A Caroline

Caroline. White, slim creature, strange, alien and other, gaga, pola, alaina, bap-bap-bap. Voice and image, interweaved and singing. Such a queer call to be heard and understood. How clear the impossibility. Apparent beauty with no true appeal; a fetish of the senses and confusion of logic. The Caroline breathes, an archetype of the deep, creature of the night. She will free you into a world within. She will keep you safe. She will comfort and arouse. A muse of distraction and confusion. A muse to the unknown. A siren of an other self. A mermaid of your unconscious. She is a fright. Dare not smell her, dare not think of the taste. Hear her from a distance, and count yourself disgraced. Keep her under wraps, to yourself, seen from afar maybe once or twice. A spectacle of sensation; others understand - but you do not really. Sandwoman, sprinkling dreams over billions of billions in the earliest of morning, yet you are only trapped in yours. And so you claim her as only yours. Caroline: what a strange and wonderful being. She is in solipsism; she expresses but for herself. You are caught in the web and yet call yourself the spider. Black and windowed, a cautious invite, taken and sent out. This is my abstract art I have made of her. Yet she is the artist, playing the drama of the muse. This is so fascinating, what she has given and I have turned into my own; remaining the unbeknown betwixt us too. I make no mistake in this articulation, all is proof read and checked as true: we have driven me insane and come through the other end, only to go back again. Up and down, far and back, round and again, sat still in the endless pass. We are doing well. I am far less, and entirely unknown; yet, in the spotlight, she embodies the void. A spectre of gaze so brazen; the ghost beneath the white cloth: a light too bright it had to disguise itself.