Nachtsuck (Nocturne) Violin/Guitar: Caspar Rene Hirschfeld

everything flows smoother when night has fallen---sylvester j. pussycat tip-toeing around to catch tweety, wile e. coyote rigging up his next dastardly contraption in the relentless attempt to squash the roadrunner---rickety oak steps leading upward in a house that has been deemed haunted---poorly lit rooms filled with unimaginables, trinkets from a time long passed---shadows lingering behind every candles & shivers dancing up/down the spine---wonders, memories, eclectic histories of what happened where and how no one really lives there anymore---right around the corner there is something coming, or at least that’s how you picture it.

part of what is buried in the darkness of the mysterious wants something to go wrong, so that when it does, it will jostle up the mundane that has been accepted here in this place---it resides in the depths of the woods & the corners of the barren streets---it lurks & it waits to spring upon the calm & tear apart all their little worlds.

there is the sadness when a loved one goes away, not necessarily dying, but then, no one has to die to go away---it happens, and when it happens, it can destroy whole bits of life and pull away the layers from the middle common core---whatever that is---there are claims made that an overall consciousness can be found when we close our eyes and lay ourselves down to rest, but all that has been proved is an overwhelming madness in believing that there is, and instead, waking up sweating with legs twitching because one has been running from something in their dream state.

part of what comes to attack in the underlying absence of outer stimuli is just this---a representation of what it would be like if you were not harnessed to the obligations of the physical & only monstrosity that is our world.

splash! when having found a secret place to go nightswimming alone, one understands the danger but finds it to be minimal---after all, there is the light making its way down through the evergreens from the moon---it traces the tips of the shallow waves---and the cool wetness quenches the pores of the body that has been starved for so long (burning to a crisp in the rough summer sun)---throwing handfuls of the clear pure water up into the face, it is easy to forget what might still be in the forest just a few feet away.

from the darkness comes something smarter, something more intelligent which has ascertained the situation at hand, and much like dat puddy tat, now sees the opportunity to take it upon itself to get into the water quietly---all the while you throw water on your face, combing it through with your fingers, it gets closer---like a shark whose fin stays underwater, it creeps up upon your naked wetness submerged in the vast depth & without even a whimper you are pulled down below.

shoulda’ seen it coming. the tweety bird & the roadrunner would have.