Golden Rose, The Colour Of The Dream I Had

A portable cassette player. Axis: Bold As Love, the album, on tape. Played back to back, all the way there, and all the way back, and even as I sat in the car on my own when I didn’t want to have to pretend to like these people anymore because the lying and pretence and shameless deception was unbearable. I don’t even want to move. Let alone be closer to these people. I don’t like them. There is negativity. Horrible places infested with slugs full of cold and damp and tiled kitchens and no soft, snuggly carpets to keep my feet warm. This place isn’t as nice as where we are now. If we move I want to move to another plane where it’s colourful and positive and dreamy. Thank you for giving me One Rainy Wish to take me away from here. Misty Blue. Love. What is he singing about? I feel like I’m floating. Like nothing is real, except this sadness, a melancholy in this dream of misty blue raindrops and this vision of reverie eternal which will never grow old inside my imagination and the dream scape that this sound has created within me. Cycles. Circles. An infinite circle of colours that will never end while I live in this dream, where I want to stay forever, never returning to the jittering, nervous anxiety of the world that lives outside the walls of this hope. Reality has become my enemy. A guitar makes a sound, then another sound, then another and another and another, played by this man high on some mind altering powder and these sounds connect me to a place that feels more real and natural and hopeful to me than anything that my enemy has ever allowed me to feel. My enemy tells me that this is a dream state, unreal, and the melancholy hits me again as I realise that I cannot escape this voice that brings me back to the grey tones of the world in which I exist. Here there is life, freedom, hope and the only reminder of the world out there is the itchy feeling these rounded shields create on the surface of my ears which I do not want to notice because once acknowledged, the voice of my enemy will return again to remind me that this is not real. This is a painful dream which will end and cannot be relied upon to protect me forever. I want to find this place out there and live in this place forever. Here, where melancholy and sadness are things of beauty. Where rain and dreams and hope are expressed not through words but through feeling, through the cosmic expression of a feeling that transcends the reality that I have come to regard as my enemy. My enemy pales into oblivion and I can live here for all time, full of this feeling. It lives inside me now, protecting me from the ugliness. It reminds me of the beauty of all things. Of sadness. Of melancholy. Of all things. It stole my heart away.

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