Delirium

I feel it in the air. Each morning, my eyes reluctantly peel open from an evil delirium of dreams, that are shaken from my brow as I stretch and slowly recall my identity. Mallo the Merciless Barbarian, Mallo the Sensitive Intellectual and Artiste, Mallo the Revolutionary Fundamentalist, the, the Brainwashed, the Sanctimonious, Satirical, Impassive, Perfect Stranger that everyone knows and loves.

Allow me to recharge my creative juices for a moment............
Ah yes, much better. Now where was I? Right. Well, there was this one time that McCabe and I found ourselves in Washington Square Park, 3:34am, smoking dust, with Malik (the dreadlocked, brightly painted-finger-nailed, self-proclaimed owner of the park). Apparently he had maintained sovereignty of the area since back in the early 80’s.

“Shit man I got a daughter your age!”

He fastidiously avoided every security camera in the park.

We sat on the edge of a large, empty fountain.

He mentioned Sing Sing, and had story behind his eyes similar to that of Nino Brown’s of New Jack City.

How could we stray this far off course, from searching for our car after a funk night somewhere on Macdougal Street? I contemplated this from a fetal position in the back seat of Wrath’s Honda on the way home while stars swirled around my head.

After an enlightening session with Mr. Malik, I attempted to stand up. Only to drop straight back down, folding like a house of cards on a fault line.

“Watch that first step, it’s a DOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooozzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyyy................”

 

Then there was this other time when Redcoats came storming across Main Street, Binghamton at the Replicant and I. Outmusketed, we were forced to defend our liberty with swift and anomalistic maneuverings. The Redcoats lay slain and sobbing by a sidewalk store front. “No stop! It’s not worth it man!”

Which brings us to one of the three best things in life, according to Conan and Eastern philosophy, the lamentation of the women; after you have destroyed your enemy and seen them driven before you of course. This pleasure would only be familiar to those who truly release themselves from all inhibitions and calculations of any capacity.

Wyles, is the side of me that is often subdued but explosive and unpredictable. I therefore apologize to any and all the misfortunate victims of my alter-ego. But there is simply no quelling these instinctive tendencies. I can only contain them with large doses of Sam Elliott movies and 4am reruns of Chips. Save Yourselves!

But there’s beauty in this world also. I was heading up to Ithaca one random red autumn night with some friends up old route 79. I wouldn’t have expected that my perspective would be forever changed. It was early in the semester and the year was off to a slow start. We sped along in two cars. It became evident that we were driving through a peculiar atmosphere. There was a strange glow in the sky, it fell above us like a cherry veil. It was Aurora Borealis, Northern Lights (not talking about Flock of Seagulls). Inspirational. It painted us purple and twisted our senses; we pulled over to understand. After we arrived in Ithaca my housemate, Mike, had to turn back due to a spontaneous rash that broke out all over his body. This would ail him for the next few weeks, but the image of that supernal display still streams through my mind. I always think that up the next quiet narrow road could be something fantastic, something greater and  more celestially significant then our mundane contrivance. This was the beginning of my journey to the cosmos.

Nowadays I trace through a myriad of experiences and emotions only to produce a vastly distorted conclusion. After all the “would you do it agains?” and “what was your fondest such and such?” there’s no clear answer or reason. There is no resolution or completion. All that’s happened and all that will happen; shadows and memories. When I look at my 23 year old face in the mirror I see a thousand cities, a million stars, a billion eyes, and one scattered soul. Every morning it takes me a few moments to adjust, remember, and start again.

On this particular day I rolled out of bed and went outside to collect some sun. I bathed in the warm rays, trying to regain my olive Grecian sheen. Red and black circles lined the inside of my shut eyelids, my nose pointed up, and a long breeze touched me. I listened to birds whistling, there were colors everywhere.

 

Please feel free to express any and all memories or stories concerning Wyles at the 1 Tuff Message Board.