My canines ache in anticipation. My mouth salivates. The storm. It's coming. And I'm happy. Because #chaos is my muse. She is the deliberate mistake. Like me.
We are not smart enough to make our own. Chance and coincidence are more fairytale than God. Death is our friend. Not fiction. He reminds me that physical life has a purpose. That I must find mine. Before my last breath. Well before. Or the discovery is relatively meaningless.
Everything is relative, too. As relative as me and you. And that guy over there. The homeless man with the dog. The transient woman pushing the shopping cart. The fancy girl in high heels who spent $2,000 to walk on an Italian designer. The man in the suit from JC Penney with a vinyl briefcase and $10 haircut, trying to fit in at the courthouse. The garbage man slinging bags of suburban refuse into a truck to earn $50,000 a year because he gets benefits, works outside and doesn't need college credits. The 26-year old music industry exec who sat on an NFL bench for a season before deciding his pride was worth more than the signing bonus.
Mutation is part of our evolution. It's not just for comic books. Or, superheroes. It's for cancer patients. Lying in an MRI machine. Crying in an MRI machine. Lying to family. To friends. It's painful. But pain isn't a mistake either. Neither is the cure. A scientist finds it in the year 2026. Years of accidents will lead to another. And the world will cheer. Until the next biological threat emerges: Humanity itself.
Oh, the humanity! What fools these mortals be. Forgive them, for they know not what they do. Do you? Know? I'm not sure. But I'm having one Hell of a time finding out! It's pure Heaven....
Every inch of this ride makes me squeal with delight. Like a squeaky wheel. The one that gets the attention. I can't stop. Paying attention. It's like a True Blood existential train wreck. Without the fairies. But vampires with aplomb aplenty.
I am fanged fire, drawing blood and searing flesh with every step that echoes under the Earth. I delight in delight. Yet study misery in great detail. And, all it's company. I'm in good company, too. Bad Company sings a song a freckled boy kissed me to once. On a beach. In Beverly.
My skin isn't tattooed, but my soul is. With Sanskrit. Hebrew. Aramaic. German, Russian. Celtic. Welsh. And a language that is beyond memory. I am a living Tower of Babel. I can babble in more than nine now. Yet I can't say anything. Maybe if I had a boom box, a trench coat, and Ione Sky looking at me from her sad, staged window. Do you think she saw Fever Pitch coming, too???
It's kissing a virgin. It's the morning dew on a dark green leaf. It's a dead sparrow placed neatly to the left of your garage. It's on the tip of our collective tongue. A warm tongue between soft pink folds. The bloom of a rose the color of a #Georgia #sunset. It's driving more than 800 miles to begin an ending and end a beginning. It's standing on stage for the first time as if it were your 51st. It's looking out at a stadium full of fans and knowing each of them in the span of seconds.
Are you ready? For the #Boom???
Personally, I can't wait....