The Golden Fields

The Golden Fields is a metaphorical destination. You will know exactly what it means to you right after it’s too late to stop wanting to get there. Meanwhile you can read between the lines and take a wild guess.

Olivia: … because I never forget; faces nor places, not even the indisputably unimportant things such as a cab number… your cab’s number for example. Everything in this world is useful because everything can be used. Anyway, just stick to my directions and ignore the red lights as much as the ethic of your underpaid job allows you and you’ll take me where I’m gonna shine. I only have to get out of this car and enter the door I’m supposed to enter; then the world will know I have arrived. The Golden Fields, baby.

Issey: I only fear my limits and the temporary nature of my existence… or whatever sophisticated shit they’re into. Call it what you want, contemplation if you please, but it works. Big words for the tiny people, the classic dopamine trigger that I’m disappointed I did not invent. I know, man, I’m babbling about worthless crap, but you’re buying it even though I’m not set on selling it to you. So I will sell it to the others and I will sell it high, just enough to pay the price for those sparkly Golden Fields. Hell, I will auction the $**t out of it!

Leo: Maybe it’s wrong, just like they all said… so what, it’s all worth it. They can’t see The Golden Fields like I do, but someone told me that not everyone is lucky and insane enough to see them. You can absolutely live without them. I mean, they could, but I don’t. That’s what I told my mother and that’s what I’ll tell the others, every single time they ask. I love the wicked waves, I love ice-cold water, I love to fall sometimes. And if I were to die crushed by a wave, it wouldn’t be without a hell of a live streaming. Worldwide. That I promise.

Rae: I am so bored I could burn cities to the ground in a shameless themed party. But instead I make up gorgeous new “friends” to un-bore me. Joy rides on glass rooftops, skinny dipping on the Moon, eating candy all day with no consequences – that would be the routine in our surreal lives. Because I have the gift of the zillion faces creator and they have fiction as their heart and soul. Not him though, the boy from the Golden Fields.

He was meant to be a model,

but he raised as God and King,

started like some sloppy fiction

and became my favorite thing.

He’s pure tease;

still, I own something of his.

Hey, doll-face-boy… if you want to get real as your firstborn right, then get a little closer and fuck me tonight.

What are The Golden Fields, anyway?

___

* The surfer above was beautifully captured by Gabriela Popa.