How sweltering these days can be. I’m not used to this kind of weather. The last summer I felt was not lived in this skin, but by two-ton fragmentations of mind done up in a toy-shop somewhere to the north of Fucking Kill Me. I lived there for four eternities, one for each of the faculties of body, emotion, mind, and breath.
What kind of story would have this as a beginning? Only the most incredible kind. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t try. You could only watch, wait and see, tell those eyes what they should see or have seen. These words fall out of a space I cannot fathom, a space I’m not even sure is space. It feels like a velvet button up abovy my left will, staring into a third space which is so unfathomable as to make the other one I was talking about seem like the lunch you just had.
I can’t even press the button; something else, or more – but not necessarily different – does that from time to time. Sometimes what comes out shines like a polished penny, and sometimes it glistens like a turd catching the noonday sun, but either way, its principal value is lost on most. Even I do not shine it up to much. It is what it is, but...what is that?
The same as this, the same as your head and hands, the same as that anything which trails away into space and brightens around the corners and edges, which you can just hear to be singing from out of the distance of your eye, such that you don’t quite believe it, but you really hope it keeps doing it, for whatever reason it does it. Sing, you say, and it seems to be, so you are content. It rises and falls along whatever invisible, silent path it follows, making everything up as it goes along, just like that true running which is your daily fuel.
Drink deep and piss it away in equal measure, because the band comes marching in, and there’s no time for keeps. Just the open hand to show the sky before we pass beyond it.
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