Breathe

The laughing shoes. Crazy shoes. The only thing of interest over the course of the past week.

Laces weaving shadows of eyes. Mouths agape, sardonic, those sneering eyes. Collapsing in upon themselves and giving of themselves a grin. A universal guffaw, or a tip of the mad-hat.

A wild and capitulating sadness reborn in the celebration of the madness of the day. The bright day. The very,...very...bright day of the sun-bleached afternoon. Blinding in it's obviousness. Striking in it's plainness. Stark and barren. Cold in the shadow, radiated in the light reflected in the void of expanse and unforgiving in it's gaze.

Here we are. Aghast and again. Forever whispering. Forever complacent. Forever wishing at the tomorrow. Like tugging at the apron strings of our servant. Forever smiling into the void. Always blinding ourselves with the expanse of blood.

Scarred and shaken we tremble at the possibility of the day. Blinded by and educated in the brilliance of the midday sun we find ourselves quaking, abused, contorted, confused by the headache of the brilliance of the light. Denied and careless, we double our efforts and render ourselves hateless, sightless, guileless, squirming in the slime of birth. Rendered helpless yet omniscient. Writhing in exuberance, ecstatic in the possibility and endless forging of understanding.

Mouths open, as we were in the beginning. As it should be, and as we are in the presence of the expanse. Baffled. Refuted. Retarded it would seem in the face of the infinite. Retarded in the face of the void. Agape and aghast.



Keep the spirit.