I have this dream where I step off of a carousel and watch it burn while it spins. The smell of melting paints and plastics causes cancer in the air. Horses scream while they run in circles. People still queue, not stepping out of line. I mean no harm by this: we were going nowhere. I can only save myself.
I have this dream of stepping off a train and watching it depart after my arrival. The smell of rain in the air absolves me of my sins. The mud is something purifying here. I begin again somewhere with a name and with memories, neither of which are mine. I mean to make them mine.
I am inspired by the idea of transitioning the not knowing exactly where I am or what I want from the existential to the physical. I am inspired by the idea of focusing on the lower needs of the hierarchy. Our wings are melting, I gather. I hunt for a solution. The remaining consideration feels like a lingering stagnation. I linger on a lesson in desireless death.
I’ve learned too many lessons and can’t remember to forget them. I remember where I am going and can’t forget what I will leave behind. The taste is basic bitter but to stay is acid drenched defeat. The answer is what seems exciting, not to leave well enough alone. I will leave well enough alone.