Shadows smell of malice.
I brought a leather jacket. It's similar to my brothers old one which is a tribute to his years as a teenage pot smoking, metal head. Except its got more buckles and it's smaller and lighter, still a bit big for me on the arms though because its a men's jacket.We have a Shining thing going on. Im beginning to think that the person (it feels to me like a man) who owned it before me murdered someone, or was killed. There's a few places where its lost its colour and one small rip. Where did it earn those jacket scars? It's really giving me the creeps I can't have it in my bedroom while Im asleep encase whispers ideas into my ear. A leather jacket isn't like any other sort of clothing, it's sort of like a person in that it sucks up what happens around it and who wears it. Ask anyone who owns a proper leather jacket with buckles and zips, its a monument to certain times and events, even if you grow out of it you don't throw it away.
It gives me a feeling which I don't like. The smell brings on dajarvous and the ambiance of some of my childhood memories. It gives out the atmosphere of some of my dreams; dark with an air or urgency like living in those few moments before the world turns upside down. Lingering on the edge before you tumble completely over it. Since I brought it the presence of a man has been hanging around the parameters of my sub-conscience. The first time I met him was in a dream, I was looking out of the windows in the front room when he walked past. He slashed at the fabric of the dream itself. The blurring and merging quality of my dreams came to a halt when they met him. The pink and orange sky behind him, the swirling houses they seemed faint and pathetic compared to his figure. He wore a black cloak and a bowler hat both deeply black and unusually solid. Turning, the walls obstructing us dissolved and he looked right through; I knew he saw right into me.
Ever since I brought that jacket the man entered my conscience, slipping in behind the reel of thoughts like a shadow.
Perhaps I should get my Mother to bless it with that portable blessing kit she has (no joke). At the least it would make it smell of that nice woody oil she uses. Actually what am I saying? It's always a bad idea to include my Mother in my life for the main reason it gives me that same sickly sensation I get when I watch musicals. Fear makes you consider strange things.
BOOGIE
posted by Boogie @ 9:44 PM
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