I remember screaming and whisky drinking as the hour came upon us. Another tick of the sun, another moon to hail and to wonder about (space rock ark ship lizard hive mad mother birthed by ripping. A piece of Earth projected into the void to forever turn and help us climb into our own heads.)
This the time of new beginnings and here I am with the same brain. Fuck. I suppose I shall use it, clunky as it is. Familiar ruts lead to mud after a while. Gotta build streets and crush beneath them the life that made this place interesting in the first place. New paths, though difficult to blaze, add structure to this slop world I’ve created with my perceptions. False interpretations taken as golden rules have turned this wilderness of ideas into an office building of filed and collated take-for-granteds.
And how would you wipe the slate clean without losing who you are? What rocks are there to cling to when set adrift in the void? Is that the goal, to get Out? To float silently has never been the point. After all, I’m still on Earth. So I set fire to the village I’ve been living in the last few years and the mud becomes hard like concrete and the streets we vowed to never pave come up from the ground. Now I have to move on, to take to the wilds for a while and see what there is to see down the dark, dank ways. In the least, with my wanderings I entertain the angels who often become so bored with me that they doubt their own flimsy existence so still have they become.
It’s time to build the saucer myself and stop waiting for lights in the sky.