"Tonight could be different"

This week I've been on the periphery of revelation, pulled between thoughts of burning & the human condition. I want to invoke flames and love songs, to share delirium and to revoke masks.

I'm finally able to decipher a lyric in a Kid, You'll Move Mountains song that, the first time I heard it, filled me with melancholy and mysticism:

"I never bat these eyes in fear that everything leaves me in that blink"

sings Nina as Nate builds a drumbeat to a perfect climax, with Jim chiming in shouting "Start to break" near the end.

It's fear and trembling, Kierkegaard's leap into black smoke, and I keep pausing with phantom understandings--at one moment in awe of the world as a complex system, at the next devastated by the belligerence of appearances. It becomes unclear for me what smiles I can trust, and then which I should endear. It becomes more difficult to endure, and a paralysis sets in.

It has something to do with my birthday just around the corner, and then with graduation barely a block further down. Beginnings and endings, and the commingling of vertices. It's Raimi Matthews' "Patterns within patterns, plans within plans."

It's too big to pin down alone . . .

I am tempted to close my eyes and run away, to find desert or frozen tundra, to oversee an ocean from a cliff-top. Life will move if I stop lifting my fingers, and I feel like staring past mundane ceilings, into and beyond oblivion, to complete a widespread vision that no one else is capable of.

Yet, I am bounded here . . . meandering cogently between depression and enlightenment.