“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies, I see. I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Cause I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low. Tell me where the wind blows, nothing really matters to me, to me”
Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the untidy room.
He was very high. He could see her face, draped with hues of white and red, flashing in front of his eyes over a backdrop of sunflower plants and multiple rainbows, which serenaded over a vast expanse of plains, dotted with expanses of small orchards once every few miles. During moments, like these, all he wanted to do would be, to hold her hands amidst such a landscape and stare at the clear skies full of stars, their conversations revolving around their plans to elevate their respective consciousness through a combination of enlightening conversations based on bashing regressive cultural norms, productivity hacks and spirituality.
The might of Queen penetrated the deepest recesses of his brain, the legends seemingly intent to cause an avalanche of thoughts and reflections zipping from one end of his brain to the other, intertwining her images, shapes and hues of nature and himself, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.
“Oh, its what you do to me, Oh, its what you do to me”, he felt a few emotions welling up, and in a swift reflexive motion, his body blocked it from welling out, as if asking him to hold on, saying the emotion wasn’t lost yet. For all his claims of being unaffected, uncaring, unmoving and untouched by feelings of emotional nature, he did care, he did want to belong, he did want to find someone, he already had, she was the one, and he knew it, even if she didn’t, but maybe she did, she had his letter after all, if she had only read it completely, word to word, rather than just skim through it, as an expression to just run through, rather than feel.
“But in the end, it doesn’t even matter”, he drawled suddenly, akin to a whale stranded on a beach, as if trapped within the limitations of his mind, surrendering itself to the whims and fancies of the modern world, in turn akin to leeches, cockroaches, termites and all other kinds of parasites, content to sit back and consume the resources created by people of ingenuity. He felt it was time to rouse himself from the abyss he was digging himself into everyday, every hour even.
“Oh, what did you do to me, Oh, what did you do to me”, he drawled again, feeling as if he were hovering on an imaginary surfboard, atop waves of watermelon juice and chocolate flakes washing over the shores, fanned with coconut trees and women clad in bikinis. His chest leapt every time his thoughts wandered over to her, a conscious effort at not doing so seemed to take a toll on him, not in the bad sense, but in a sense that wasn’t exactly explainable to him, like how he usually explained phenomenon like popular culture and mass media, both products of fear mongering and manipulation rather than independent thought.
“Oh, what did you do to me, Oh, what did you do to me”, he drawled again, feeling terrible at himself for no reason, without any sense of self or meaning, suddenly wishing a avalanche would sweep him off his feet and deliver him to her doorstep, a marauding effort at winning her hand, like a smitten dog towards its owner, its heart incapable of evil thought, surrendering itself to permanent love and belonging.
“Oh, what did you do to me, Oh, what did you do to me”
Marijuana Maharaj 