Eric held hands with the low cloud out on his front lawn. A ritual done far after his passing. His ghosts light glow led the birds to swoop and perch acceptingly nearby.
His hand dragged against that cloud, stubborn brushy white hanging down like old man's beard from hemi matenga.
His other hand touching the more subtle whisps, a low whistle came from the old pursed lips as he edged forward trying to get a better view of the thing all call God.
"Bang" His soul exploded across the lawn, a passing ray of sun lit the scene up as divine. The fragments of him rose and collected into a large droplet liquid like.
Then flattened into a sheet expanded over the lawn where I the robust cat Boris would play in the sun.
Eric is floating down seddon street touching the light patchy drizzle and often recoiling. Now crawling on it's corners down to the local RSA. A giant cloak of a spirit.
The old times he spent with warbuddies filling up ashtrays and emptying longnecks. Animal loudmouths rivaled by smooth periods of boredom and predictable "Remember the times" Boris points DID YOU TRANSCEND THE BULLSHIT, you old redskinned father of mine.
Ambling down here onto Elizabeth street petrifying the midnight teen half drunk back home from partying. Almost in his old form then back into the invisible blanket. As day and night and time interfere with your senses. He floated over the tin roof through all the confusion covering the building as if to own it. To reclaim thise little moments lost in the past.
He covered it all and the sky shot blue all of a sudden and the night fled like a cowardly child.
He hung above it all there.
The old poems he'd once recited that hid and reminded of old loves, ways things were and could be. The saint Luke's church rocked and shuddered like a gravestone being robbed.
The moss fell off in clumps, he cried out to be put into a body again.
Elizabeth street suddenly narrowed, and he could see me up in the hill somewhat obscured by the scrappy last remains of native forests as I crawled my way down, where it was still night time, and awesome blues on his side.
His soul ballooned and took the shape of an old rusty school bus, driving across the railway lines, the hidden boundary, the transcendent between an older more forgotten piece of waikanae and an absolutely ridiculous attempt at a modern present. Boutique taste of hobbits.
He got stuck between a real estate office and the corner petrol station to Ngaio road. The bus froze into a block of ice and dawn was called over the buses barely audible radio.
It froze into a giant ice block and took up a huge space.
My purring self wasn't far away, the old naiivety falling from me like furr during the molting seasons reinventing time hair by hair second by second on walks home.
I treaded carefully to the railway lines and found him there. I looked on like one might look on a holy shrine, yet the flickering spirit that kept me breathing in the dark now surged forth, only interested in hunger.
Hunger to devour the future and devour the past.
Crossing the railway lines the smile automatic shot across my mouth like an insant opiate.
I could see the countless past lives emanating off the ice of the old man.
How many were contained inside of me, just the the nine?- WILL YOU ANSWER THAT QUESTION?
Sunrise almost at it's Apex, then disappeared, God bored again. I licked my wrist as darkness slowly got the upper hand, are we going backwards?
The twilight of worlds or converging purgatories?
Silence and night captured the land again in an instant this time.I imagined a hawk on hare a shock to the system. My soul bounced in witness to a million deaths dragged up a spinning vortex a million tones of red. I held the low mist alas no consolation, what a familiar nightmare. I couldn't tell if In my cat body was observing the experience from eyes or eating it between my fangs.
Each mouthful of an endless meal.
Then a flash another thunder clap, it just turned midday.
Eric bathed in an afternoon sun, melting away those tonnes of ice. Sun a february had once saved, as if mocking us, Time was obviously speking to us in every tense.
Eric started to laugh now from secrets that had distilled into jokes over decades gone.
Such guffawing that the road between us opened up creating a fissure in the tarmac. I crawled inside like a moth into a shed.
Inside the ground I could see living rivers of the past, many scenes as if on a glistening screen. Decades of peace and silence flowing through the reflection of many timelines. The walls of the rock inside full of eyes, mineral rock and discarded treasures. The shame and pride of many in those hoarded once coveted material absurdities.
I surfaced naked furrless embracing a cool night air this time it seemed I could harness it, it would not escape into day again. The city lights confused and perturbed the way they should be, said the predator in me. Instead of the feline pelage there was a sleek layer of transparent underskin.
I left the abandoned highway few cars ever travel on anymore. It didn't matter I was invisible.
I slipped into houses observing the people and their strange habits, little decorated neighborhoods, self important. yet predictable.
I looked up close at their faces checking their frowns and smiles. Not true smiles, not gratitude at the little piece of paradise they've been given, just little peice of peep over the hedge for validation.
Smiles that were fragile, smiles dressed in will you like me?
Reading the muscles in their cheeks and necks looking deep in them.
The colors of their hearts the unfortunate forgery of emotion.
I heard the old Eric yelling and cackling "Just lucky you are a cat".
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