Expiration
It’s not all for naught, it will add up to something. You have to believe it. I’ve to believe it. I do! Incredulous as it makes me, I really do.
It’s a free fall but through jelly, the paralysis reverberates, turn that reverb up, we are part of the reverb society, and the jelly constricts and contracts but you are enough to slide through it to the other side eventually, you have to relax to let go, to let it happen, to seep out cold and slow like methane from the ocean floor, over there and there, I can’t say because I’m not there yet, I’m still here, but you’re almost there, you’re really close to there, and there are ways you will do your things and I mine, but there are also ways in which these blend seamless together, a stitch witch iron-on sealed by heat and adhesive.
It’s not all for naught, it will add up to something. You have to believe it. I’ve to believe it. I do! Incredulous as it makes me, I really do. I’ve always known it, the way Helene Cixous can say that she has never thought she could not do it at all, that doing it was in the thrill. There is no way to tell you what it will be, no way to know or go or roll or flow or swing or slide or grip or split or hold tight, the unfathomable, resounding truth is that we are all floating in this unknown too, whether or not you care to realize just how far down below goes.
Well, I have a lot of opinions, and still, I push the glass of screen away and leave my fingerprints there over and over and over and over again. This is how I am at my most, me. Not my best, but this voice, growing louder with each failure or humiliation, all necessary steps for nothing can unravel perfectly, even in its unraveling, it is a hoisting, a true blast out of the cannon toward something infinitely larger than you in which you play an integral part, how special, how Renaissance, the magic is in us, our job is to divinely express creation and gratitude for this sheer and simple fact, so sheer, we blow away so eyelash fast into the night and even in the early morning hours of the day.
Well of course, there are ways to move past it, therapy breathing exercises, ways to anchor oneself in the present for we don’t know our expiration dates, they are not printed on our feet at the bottom like yogurt cups, but if we did know, how would we evolve to meet that date?
Would it feel heroic like the ancients who played the game to win and to win was to die for the gods, the highest honor, sacrifice. Would we become like wilted flowers, a self-fulfilled prophecy of decay, arriving perfectly on time to waste away at our final date of resting place. Would it be at midnight or anytime of the day, would that excite us or torment us the way not knowing at all torments a little now? Would we live with it or rile against it, studies upon studies built upon longevity now that we had a solid date to point to, against, we humans love a way to force Mother Nature’s hand.
The lamp’s always on
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