Califactor

This city was like an octagon when I first arrived, the sides of it hard and eight. Why anyone would ever need eight of anything is beyond me. But the city has since changed and these street people are more than just street people now and are more life and blood and scenery. They have come to find a place where the clouds rest, contingent upon a meticulously calculated number of people holding their breath at the same time. The ethereal pause of breath leaves for one to contemplate what statistics were in play for such a lucky creation that led to this. This country was a pioneer country left by anonymous hands for sons and daughters of parents whose crow’s feet contain pure, unfiltered sunbeams at the cracks inspired by loving contemplation.

Strange to think that this pivotal factor would never be a Callifactor to people like her, and her, and Illika, and me save for the time that forces to be reflected upon after one too many an erosive transaction. You find a K-point in your life at some point and all too quickly and oppositely, you realize that things don’t have to be that hard. And you can tell yourself that it’s okay to feel things and to feel easy. “Oliver, take that off your face” now. Because you are Oliver, and he is you and there is no need to be carrying around such things. That it’s okay to revel in a joy zone, that you can find the zest point, and you can climb the trees. You mold the clay, and you can tend the bees. You can take life and make it sweet and you can be the sugar baron on the dance panel that everyone always wondered about.

The sunbeams of this world can reflect through your morning window to make a stained glassed mural on your floor and when they ask why it is that you’ve fractals on your carpet, you can kindly and gently tell them it is “Orphism – the relationship between colour, abstract form, and music” and that they would understand it better if just one juicy bar of music could penetrate them like it has penetrated you. But also that you cannot explain it any further, just as one cannot describe what ‘sonoma’ pink is or what exactly makes the beautiful girl from stage 8 so much more beautiful than when she was on stage 7.

So take up your dance wand, you spirit figure, or whatever it is that makes you feel whole, and join these average looking strangers who are more than you or I will ever know. Because their yolk is like a hearty amphibian and their heart like a blood tub, filled to the brim. But his is light and you already carry too much.