By Stephen House
i had been drawn into a conversation i hadn’t understood a word of, and it had seemed so poetic, so hypnotic, so removed from the hell of the moment and the moment before, i’d not only become obsessed by the wild interaction between the two humans i was watching, but physically drawn into it. like a person possessed i had shuffled closer and closer through the throngs on the sidewalk towards the lips of those that spoke until my face was almost against theirs. ‘i have become a part of you two talking; of all you say and who you are, of this of why in everything’. and i laughed and murmured lost in the world of sheer manic being, and i danced with them, around them, oozing joy of how they are, of how we all are. and then it was dim and black with the pushing and shouting, and the memories of what existed before; and the crowd swept over me, screaming, and shoving as they grabbed at who i am and was. and i realized i had again become dysfunctional in the eyes of those surrounding me.