(no subject)
We are that deep red kiss, bright against the mouth; the cold stones and the ancient bedrock. The quiet loam. Many legs spin their webs among us but we do not flinch. We sway with the breeze and at night we take the day we’ve seized and travel further.
Our songs shine in the tides as errant signals; colliding with whales and the guts of oil rigs. The wind in the rafters. The bats in the dark.
Remember those old stories? The ones we read as kids? They tear through us now, running in thick ribbons through the air that we breathe, the trees that we climb. When we scan the air we find ourselves, bouncing back.
When I hold out my hand I know that there are more things passing through it that I can’t see than those that I can. The invisible signals, messages between lovers. The earth flares up with zeros and ones and to an observer from a million light years this hunk of rock would seem to be a Nagasaki. An explosion blazing signals so thick and fast that decoding it would yield not a truth but a silent explosion.
This is the unwritten contract which we’ve already signed. We are young and bright and right now we seem infinite, truly alive.
They found a tribe recently who speak a language where the past lies ahead and the future has already happened. When they think of the road ahead they see themselves at the end, standing triumphant. I feel like that these days. I think everyone should.
Doves, we skim the air and make no ripples, our call is a silent one but it runs through the arms and legs and bodies of everyone we touch until we’ve seen ourselves atop the mountains that we've scaled in dreams, we’ve seen the horizon and felt our own message fly back to us, pass through us, and continue on, a thief in the night that we’ve touched, just once, and sent ahead. We are no longer afraid.
Our songs shine in the tides as errant signals; colliding with whales and the guts of oil rigs. The wind in the rafters. The bats in the dark.
Remember those old stories? The ones we read as kids? They tear through us now, running in thick ribbons through the air that we breathe, the trees that we climb. When we scan the air we find ourselves, bouncing back.
When I hold out my hand I know that there are more things passing through it that I can’t see than those that I can. The invisible signals, messages between lovers. The earth flares up with zeros and ones and to an observer from a million light years this hunk of rock would seem to be a Nagasaki. An explosion blazing signals so thick and fast that decoding it would yield not a truth but a silent explosion.
This is the unwritten contract which we’ve already signed. We are young and bright and right now we seem infinite, truly alive.
They found a tribe recently who speak a language where the past lies ahead and the future has already happened. When they think of the road ahead they see themselves at the end, standing triumphant. I feel like that these days. I think everyone should.
Doves, we skim the air and make no ripples, our call is a silent one but it runs through the arms and legs and bodies of everyone we touch until we’ve seen ourselves atop the mountains that we've scaled in dreams, we’ve seen the horizon and felt our own message fly back to us, pass through us, and continue on, a thief in the night that we’ve touched, just once, and sent ahead. We are no longer afraid.