Baby, give me gasping galaxies of infernal heat to warm the vacuum where once I lay. Cut dusted fragments of the stars from my body and my mind–it think find its soul which till remembers the last whisper and caress out there where we made our nests in nebulae, powdered our faces in fractal fission and wept at the insane beauty that stretched to the unknowable ends. Give me whetstone tones of tenderness to grind on down these rough edges, I know you will. Fine tune my harmony to match the orchestra, I know you will. Love me gentle and love me brutal, I’ll do same. But, on the nights I go to bathe in the shimmer and glimmer of dead Giants birthing monstrous infinities while listening to shadows hum their lonesome shaded songs….on those nights, I am forever free.
This might truly be the only surviving video of me participating in the one activity that used to hold my mind firmly in place. Rock climbing is an obsession over which I used to fiend, dream, and bathe in.
You earn the sore hands and muscles.
There is something satisfying beyond all reckoning when you finally complete a problem that has been stumping you for days, months, or hell, years. It’s a competition against yourself.
Maybe something I’ll be able to restart as the past fades deeper into, well, the past.