A dream-like state. A fascination with what is beyond the threshold. What lies beyond.
A murky pond or the sea. A salted lake or the ocean? Skies upward toward vacuum or ten vertical miles of landscape, on and on?
I’m running at a frantic pace, and if I had hollow bones, I’d jump. The wind would pick me up, carry me across the planes holding me in, and I’d break free into orbit in another galaxy. In another life line, I’ve already done it all. I’ve already jumped and fallen. I’ve already held your hand. We’ve already said goodbye.
It’s all said and done. And are we happier for it?
Another me says yes. Another, no.
Variables on end in an endless creative sea of choices, chances, raising the stakes, betting it all and losing it.
Life and death when seen in these non-linear patterns don’t matter quite as much. If the roots rot before the tree falls, when it’s born again — they grow back. Or grow into another tree and continue on in that way. One layer upon another in a milieu of moments stretching contingent on nothing but the balance of chaos and entropy.
We are but chaotic entropes diving into endless seas of vibration. A mess of instability. Change and the turning of wheels, once designed, is a course of inevitability.
Does it hurt?
Why no, not at all.
I was born to suffer, to fight, to die. I have no struggle but this one to engage in. I’ve got gloves and a fighting spirit. Come on, 死神. Just you try and get me. Write my name down in your book and take my years. What difference does a few less make to a temporal being?
As I drift asleep, I’m already falling, flying, living, dying.
It makes sense to be one.
Magician and the wheel of fortune.
Critical, analytical. Ah, but that means free from the chains of restrictions the outer edges of reality tried to place on me. Sleight of hand and a bending of tricks, teasing apart reality, and finding on the other side — it’s actually quite thin.
If I close my eyes, I can see right on through.
And so can you.
Let’s play together in the ether. Get our hands messy. Jump in thickets of thorny reason and pick the needles of empathic intuition out of our hearts and scatter them loosely on the ground. Passer-bys will slip on them, and we’ll all get bloody muddy in the extra-dimensional muck, but hey — I’m excited. Aren’t you?
This is what it feels like to breathe.
Sharp at first, then smooth like a sweet drug that sets you right at peace.
Another year older. Another step closer. Another image set shuffled like cards in a big fat deck. I’ve got so many now it’s getting harder and harder to sneak a peek, stack the deck, cheat. Getting easier just to play along for the time being.
Until the fire burns right through me. Then I’ll be ash and dust and the wind will blow me away.
And that’s okay, too.