It was always the front row of the rollercoaster that secretly appealed.
In the British racing green vetiver smell I parade and spin slowly. A grande fear of the paramount stomach flip, the fantasy of dying by being lurched and propelled from my pseudo-comfortable seat in this metal worm all start to brim and rinse through my thoughts. The Macbeth-like wind blurring and flirting with your vision of yourself. The neo-clarity removed and deconstructed. The questions now remain standing or possibly standing on tippy toes, the questions evidently start to crunch. The assured can no longer be deflected or forgotten by me or my drowsy mind. I have to ask, myself, me yes the absolutist me...am I human? Am I a forgotten past of myself?
I recall standing at the church's door as a young boy exposing myself willfully yet unaware. A verocious state of being, just nestled around realness. Giant and gloriously dominant from my angle of sight, I held my hand out to touch the messianic wood, the apparent smoothness of a door misleads me. On touch it divulges miniscule splinters and doubts. This is the beacon of all hope I am told, I am told with such conviction that my doubt would lead to a abandonment. Thus leading me to a place I was pretending to be convinced, held my salvation. Salvation from what exactly? What exactly does salvation involve? Am I obliged to be present? Those questions bugged me as a lad. Could I be different then? Could I possibly be not like the other followers of the light? Light. Wait I now lessen my understanding all together of light. Light, as a source of luminous ideals.Was I lied to? Can I define lies from half truths?
It gives freedom to a moment in time. A moment that has the dicotomy of wanting it to end and wanting it to last eternally. Brazen and feathery all at once.
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