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Deluge

Leia

North Adelaide, Australia

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Wall Art

Stationery

Artist's Description

I look into my own eyes.
How long had I been at the basin? I struggle to remember why I’m even there.
I make myself decide that it doesn’t matter.
The wheels start turning and I’m kicked into motion. My unconscious mind is running this program, void of any deliberate intention.
I lock the front gate. I don’t remember walking to it. The crude smell of burnt coffee pollutes my nostrils. The clouds look heavy again. Again? When was the last time I observed the clouds? Is my head that empty? I wish.
The wind swindles my breath, and by the time it returns, I’ve lost my will to scream.
Last night’s dreams invade my thoughts.
Following futile protest, one of my front teeth was being extracted to donate to someone who needed it more. During the operation, my blood was being drained – but only so that I was too weak to escape the imminent flood that would kill many, caused by the explosion of a large ticking cartoon style time bomb.
That’s some messed up shit.

Thoughts of the dreams dissolve as I consciously step one foot in front of the other. My directions are mechanical yet deliberate, concentrated and heavy.
The sound of a truck reversing catches my attention, growing in volume and pitch as if an escalating warning of impending doom. The sound dominates and I lose all other senses…..
BANG – I awake suddenly and whack the alarm clock. I’m exhausted. Had I been sleeping? Where am I, how am I in bed when I was just on the road? Are there two of me? Drunk with confusion I lock the gate. Déjà vu and disagreeable familiarity unnerve me. As I walk I analyse where I am, how I got here and what I possibly dreamt lastnight.
How can trauma affect reality? Why would it cause me to dream inside a dream? Am I the only one who has awoken and left the house more than once today?

Relief grabs me like the sound of a shrill doorbell as I realise that the immediate is reality; the prior minutes just a dream.
I sigh orgasmically as I regain the power of my own consciousness. I struggle to remember a better feeling than that of the identification of a dream. I don’t think anything has felt as good as knowing I have control once again. How cruel that for a short time I was trapped in a realm where I didn’t even know this power existed.
My head rests back on the pillow as if to complain of growing tired of waking exhausted. I am actually growing tired of waking, period.
Morning routine ensues.
I pull my shoes from under the coffee table as I absent-mindedly wipe moisture from my brow. It’s raining. And not worthwhile rain, but that annoying, insignificant rain which underhandedly seems to soak you from the inside out.
I search for my umbrella in the cupboard and look to the sky, shielding my eyes.
I see nothing.

Artwork Comments

  • abefleur
  • Pete Chennell
  • Arthur Chambers
  • Popular Mr
  • Michman
  • Michman
  • Alan Rodmell
  • stephen  jones
  • Damian
  • Karen Cougan
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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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