by Darryl Price
The fear you represent is a drag. That's all there is to say. But like every other house on the block I have spiders in the basement who are waiting to be brought up into the light. These creatures only want to be good at being alive. Instead
they are given a dangerous reputation. It's much easier to squash what you can never be. Some will mistake your neck for moonlight and settle into a feel good dreamscape, others will rear up on their hind legs and dare you to play god.
That's a sorry wish too easily granted. Now apply that to the world. Things are more like paper than like stone. Every time you choose the easy route you have made the whole world one step closer to blinking out, even if you didn't mean to
be so unforgiving in the first place. You are not the king. There is no king, or there are only kings. Even a real king is not the end of all now because we are living in a spiral city full of holes that can collapse upon themselves at any given moment in time.
Learn to navigate. You're allowed to know things. It's too late to take back our misfortune in the garden now, so we might as well get on with the quest. The idea wasn't to get back, it was to get out, because free is free. Somewhere along
the line this was felt to be worth it--whatever the dangers. So when you make your album don't forget to be involved in every last detail--don't leave it up to someone else to make the small arrangements. You've earned the right to
scream or cry or laugh. And if they sit back and hate you with their stares they are the ones who are swimming in molasses. They are blackening against the rocks. You are rising, rising, and finding it to be a beautiful ride through clouds.
Just your shoulder could cause armies
to rise up out of the sands and clash. That
electricity alone will turn as many stars as
there are into pure desires. I can't help this.
It's like any small miracle. The
kind that creeps up on you and you find yourself
frozen with delight. You don't want to move for fear it will
vanish and have been something made only available
to certain senses
that tend to scurry away in sudden
unexpected moments like new spring deer. Anyway this
thing before you is my small token of thanks,
thanks for the flash of insight, for
the knock on the head of real solid poetry, for
the jolt of dreaming juice, and the lingering colors of all that
sky. Time's gone now. I talk too much. To myself.
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It's always good to have the truth on your side, but like anything else you have to choose your relationship with it.Are you a good witch or a bad witch? That question from the Wizard of Oz is still relevant to the human condition. And probably always will be. Eat Me from Alice is also a good entry point into the conversation. Things get curiouser. It can't be helped. But you still must answer the question posed by the caterpillar of your old self, who are you?