Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

Yet another Lex drabble. Yet another thing on madness. Short but not sweet. So do read and review. It is my theory that if I put enough stuff on the net, some of it will get reviewed. Prove me right. Please don't make me beg. And OK so I did borrow from Dahl; who doesn't. (In aside) Nitpickers!

I rather like it here. I remember how I first felt though-unfamiliar, strange, and even remarkable. As if I was out of my normal environment. I was foolish then, young and naïve. Had no idea what was good for me. Now I have made a home here. I like it - the freedom, the sheer joy of unfettered movement. I stand sometimes on my balcony; and watch the view as it unfolds from my vantage point. I have a nice detached home, it's a nice cirro- cumulous one, nice and fluffy, not too flat and dull like a nimbus, neither too insubstantial like your normal cirrus. It's nice and private; warm and blanketing; embracing and protective.

Sometimes I get trespassers, mostly birds, but all they do is wing through my abode; inconvenient but hardly alarming, though sometimes it is entire flocks on the migratory route and they blunder through on endless waves of fluttering noise. Sometimes I bear it; most often I move and wait out the avian invasion.

But yes, the other trespassers; they are annoying, and annoyingly persistent. I once had actually to go round the world in a blinding game of hide-and-seek because they insisted on following me. I believe I am tolerant, but I cannot stand the company of delusional madmen. Delusional, escapist madmen in some kind of institutional uniform. But the good thing of the new life is that I can so easily escape them. And I do, when they come calling, refusing to be polite, unheeding of the gift of this sublime terrain. They tell me things, petty sound bytes that are yet aggravating, for they spoil the silence and the view. When I am not annoyed with them, I rather pity them-- the mindless idiots have absolutely no appreciation of where they are and why they are.

Other visitors are nicer. A particular friend visits sometimes, though in a guilty, furtive way, as if he were living out some guilty fetish. And it seems to be that he is yet uncomfortable in this environment, but I am sure he can sense my own ease. After all I told him once how much I liked it when I first flew, but then I believed, foolishly, that my flight was a harbinger of my destiny on the ground. That was folly; for it was inhibiting and base. My destiny is freedom and flight; this residence with the stars; this unchained existence; this primal being; this intoxicating omniscience.

And don't worry Clark, I won't tell anyone that you visited me last night. Again.