"Etherized upon a table"

Q) Whats brown and sounds like a bell?

A) TANGGG...

Curtains or Brain wave overload

The voices scream and howl, as thoughts are scattered like pieces of a glass on a wooden floor. The answers I seek are behind the curtains of white noise. A shadow appears that I think I recognize, but cannot quite recall. With confidence I claim I know what it is, but proof I cannot provide - the proof is behind those curtains.
All the arguments are here in front of me, wriggling on my desk, gleaming like a ray of light from a prism. They are busy in a ritual and each has its tail in the head of the other. I cannot tell them apart. I cannot use them to tell the truth. I cannot see behind those curtains.
aaah... But it is a great relief to have the belief that my thoughts follow a pattern of socratic reasoning. I may not be able to prove it to you, because the proof is behind those curtains, and you cannot even see them.
And sometimes an idea raises its head and the gail blows fluttering the curtains out of the way, and I can gaze across to the horizon for a dew drop like moment.
Everything becomes clear, and the fog disappears before the breath becomes stale again and the white noise cover my ears and eyes, and I dumbfoundedly stare at the mating ideas.

Etherized upon a table, i ask?

The air is fragrant again. The red roses are blossoming even though it is almost December. The desert is gleaming with joy and the spring has crept up silently to make the land fertile for hope, once more. My existence exists to smell the traces of her presence in the cosmos. I can breath her again - life is all colourfull once more.
I recognized her from miles away, when we knew nothing of it. It was like two broken pieces of a magnet; kept at a distance without a consequence, but when brought together they become one; defying the forces holding them in their places. She spoke of Juliet today as I listened with close intent. I was breathing her, her words were filling the air, as she was constituting an awakening in me. Her smile white as pearls of my imagination was beating blood in my body, as I saw through her.
I have not thought of any thought but her for past five years. She sits in front of me, as an incarnation of my struggle. I am close to holding her in my arms, and almost be forgiven. For the trees that have bowed to me, and the water that had sang to me, and the flowers that have beamed life at me when I had ignored them are ready to forgive me now. I will hold the glass of wine in my hands, but this time with a beating heart.