Mysterious Illusion

 

Aren´t they all? No, seriously, It was creepy when he

walked into the old man´s private man-cave and caught

the vibes of ancient machinations of complexity; old 

brass fittings, leather bound manuscripts, illuminated 

portfolios, a twenty foot long oaken table strewn with 

implements for various disciplines; writing, calligraphy, 

drawing, mapping. There were a few dusty floor lamps, 

several oversized chairs. The windows let in the light, but 

were smudged over, dirty, seemingly intentionally, adding 

to the pastel atmosphere.

 

There was nobody else there. He could hear doom

jazz on a player a few rooms away. A smoky haze in the 

room, a flat layer of cloud drifted four feet below the 

ceiling.  He felt a synesthesia, as if the smoke was the 

music…as  if the music was the flavor of the smoke, the 

atmosphere  of the room, a complete hologram of all 

sensations at once, bathed in sensation, perception of 

the quantum whole as any part of the sum.

 

¨Oh, really? Are You sure? Do you have any idea what 

you´re talking about?¨

 

¨Not really, but……..neither do they….

…just kidding. 

Of course I´m sure. I was there!!¨