What does your soul look like? Assuming it was a material, tangible quality. Something you could reach out and touch.
Mine would be bright and glossy. Like those metallic candy paint colors. Shiny like chrome. And sunny. Definitely sunsplashed. Lots and lots of colors – Superman blue, Bing cherry red, juicy tangerine, buzzing neon pink, sour lemon yellow, summer grass green – shimmery. It would be constantly percolating – drip-drip-dripping with ideas and thoughts and queries and philosophies and explanations and theories.
Noisy. Chattering away like a five-year-old. Flashed with fragments of songs, scenes from movies, TV and cartoons, classic quotes from books and memories and daydreams. Lots and lots of images, but lots of words too ‘cause I think in a mixture of both.
How would my soul feel?
Like squelching your toes in wet, brown-sugar sand. Like summer’s first really juicy, really sweet peach. Like those butterflies you get when you’re thisclose to kissing someone you love.
What would my soul taste like, smell like?
Easy. Well, not really, but I think it would smell like a starkissed suburban night – like gardenia and laundry and barbecue. Comforting – like you know you’re home and everything’s going to be alright. As for the taste? Probably picture show popcorn – hot, fresh and buttery. Yeah. Moviehouse popcorn and an ice-cold Coke clinking with lots of chipped ice.
However, to all this, there is a flip side because every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
So, as well as the kaleidoscopic glimmer, I’d have a darker side. Not quite Jackson Pollock, but something more black-and-white film noir…with a faulty projector which keeps snapping and slipping. It would feel cold. Like hands that just won’t warm up. Frost-bitten. It would be snarled and knotted, like tangled bedhead. It would taste like bitter espresso, making you grimace and cast it aside. It would smell like after 4th of July when the last firecracker has popped and all have deserted the streets except hazy dragons of smoke.
Mine would be bright and glossy. Like those metallic candy paint colors. Shiny like chrome. And sunny. Definitely sunsplashed. Lots and lots of colors – Superman blue, Bing cherry red, juicy tangerine, buzzing neon pink, sour lemon yellow, summer grass green – shimmery. It would be constantly percolating – drip-drip-dripping with ideas and thoughts and queries and philosophies and explanations and theories.
Noisy. Chattering away like a five-year-old. Flashed with fragments of songs, scenes from movies, TV and cartoons, classic quotes from books and memories and daydreams. Lots and lots of images, but lots of words too ‘cause I think in a mixture of both.
How would my soul feel?
Like squelching your toes in wet, brown-sugar sand. Like summer’s first really juicy, really sweet peach. Like those butterflies you get when you’re thisclose to kissing someone you love.
What would my soul taste like, smell like?
Easy. Well, not really, but I think it would smell like a starkissed suburban night – like gardenia and laundry and barbecue. Comforting – like you know you’re home and everything’s going to be alright. As for the taste? Probably picture show popcorn – hot, fresh and buttery. Yeah. Moviehouse popcorn and an ice-cold Coke clinking with lots of chipped ice.
However, to all this, there is a flip side because every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
So, as well as the kaleidoscopic glimmer, I’d have a darker side. Not quite Jackson Pollock, but something more black-and-white film noir…with a faulty projector which keeps snapping and slipping. It would feel cold. Like hands that just won’t warm up. Frost-bitten. It would be snarled and knotted, like tangled bedhead. It would taste like bitter espresso, making you grimace and cast it aside. It would smell like after 4th of July when the last firecracker has popped and all have deserted the streets except hazy dragons of smoke.
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