Where do they all come from, these things that swirl around my ever blurring vision of myself like this vortex of tell tale signs in a horror novel. Coming together and pulsing and getting me all wrapped up in bandages and string; crepe paper draped over saturated crimson pinata bloated with candy. And the sweets are my doubt. And the bat releasing the inside is my search. And the kid that keeps swinging is unknown to me. The waking dream lets me wander into the foreground while the camera continues to focus on the background. I become all fuzzy and silly and there's this creeping sense of disbelief. A snapping back to context: I really am here where I was and now I'm not. A quick realignment: I'm me. The cardinal swings lazily in the wind without a care, dying and living all together now. Coming apart later when I leave. I look down and the pebbles I disrupt reach their present points where they map out prisms and geometries. They come together just this one time and I leave it alone. Because I wonder, "Is the smoke still all over the place?" Are we not solid but swarming the air like atomic bees? My thoughts like a bubble in a comic book above my head.
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