wrist slitting boredom. isolated life. a revolving door with a glass cieling on a glass bottom boat. fish swim. birds fly. meanwhile, the illusion of motion keeps us from asking too many of the right (or wrong?) questions about all the movements we take for granted. an electron spins and rotates around a nucleus as a part of a spinning planet rotating around a star that spins and rotates in the center of a solar system that spins and rotates around a galaxy that spins and rotates, which no doubt spins and rotates around some distant point that we can’t quite see or wrap our heads around the concept of, but that in one way, shape, or form flexes (consciously or otherwise) its own muscles to attract the babes on its beach who’s sitting on the towel of some IT guy who just sold his .com for a nice chunk of what we have all somehow come to agree counts. and though the effects of said muscle flex may take longer to feel than the sand in his face they are no less real than the collective imagination of us all holding hands and daisy chaining our way to financial institutions more powerful than any concept we may have all collectively agreed upon in the past and heaved into heaven. we’ll have to grow more hands to hold for this one. and while the muscle man in the center of it all grows tired of waiting to see the effects of his flex and climbs back into his custom costume delivery van and spins his tires and looks up to the sky and sees a bright orange ball he’ll think it’s the sun. but it’s not. it’s a tangerine dirigible, which is way more tangible.
