The adrenaline junkie hides behind the moon, where the glow protrudes from the dark and sets ablaze a yellow book of memories.
An orange lamp shade conceals the misery of the darkness. A turquoise lamp shade reveals the naked adrenaline junkie, holding himself, like a rolled up ball, in the center of the living room.
“I hope nobody is watching,” he says, and everyone who is there starts bashing the turquoise lamp shade with a newspaper.
“You’re breaking the news,” says a young woman in a patterned headband made of leather.
The adrenaline junkie stands up on his feet and breaks into a modern jujitsu pose, and everywhere there are black ninjas, tumbling after his adrenaline-stricken motions.
“To be quite honest,” he says, “I hate the news.” And then he kneels and folds himself up again like a small, cradled child.
And now he is standing on his head with an upside-down view of the world and says, “But I must know, and I must care about the things, the people destroying the world.”
And there is always misery in the darkness where there is an adrenaline junkie.
And his attention is never easy to hold.
And what he desires is to always be on top of the world, practicing Capoeira, drinking beer, writing haikus, and continuing jujitsu poses.
That’s where his sanity sleeps, the adrenaline junkie’s.
And the lamp shades, both the orange and turquoise, are only a facade.
Nobody is watching.
It’s just that, once again, he is impractical in thought. And his ideas are great, but every now and again, he is compelled to believe the falsities dancing in his adrenaline-ridden mind.
Aylin Sozen 2018 ©