As silver rain is falling softly on the park trees, I walk on the track ,its etched geometrical shapes move endlessly like Nabokov’s trees that are going on a pilgrimage to somewhere all the time.A woman’s hand goes up to the tree to pluck red flowers and comes down to drop them in her bag in repetitive motions as if she was enacting a parody of life-and-death.
Caligula is in a need of the moon.
Impossible? It is why he wants it.
Pointless ?That is why he wants it.
The moon which is red and dead.
Caligula is acting out his parody.
Caligula plucks blood-red flowers
He tries to to secure his after-life.
Their deaths are his own salvation,
And a live proof of the possibility
Of achieving the blood-red moon.
The boy in Nabokov’s story has drawn gods with large saucer-like eyes .My own Gods have unblinking eyes which see everything,everywhere. Because they do not have lids they see all the time ,all the space.