what in this image

©1991 and 2011 by Mica D'Orléans

what in this image i saw of a lonely man in his room typing the novel which no one will see.   what in this image i saw of a lonely man in his room typing the oeuvre that will never be.  i trembled with i don't know what as his image refused to dissipate.   my body trembled with longing as i wished his image remain forever sustained...  and i wonder why organized religion is so adamant in spreading their word to unwilling recipients.  it's just a thought that enters my mind as i reflect on world politics.  and i think of foreigners entering alien lands to claim a piece of history.  foreign ideas into foreign lands bringing foreign sentiments not understood by both.  each side believing its reason.  each reason negating the other...  i walk into their apartment feeling uncomfortable.  obviously by my surroundings.  quite unfamiliar to my familiarity.  yet beautiful in a strange way.  then i became a drunk.  because wine spilled on wood was the greatest smell in the world.  when you are alone.  and i thought.  what was this image i saw of a lonely man in his room typing the novel which no one will see.  what was this image i saw of a lonely man in his room typing the oeuvre that shall never be...  i was born left handed and forced to use my right.  and the beauty of the palm tree spreads through my mind.  erasing whatever bad thoughts that changed my character.  and the wish to join my ancestors became a taste i didn't fight.  yet i was saddened by the image of the woman dying in front of her lover.  i was sadder than he because it was just an image on tv...   and the west conquered all but the mideast.   and they are so angry their battle ships are sailing.   but it's okay to be different.  it's okay to be yourself.  it's okay not to.   recognize another culture.  but the bully doesn't see that. the bully does not realize that it is just as different as the other.  but then again whose mind am i reflecting.  but then again why do i think these thoughts.  like that of the lonely man in his room typing the novel no one will see, typing his oeuvre that never will be...