Interstellar Medium

Visions. There's a ranch house at the end of long, featureless road. Their are acres of land all around this ranch, tall grass blowing in the dry wind. There are curtains blowing in the kitchen. A warm cup of coffee sits on the kitchen table. A cigarette is burning in the ashtray resting on the steps of the enclosed porch. Their is a familiarity about this place that keeps me here. A pound of Earth inside you that speaks my name. Memories of our baby. We're tilling the land. Inside, the house smells like oranges. We listen to old country 45's as the sun goes down. It's always quiet. 'Speech is great, but silence is better' is the vibe here. No need for words. I know I'm home when I'm on that porch with you.

I've been riding around town at night. Late night marauder. There are certain qualities that become apparent in the night - Alone at night when it's all true, speeding downhill on my bicycle, neck-breaking speed... Where is it, what is it that is found in the night? Aside from the super cool gadgets that only Bruce Wayne can buy, what is it that attracts us to this cowled crusader? I'm all for conquering your fear, but I just can't seem to put my finger on the reason we all appreciate Bruce so much. And okay, maybe YOU don't like him. Perhaps you hate him. It doesn't really matter because at some point in your life you wanted to be like the Batman (I've known a few Selina Kyles in my day) Don't deny it, we all have. His stealthy abilities, his perceptive nature on the human mind - Yet, he doesn't even have any super powers. He's just a man, but also more than man - You can definitely count on his raging will power in the face of his parents' death. So, what is it that gets the heart pumping with excitement when we see the Bat-signal, or the moon, the stars in the sky?

From all woe, greatness rises.

I hold destiny by the hand

I lead her

She leads me

Together we are trying to escape the infrastructure

The catacombs of our doings

These decaying urban ruins

Destiny is easy to lose sight of

She slips free of my hand sometimes

And goes off to be with all the small, wondrous things

I am left to fend off the shadows

The demons that haunt

Who distort destiny

When the shadows pull her frown

I must run to catch my destiny

When she is dragged down

I feel like I’m paying for crimes I didn’t commit. But I KNOW the real crimes – common deeds and actions of the everyday…and I’m tired of having my sentience eroded by their incompetence day after day. I’m sick of being aware of every aspect of every action and mode of behavior in the minds of those that surround me. It’s soul depraving…and it robs me from myself.

I step outside my door - alone. I step out into another city block of their prison, another zoo, another forsaken, artificial habitat. Another day, another night; another stage latticed and engulfed in confusion. An external world that makes me feel ill-at ease inside myself. Forcing me to examine myself under a microscope.  Fast forward, Rewind, Pause - Seeing me through their eyes. I’m trying to keep to myself. I’m trying to do the things I want to do.

Mid week I regurgitate the thoughts in my head…every night I slave my health away; serving the ungrateful, bizarre and intoxicated alike.  It astounds me how they can walk through life without a shard of responsibility stuck in their conscience, move about without feeling or any class whatsoever.  Traffic passes by and sirens moan and wail in the late hours of the night, encompassing a feeling or a wavelength that is unnerving and surreal.  It’s amazing how they can all be so passive - and myself, with my abilities and cultivated brilliance, manage to screw it all up.  They walk around as if life were a novelty key-chain lanyard purchased at a tourist shop; hanging from their pockets when it should really be hanging them by their necks.  When one place things in a pocket, they are easy to lose…attachment, the ship’s anchor; is a unifying force with the power to stay and remember.

…But no one wants to remember anything anymore.  Too many things fucked up.  Too many machines to back it up.  Why do the math if a calculator will figure out the problem?  Even the ‘artwork’ around the neighborhood has become so absorbed, filtered and processed through the toxic killing machine of industry, media and socioeconomics; everything - everything has been reduced to state of oblivion.

THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN HEAD AND HANDS MUST BE THE HEART!