VII. Waltz macabre

Chimeras. Phantasmagoria. Extraordinary workings perpetuated through the easy whimsy of sleep.

Everywhere is waltzing. I am neck-deep in whirling dancers, bodies romantic and twisted, soaked in accessories to push back at death ever-encroaching: bustles and corsets, top hats and monocles, black lace and stockings, coattails and parasols. White-painted faces grin eerily but with glee. They spin around me, the dervishes, with the music’s tempo racing faster, faster, ever faster. So much fabric afloat! Men and women come pushing violently out of the black-and-white past, not a speck of color on them. They speak with either antiquated affectations or the colloquialisms of the present, so that I am deceived doubly and in reverse. Glittery glasses of milk-green absinthe and thimblefuls of opium are sending sparklers ‘round my brain… the skeleton faces are more beautiful than anything I’ve seen since I first shot out of my mother’s womb and fixed by eyes upon the world.

As the dancers swirl, petticoats flying, skulls grinning, I feel – feel first and then see – the heads coming off. With practiced fingers they pluck at invisible eyehooks fastened to their necks, and off pop their bodies’ tops! No blood, no gore; the neck stump is a flat, melon-colored disk, uniform like the molded plastic of a doll. As natural as anything, the head is then tucked in the crook of the arm as they continue to one-two, dip and twirl.

BOOM! ~Change heads with yer partner~

BOOM! ~Hook arms, thrust yer head ceilin’ high~

BOOM! ~Spin left ana’ spin right, ana’ swoon, ana’ next partner~

BOOM! ~Begin’er all over again~

Deliriously! Cellos moan, violins crescendo. The dancers click their heels, blow hotly into held faces, and heads wink out to nothing in the spangled evening air. The music cuts. The dance is done.

What a waltz, what a ball, what marvelous folk! I want to join them, be just like them. Storming out from the annals of history, costumed against death. Laughing and wheeling with the ultimate freedom of headlessness.
 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 
I awake. My head lies like a leaden brick on the pillow.
 

~ by kingzoko on May 24, 2015.

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