#45: Brute Force

And to think that I would be sitting here a year later, having seen the same show, having lived the same images. Someone drops their phone. To think that I would be looking a picture a year ago and wishing. To imagine that. To consider that. To stand and stare in hopefully longing at the joy. Knowing that it’s right there and ready to be felt if I’m ready. Someone takes a picture. A man walks on a treadmill, while a parade band high of the energy of being for a carnival land contrive beats and rhythms that transcend words. Description of rave not possible. Not even found in the dictionary. This report pales in comparison. And to think that. Someone makes a film. And to think that. Someone selfies. With their boyfriend. And to think that. Someone kisses someone else. And to think that. As the water slowly falls, as the people gracefully drop to the ground and smack polystyrene after polystyrene after xerox on top of heads and pull individuals up and out through portals into new worlds. As I stare up in drunken non-drunken ecstasy faking a feeling that I almost know and I can almost absorb. Because they’re telling me they’ve got it and they’re all in control. That I should enjoy it cause there’s nothing to worry about.

Well, I think I’m in love with everyone tonight. It’s a feeling that mauls my person like a cat licking a bowl full of milk dry. It’s disgusting but you can’t help and feel happy. You want to watch it over and over again to check that it’s real and see if it was all possible.

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