Member Poem

Not again but this scares me freaks me.
It’s not that I’m being just paranoid.
The eyes, that scanner of the external world can’t actually deaden themselves to what may seem or most abundantly alight from thin air.
Faces, odd coincidences,
out of the blue sky manifest, that have the ultimately eerie effect from every signpost, every compass, inner hint one hardly ever encounters.
Then only strangely to appear before those eyes that may recoil or perhaps recall.
When a vision no matter how mysterious is taunting one perplexed individual such as myself.
That face again this time it’s what I see seems so brazenly bold and in my face.
In my eyes in that creepy scary movie type of engagement when and where sinister plots
are the cue to the unearthly beyond dimensions and convenient category.
It’s the oddball thing with classification.
Maybe it’s a covert cover for things outside what is blissfully referred to as normal human encounters or experiences.
“It’s  the face of that lady again.. she is throwing piercing  glances at me.
As if she can telepathically read the depth of a person like me.”
My willingness to face the out of this world through my eyes  and to feel there is a multi layered notion named reality can be a heavy load.
As it happens I have withdrawn into myself to probe profound quests.
The  way perception can be underpinned by that  beguiling magic known as overblown plot.
We name it fascinatingly as the  “The Inside.”
I have withdrawn only to ultimately engage  the outside spheres of experience.
With a more munificent sixth sense of self that may intrigue and magnetise everything.
“Is this the same point I walked pass this morning …. the sights are either shifting ground with me … maybe I’m shifting ground with it.”
These eyeballs  of mine this time out unlike the last event in prose where the ears might be the weak access point for
the mischievous in my life.
They might be the harbingers  of schemes upsetting.
It could be the other way around schematically but that might be  where imaginations rule.
And now there seems to be a very tangible tension on this day.
It has to be admitted by me that my circumstances have been transformative in the otherworldly fixation .. obsession, fetish, preoccupation with things envisioned but never quite seen.
“I’m being looked at … a stare.
An embarrassed smirk.
An adult face turning red with the exchange of fleeting furtive glances. “
I walked with an incredible haste for whatever reason.
I feel this symbolic highly nuanced, resonating recall.
Turbulent floods of the amorphous kind.
Like  a dedicated musician, artist, magician, manifestor who attempts to nail the project in order to
encapsulate.
They say sight is this empowering notion.
The problem is what we absorb is coloured by a multitude of complexity.
“So very very sorry… thought you were someone else!”
Who was  that other person ?
Today is a mirror.
Mirror on the past, the future.
Is everything I’m seeing right now a reflection?
Thoughts gush like sinewy streams yet are a bridge in some way to menageries I contemplate on this day.
But not exclusively to this day.
A certain stasis has been reached between the wonderful woman of my dreams and our further engagement.
After a prolonged and very edifying affair the expressions relating to sight replicated themselves perhaps in a convulsed fashion.
No points of departure were evident. But
this exceptional woman a philosopher and I found ourselves looking at things in a skewed and hurdle ridden fashion.
That is  on an ongoing basis without any relief.
Every conceivable type of thing or things.
“Something dropped at my feet … my feet another potential metaphor.
No, just that imagination of mine.”
But one can’t put down  alone everything to one’s power of visualising and that surreal card trick that is to dupe the mind.
To fox, fix, conjure in a whimsical though mildly menacing degree what the visuals  perceive life to be.
Constantly looking at my feet for more than signs of wear.
“I looked up and then did a visual swoop.
Sweep maybe even.
Let’s see. I said with a straight face.”
And I have been noticing certain phenomena.
“The lady’s face in a pool I nearly waded through?
Is it possible to notice one’s surroundings only with the power and contents of the mental disposition?
Did this lady actually speak from the mirror image captured?
I’m now mixing up dimensions.”
“THINGS”  are popping up too conveniently.
A telephone kiosk in quaint shades and tints.
Figures are starting to
to dovetail and silhouette
A plethora of terms and adages at play.
“Solemn people like players almost dart, stop start, they crane then turn their necks.
Shivers, another torrid rush, they fly past.”
And that lady has a double?”
There are now two of them.
Mark you.
I must suppress this dialogue of dread, that undercurrent of this, for all intents and purpose a petrifying plot with dare I say it shards of even that dark giggle and guffaw.
Now my hat has blown off.
The hat I’m chasing after with gusts inclement.
An exhibition, lightning race on my part into the sombre, sullen, sulky day.
Was it all light droll relief?
“Your hair and hat are leading you into macabre enclaves.”
The opulent  language and stifled chortle.
Yes, the twang too.”
Extremely academic.
A tall sinewy erect man dressed in a drab attire winked at me.
He found this writer’s plight amusing.

More boisterous elements entered the fray.
The expressions on  the vocal express evoked howls.
An all-seeing world surrounding me.
As well as a catalytic stare from every quarter.
I’m being looked at and I’m reciprocating.
A whirlwind event with denouement in suspense.
Nothing showed any significant signs of abating.
Some tarpaulin encompassing
a flotilla of stares in a misty grey day section  of town.
It  would otherwise be occupying itself with the less than transcendental.
“What… what is this I’m seeing?
The two enigmatic women enveloping me.
Definitely the eyes can’t lie at close proximity.”
To myself in a fit of gasps and grasps.
“We are very shy to an extent.
You must have this sense of being followed.
This is quite personal but your partner with whom you have been having a slow exile from.
She has written this script about the eye and its impact on relationships.
For some it’s HEARING.
The play she has written and the local actors/actresses gave the impression of following you.
They were and including us.”
Clouds descended over my organs of vision.
At the cusp of a whine or whinge.
And the mind at a train wreck platform juxtaposition.
A taut squeak in that voice  I had left.
Shakes and shivers in recrudescence.
The expression “I see” loitering.
“You probably weren’t even cognisant of your loved one’s side project.
Besides in depth philosophy.”
Both women continued.
I wasn’t even dimly aware that this was the case.
At this point I have vivid visions.
Circulating in spiral cascades.
“There is a role in this play which on the basis of the character profile would suit you admirably.”
A poignant pause from these unique ladies.
“Whilst there is no onus on you to accept.
We stress that.
Your partner said you wouldn’t actually object to a light audition with minimum privacy intrusion.”
Hmmm, indeed but I am now glued to the spot.
“I’d have to think it over.
But I’m kind of tempted.”
Nervously I replied.
“We think you should.”
The ladies spoke in unison.
“My darling  I think you should too.”
It was the sound of my partner's voice.
“Look around you please.”
The man with the  opulent voice
I referred to earlier had crept up
behind with a tape recorder
and sample of my partner’s voice.
“Ha ha ha. I bet you are a trifle perplexed.
IF YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN.”
He said blissfully.
“I think I have SEEN  everything in this world now.”
My quavering voice croaked.