Mind Messages from the Other Side
I've something to admit, Loyal Bohemian, Moravian, Silesian, and Roma Readers. I'm afraid. Very afraid as I write this.
I woke up this morning after having received a Message from the Other Side. The Transverse...of the River. The Vltava.
I believe I'd dreamt I was standing atop the Castle Promontory, looking out over the delicious spread of Our Golden Village...
I was admiring the skyskrapers in Prague 4, constructed expressly by Czechoslovaks to beautify that former Communist (southern) stronghold, those bleak residential areas where one-third of the Republic's citizens still live.
I was inhaling the placid scene, the sheen of the thousands of cobblestones, tickled, as they were, with wet acid rain polluted by the carbon monoxide of heavy industry on a beeline from that mining meeca, Ostrava, to Prague's northeast.
I wasn't uttering a peep.
But I could hear the sound of voices. Aural echoes of trapped souls. Humans locked on the Other Side of town, under siege, clobbered daily by the sonic boom crescendo of Castle artillery fire -- endless salvos lobbed into the Old City under orders from Our Supreme Leader. Our Loving Tribune. That "blue/green/grey" monstrosity. You know who I'm talking about, The Straw Who Stirs the Absinthe.
I could hear the souls whining, weeping, stroking horsehair violin strings, Yehudi Menuhin-ing it. Sliced off -- as they were -- from their bretheren with a Red Sickle, deprived of their daily dose of Starbucks (lousy) coffee. Those were the voices of anguish.
Helicopters were coming and going on the Other Side -- a veritable flurry of activity. They seemed to be delivering things (because I had X-Ray Vision throughout), as the people sent things away, and awaited the arrival of these same transports -- a veritable lifeline for them.
But those weren't regular looking choppers -- they in fact resembled birds. Flapping flexible wings. A new-fangled aeronautic design, constructed by Czechs, taken in by osmosis through the blood over the generations -- the spirit of the 20-year compromised democracy known as the First Republic (and let me tell you, 20 years is a long time for anyone). Just like they used to do at Vodochody...
With each plaintive wail, it was like a dagger in my Pumping Organ. With each howl, I felt like crumpling up inside. My corpuscles were cringing.
Why was I hearing these voices?
Have I been singled out for a particular reason?
Has the finger been pointed my way?
Why?
I'm scribbling this post. I'm awake. My eyes are wide open and all of the crud's been scooped out. No white stuff, no blurriness.
But I continue to hear faint sopranos.
Is it normal? Am I?
I woke up this morning after having received a Message from the Other Side. The Transverse...of the River. The Vltava.
I believe I'd dreamt I was standing atop the Castle Promontory, looking out over the delicious spread of Our Golden Village...
I was admiring the skyskrapers in Prague 4, constructed expressly by Czechoslovaks to beautify that former Communist (southern) stronghold, those bleak residential areas where one-third of the Republic's citizens still live.
I was inhaling the placid scene, the sheen of the thousands of cobblestones, tickled, as they were, with wet acid rain polluted by the carbon monoxide of heavy industry on a beeline from that mining meeca, Ostrava, to Prague's northeast.
I wasn't uttering a peep.
But I could hear the sound of voices. Aural echoes of trapped souls. Humans locked on the Other Side of town, under siege, clobbered daily by the sonic boom crescendo of Castle artillery fire -- endless salvos lobbed into the Old City under orders from Our Supreme Leader. Our Loving Tribune. That "blue/green/grey" monstrosity. You know who I'm talking about, The Straw Who Stirs the Absinthe.
I could hear the souls whining, weeping, stroking horsehair violin strings, Yehudi Menuhin-ing it. Sliced off -- as they were -- from their bretheren with a Red Sickle, deprived of their daily dose of Starbucks (lousy) coffee. Those were the voices of anguish.
Helicopters were coming and going on the Other Side -- a veritable flurry of activity. They seemed to be delivering things (because I had X-Ray Vision throughout), as the people sent things away, and awaited the arrival of these same transports -- a veritable lifeline for them.
But those weren't regular looking choppers -- they in fact resembled birds. Flapping flexible wings. A new-fangled aeronautic design, constructed by Czechs, taken in by osmosis through the blood over the generations -- the spirit of the 20-year compromised democracy known as the First Republic (and let me tell you, 20 years is a long time for anyone). Just like they used to do at Vodochody...
With each plaintive wail, it was like a dagger in my Pumping Organ. With each howl, I felt like crumpling up inside. My corpuscles were cringing.
Why was I hearing these voices?
Have I been singled out for a particular reason?
Has the finger been pointed my way?
Why?
I'm scribbling this post. I'm awake. My eyes are wide open and all of the crud's been scooped out. No white stuff, no blurriness.
But I continue to hear faint sopranos.
Is it normal? Am I?