my body is melting like a cigarette in the rain and the music is following me through the night. I can see the decaying city: all the desolate colours and all the crumbling streets and all the dying alleys and all the cats on rainsoaked pavements and all the people with newspapers over their heads. I can see it all, stretching out before me. I can see everything and my skin is alive with the colour of the city, but he told me he would be back and he turned and walked away into the night and into the rain and I can't find him so I turn and I walk away into the night and into the rain and I turn towards home, and the guitar howls like a wolf into the night, crying out to the cold and uncaring darkness.
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