I have a dream. Not a dream, vision.
I am standing alone on the edge of the cliff facing the sharp strong wind, hurricane, which would tear down everything but not me, I am not moving neither one inch back.
I am spreading hands, staring to universe, laughing my crazy song to disaster and the wind is ripping my clothes down, piece after piece, making it rags and broken flags taken to desert of life, until I stand naked and sinless and pure and happy and sad and sane, so painfully sane.
The story has two legs.
In the first of them, the world is disappearing, no cliff no more, just wind and flash of lights and I am floating up and turning back at the unknown person standing down and behind me – and I am smiling at her.
In the second leg, the wind is stronger and stronger, not moving me an inch, but ripping my skin and muscles and blood and is throwing them behind me altogether with guts, changing them into colorful mist spread over eternity, until I am just skeleton, still laughing without breath, and the skeleton is scraped to dust and the dust is dispersed to extinction…
