It started off with wind and the sound of nothing in the air ? Do you know what that’s like ? It’s like listening, and wanting to hear something, but hearing nothing.
It’s not despairing, but it does fuck you up, in a gentle way, it messes with your head and your eyes, and hollows you out.
But ultimately, it isn’t a bad thing. It makes you feel alive. It makes you know you’re alive. I sit here, my legs submerged halfway to my knees in liquid death. Water. Liquid life. I’ve drowned in it, and I’ve survived by it.
I’m not alarmed, but I’ll make love to it. Have you done that before ? Asked yourself if you can make love to something metaphysical ? Make love to something that isn’t a body. A warm body, with hot blood pulsing through every inch, across every blemish.
It’s anarchic. Just like this writing. You read it thinking where does it all tie up ? It doesn’t. The kids will be alright. The kids are no longer kids.
This isn’t about me, this is about everything that should be good enough for us, that we think isn’t. I take solace in this, feel inebriated.
Exhale.
It’s cold, too cold. Standing up, I dry off my feet. The stars are dull tonight. Your eyes are brighter anyway.
Iconic. That’s what it all is a representation of. Something iconic. There’s calm in all of this entropy. I am lighter. We all are. You all will be.
