Clumsy and rigid he fumbles his way into the darkness, clawing
at shadows,barking with frustration and stumbling over his own
ignorance and fear. He hesitates momentarily as insecurity threatens
the wisdom of his journey. Until he glances over his shoulder
and realises that the path behind him is safe but illuminated
with gold-plated ideologies and tainted with boredom un-desperateness
and inane logic. Which terrifies him more than the fear of the
unknown.
The world is in front of him but he cannot budge it. As blood
fills his eyes, excretes from his ears and incapability seeps
under his toenails, the people on the hill laugh at him. but he
knows that they have never been soiled by the abyss.
He throws his compass at his demons and giggles to himself,
what use is a compass to a blind man. Now he has lost everything
he has nothing to loose and his eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing
the metropolis before him. He spits a bad taste out of his mouth
and realises that gravity exists only in his imagination, but
looks aghast when the wind blows it back in his face.
At first he back floats until a passing cloud gashes his arm.
Then he continues on the ground but stubs his foot on a volcano
but he is not bothered as he has suffered more harm just visiting
relatives.
Realising that his injuries were caused by time he takes off
in hyper-drive and he is intoxicated by the view. Now the clouds
are bouncing off him but still by reflex and sheer habit , he
ducks as a tornado engulfs him. Inside the eye of the cocoon he
adopts the fetal position, when he discovered the walls are a
labyrinth of forgotten rhetoric which beckon him back to the familiar.
He imagines himself into the psychic of his pet gold fish, Roger.
And is catapulted out of the storm on to the apex of a rainbow,
and doesn't remember that he was ever in jeopardy.
At first he agonises over which end might contain the pot
of gold. But as he lay wrapped in a translucent silken kaleidoscope,
contented, it dawns on him, it doesn't matter.
