THE GREY ALBUM
PHOTOGRAPHY & STORIES IN PROSE
by Christopher Kay
The first step was taken towards a new path.
She had seen this type of path
many times in the light of day,
but in this instance,
only fragile illumination existed.
Her foot quivered as she took her second step
towards the truth she'd always asked for.
The darkness in the distance
made it impossible to know what lay ahead.
Each archway looked the same as the previous,
and the further she forged ahead,
the more infinite the path appeared.
But then something changed.
She looked behind her and
realised how far she had come.
The path ahead, albeit unknown,
was much shorter than what was behind her.
Confidently, she moved through the door,
into the unknown,
and now understood
exactly what she needed to do.
A night of Wagner.
The sounds of the orchestra
elegantly filled the gaps
of conversations about the beloved Cosima
and inspiration for Siegfried Idyll.
The Winter’s night felt deathly cold,
but the attraction between them
had grown to beautifully terrifying proportions.
Both had come from places of pain
and emotional trauma
and hadn’t forgotten how to love,
but had simply forgotten to love.
The last few weeks had left them tightly wound,
things unspoken, things untouched.
He set the mood.
Warm pools of light filled the room
and reflections of candlelight
danced majestically on the walls around them.
It was then that she revealed her grand gesture.
Something to relax.
Something for warmth.
He is an artist.
In body. In mind. In spirit.
But necessity had led him down
quite a peculiar path indeed.
He had to pretend he was something he was not,
ensuring his bread and butter was earned
so that he could live a comfortable, solitary existence
in his little corner of the Earth.
As he hid amongst the collars of white,
his artistry began to break through the seams.
A fire would still idly burn
in the darkest parts of his eyes, and bring
an extraordinary brightness to his entire demeanour
whenever he spoke of ‘art’.
Yet under this new identity,
he was constantly sought after for his gifts,
and had felt used by those
whom would never really know the real him.
They would fly him everywhere
in order to tap into the brilliance
that he was trying to hide from them all,
and on that fateful day of inevitability;
the sun was setting, the plane touched down
and the taxi ushered him to his tiny hotel room
complete with single-serve mini bar.
He stood on his balcony and with a clear sky
and an even clearer mind,
and he finally remembered
that all of this was only a detour.
Freedom in mind and thought
are the most imperative structure
in the evolution of the human spirit.
When every definition of the word
is put into question
and begins to transform into
a privilege rather than a right;
be on the side of the good fight.
Seek those who also have the courage
to stand up for what is right.
Find the specs of light
between the gaps in the cell
And follow the vibrational frequency
from the inside out.
At times, we are too human.
One must overcome the feeling
that decisions made are incorrect
or that they are a magnet for damage.
We all make the wrong choices
and sabotage our own existence.
We are better than this,
yet we don't allow ourselves to be.
We are stronger than this,
yet are more inclined to hide behind a weakened fear
because strength is too hard to search for.
What do we really need?
The physical? The intellectual? The spiritual?
Or just a connection to make someone feel
like they are wanted and worthwhile,
if only for a minute.
It is a side that is never permanently satisfied
and we always look for the next thing
to fill the hollow void of discomfort.
And therein, lies growth
against all odds.
It is light, life, the sun;
an emblem of purity and perfection,
of invincible spiritual power.
But she wanted more.
Commitment, faithfulness and promise.
But his hesitance provided her
with the deafening silence
that became an answer within itself.
Alone, the silence came back to haunt him.
As he moved to the front porch,
he lay to rest on the decking.
His eyes drifted upward
to a completely new perspective;
and he finally realised
he did not build her a house,
she had made him a home.
He had finally found what he called his flow state.
Reacquainting himself with nature,
but tethering himself to his human experience
with the lit cigarette between his lips,
he became a conduit for brilliance from above,
and let it release through his fingers
and into six perfect steel strings.
Each note followed on melodically,
bridging perfectly and formulating
a soul-fulfilling prophetic masterpiece.
As he crossed back to the third realm,
a realisation still flowed through him
that he had already applied the flow
in his own unconscious roller-coaster of a life
to everyone whose path he crossed,
and to the lives he had also created
with the other half of his soul.