slow down

A race with no end. Constant inertia in that feeling you've forgotten something. And what fear decays each moment. What to strive toward but a replacement for the paranoia; love, but not some mythical answer. The short evenings for long days. The back patio or the record room. My home's working desk, and the clutter of papers. When I close my eyes I see video games. My purple and see-through GameBoy color and the many hours I spent playing Pokémon. Head down, I opted out of the race. I stepped into another world.

The uselessness begs to fight with all I've understood; to be creating would require a ceaseless effort. And I've discovered, or been in awe of, my existence as a creation and creator. The river which flows through me and all life. So calm and hazy and unseeable to anyone not looking, but clear as day and a summer sky to the quiet believer. Not an unending explanation of "how" or "why", but simply what overtakes the mind, as hours give themselves to nothing and no one. But to you, and everything you know, what the world becomes.

Where Science tires, and religion turns its nose. Where colors double back on themselves, and the glowing white meets the engulfing black. In pastels and neons; matte or impossibly bright. Those moments which exist as fairy tales. The "time when..." A legendary existence, how humans came to make themselves happy, was the only guidepost we needed. An imagined town, an imagined street, an imagined life. In the mind you can remain, but your idleness will be your destruction. Only know what walls need tearing down. And where languid breaths of air are water for the soul. Taking their time until taking their leave.