I have this impression of a moment – its there and wandering in the cornice. The shed out the back where the possums lay and argue –
… but, I digress
I have an impression that there has been some kind of transgression against the momentum of the fly wheel in my life, that the secular rule I adhered to in a not so seemingly fashion has been displaced and eaten in the order of first comes, first served. I’m walking down a street of churches, and I’m looking inwards to the spinward side of my logical declaration – and there it is, in its entire pontific gaze – pointing its direction.
I’d like to spin. I’d like to meander. Id like to take those choices and pander to the secession of things that I have taken for granted. Love. Security. Ambivalent obscurity, but instead, there’s a formulation in a split second of all the things that could be would be and shouldn’t ever be got :
.. and the spin might take me. Walk me up the garden path and into the aftermath of all the past that is hidden and secluded, an ocean grove somewhere on a beachside of a Belizean treasure trove – where I look outwards, half in contended yet deluded movement.
Its all about the impression – its all about the windward feeling of a fucking spout of words and letters and all unfettered glances that are stolen and left untethered to dry in the wind, jerk-like in a candlelight that’s tapered and flickering amongst the wayward bake-light covered figures.
I’m near burning, and the fever is high – the stone inside holds me down and looks towards me with a frown that speaks to me in tongues that are completely …
I need to spin. I need to stand beneath the stars, whether projected or intended or pretended and walk in tight knit circles that are drawn outside of the lines that are left to allow my life to be guided by – I need to hold hands high and peer into the distance like I once did – like I felt I could, like I knew I would and had a feeling that I really, really fucking should have.
I once had an impression that I acted on, that the thing I most needed was a relocation and a complete epiphination, to put aside my transgressions and forget the memories amongst my possession.
I relocate myself within, and I know that there is only the flavoured thought of a subtle whim that has left me to blunder into the wonder that I may have already wandered, out from within –
Yes. I believe its time to let the spin begin.