вторник, 18 юни 2013 г.

The dead of night

I believe the Moon sees a lot more than the Sun does.

She sees the world when it is most unreal, and most real. It sees people as they stand, stripped of all makeup, naked, in their homes. It sees their love-making, the violent fights, the silent murders, the awful, painful conversations, the silent anguish. It hears the slow mumbles of those, who barely fall into  a nightmarish sleep, the rambles of people, which they only speak to themselves. It knows every secret. It knows, when the lovers' knock on the unfaithful ones' doors. It sees the runaway rebels, it watches over the contemplating midnight walkers.

She also sees the fashion parades of the extravagant party-goers. It sees the mindless fucking of the drunken who barely know each others names. It sees people when they wear the most makeup and the clothes they would never wear in front of their mothers - those looks, we only put on when we know no one will be watching us closely, the looks which show who we truly dream of being were we to become worthy of a pedestal. The Moon hears howls of pleasure, screams of drugged horrors, the crying of the lonely dumped damsel.

The darkness of night makes us put no show on, it brings out all the dark sides, we try to evade in the garish sunlight, it shows us that when there is no sunshine, no false pretense of happiness is needed. It is the time of passion, the time for emotions, for writing, saying, mumbling, moaning, crying out nonsense. It offers a cover, a blanket, beneath which we can unravel. Where we feel safe to bring out all the things we try to hide during the day. It brings out the transvestites of both sexuality and mind. The secret double-life outsiders of mind, who, during the day pretend to be completely average, and during the night unleash their madness in a night club or strip club, or simply in front of their own self. The dark passenger. Its a relief for everyone to be free.

Because night truly is the time for freedom.

And it is this freedom, which The Moon sees. This genuinety, which we would never allow ourselves in the light, The Moon sees. And it accepts it. It accepts the werewolf, and the transvestite, the cries, the moans, the pain, the pleasure, the alcohol, the love, the hate, the fear, the courage to be yourself.

I wish, for my own sake, that one day, we would allow the light of day to see what, for now, we only allow for the moon's silent, glowing, understanding eyes. I wish, that one day, we would be free.