My house is a cube full of sounds, colors, dragons and puppies. I try to catch them as they float up, tied to colorful balloons. Sometimes I can’t reach them. But sometimes the balloons pop pop pop! And all those fire cracking thoughts fall like a rain of sparklers and fire flowers.
Sometimes my house is a bubble filled with monsters
who growl and meow with anger. Some of these monsters live in cages, like that little monster called Madness that everybody keeps inside. That one we all tickle to make it angry or happy or sad so that he can ignite those hurricanes of emotions that we can then turn into art.
In my house, I paint imaginary canvases of memories and fill them in with someone else’s pictures, just to see what they would look like with a little foreign touch. Most of them fly away with dragons and end up in the dragon’s dreams instead. But I keep a little piece of them and put them under my pillow to feed whatever stories visit me at night. And this is what I use to fill blank paper that I cover with drawn-in-words. The sounds that I remember start taking the shape of sentences until they become tales within themselves.
My house is a castle of imagination that feeds off all the music coming from all the other houses around. And I float in this paradise of wonder, never wanting to touch the actual ground.