Tornado

Pouring out, it comes in waves, theres nothing i can do to contain it. I just have to stand there and let it flow out, not allow it, but let it. If i tried to stop it it would just push through every part of my being, oozing out of my every pore, undulating waves, melting down my skin. Its no use. Just give up. I do--to the best of my ability. I like this feeling, i like the darkness, i like the dirt and scum, i like the creaking beams and the dusty floors. Swaying back and fourth, the house is an cacophonic orchestra of time. Its history is its song. Its story is the conductor. The beams, the floors, the windows, the vents, the stove, and stairs, the chandelier, and the doornobs and latches are its players. The history and the story set the feel, the wind sets the tempo, the players sway, jingle, creak and crack and play away. Following without thought, they play in perfect dissonance. It makes my ears perk hearing it. I sit under the chandelier, on the dusty floor, and listen to the song. Its never the same, an infinite number of compositions playing simultaneously, all completely new with every moment. The wind blows against the windows, they shake and rattle. A crack in one of the windows carries a quiet whistle, steady, but the pitch alters with the the intensity of the wind. Up and down, like a wave, minor to major, and back again. The wind pushes through the open window above the front door, rattling the chandelier, it sways back and forth above my head. Dust raining down on me with each passing. The glass dangling from it rattles in 16th notes and the whole chandelier sways, metronomic, 4/4 is the rhythm, and then it changes, i cant count it. The whistling is steady, the window rattle and the chandelier, all steady all playing together, sometimes syncopated beats, sometimes playing in unison.

I stand up, dust falling off of me, i begin to dance. The rhythm carrying me, I stomp hard on the hardwood floors. I make foot marks in the dust, the ridges of the bottom of my shoes keep the score. Best they write every note, i provide them with plenty of manuscript. Stomping, i begin to scream, no words, just sound, just expression. I scream in a high pitch and drop to a tuvan low. The house joins in. The floors creaks and cracks with every stomp. The stairs begin to insert, in perfect intervals, a perfect loose nail dancing, up and down. The roof begins next, a low rumbling emenating from the beams above. The wood rattling, the wind gets louder. The entire house begins to rumble, a low steady, slow rumble. A crumbling sound in the distance get nearer. The tea pot in the kitchen begins to whistle loud as the roof looses its footing, shingles being to fall off in a domino rattle. click, click, click, click, i hear them, one by one. I can feel the wind blowing down through the stairs, i hear glass breaking. Dust whirlwinds step down the stairs. I dance harder, i scream louder. AHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA....... My feet pounding down harder now, i make deeper, longer lasting manuscript. They will want to know what happened here. Glass slides down the stairs, clothes blow in the wind. I stop and just listen. The house sways back and fourth, the wind gets louder. Debris from out side begin to smash up agains the outside of the house. The climax of the song, i think. My eyes widen, i stand still, my ears listen closely to every minute sound. The roof cant hold on. With a loud screech it tears away from the house, its taken in the whirl of wind surrouding the house. The glass and clothing begin to be pulled up, ascending the stairs. The second floor floorboards begin to lift and snap. I stand still. With a scream all the windows shatter and are pulled out of the house. The foundation begs and pleads with the whirlwind. Its no use. The house begins to shake, dust and debris pour down on me, I lose my stance and fall to the ground. With a deafening roar the house tears away from the foundation and we begin to spin, first slowly. The orchestra cant hold on any longer. We pick up speed. Im thrown against the wall. The brick fireplace in the living room crumbles as the house begins to twist and moan. Im not afraid. Outside all there is is a whirl of debris flying by, a chair or a tea pot, a door, a tire, a dog, a stroller, they take turns peaking at me. The house screams in agony as it splits in two and is pulled higher and higher into the whirl. I look up through the spiral. In the center i see clear blue skies. Listening to the world crumbling around me i continue to stare straight up. Looking for something. Then i hear a scratching and sliding on the floorboards. I don't look. It must be the old wood stove, i think. The scratching and sliding gets louder, i keep looking up. The wind and the scratching and sliding is all i can hear. Deafening. I cant think. I just stare straight up, the sun peaks through, blinding me for a moment. The scratching is so close. Everything goes black. Then all i see is a bright white light...... Turiya.