Lie down with me on the moist lawn, and let’s look at the stars. I guess we can play TesseracT on that old boom box connected to our iPod via Bluetooth, and think of altered perceptions and otherworldly dimensions, where the laws of this universe, and physics and equations don’t apply. We could think of inhabiting bodies, which aren’t corporeal, and float through psychedelic landscapes because of an anti-gravity that’s love. We’re only limiting romance to the clichéd holding of hands, and kisses because of silly realism. I could be your Clyde and you my femme fatale and we could live out our twisted fetishes in surreal dreams, and we don’t need crack, or a puncture in our veins. We just need a release that lets fiction drift without stimulation: Our own make-believe anti-Eden with a tree of mysticism and nymphs and ethereal wonders. Love in a box is pop-culture simulation: songs sung by angst-ridden musicians, or Rom-Coms with the same old, same old stereotypes. It seeps from frequencies or pictures into life, and gives birth to a sordid imitation. But you and I are different, unique, ambitious and creative. We can make more of what we have than limiting it to just rough sex, and big screen emulation. We can create, and make minds meet, tune in to the same frequency, vibrate to the same dissonance, and merge both the conscious and subconscious and that’s art meeting life; never living out deranged psychotic impulses, but channeling them into fantasy with our false protagonists, and Byronic heroines, our streams of consciousness merging, stitched together by poetic synergy. So lie with me, and let the music play, and drift into our space and non-linear time, and then bring it together and make love to me.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)