There is a place behind the cities, the towns, and roads, beyond the crows on telephone wires, when the telephone wires turn into telegraph wires and the telegraph wires turn into riders on horses. When horses become clay tablets with writing on them. There is a place beyond that, where the echoes of the song that you cant get out of your head are heard everywhere, become a soundtrack to your life, a rhythm that revs up as you step out the door. Montage as you brush your teeth, scarf your bagel and walk outside. The music swells. It's frenetic. It's a fly on caffeine high. You sway on the subway, cram in a car, stuff in an elevator, and arrive. The world begins with you. You want to dance all over the place, you want to tear up everything, you want to paint the world and blare music from every building and mountain and tree. You leap, flip dive, head over heels, smooth as molten chocolate. You dive down, down, down. Every atom is breaking into dance. Its the song that keeps on going even after you listen to it a million times and as you fall you continue to hear it. Its all around, plants in blossom, flowers you've never seen before, and colors like exploding fruit bowls and dye dropped into water. The plants spring into bloom as you get up, unfurling like origami, as you walk everything gets up. Dead animals get up and run. Appearing over a large glacier, you look over a land that is wholly yours. One that comes to life at your touch. Your tuxedo is tattered. The world goes slo-mo. Snow flurries on the slopes. The music is fitting.
February 18, 2013