You Are Free Energy
You are the universe unfurling.
Cold water on hot skin, your skin’s a sleepless city, a cosmopolis comprised of so many things, vibrating latticework spun out of so many regenerating cells. Go anywhere, do anything, there are so many things and you have so many lives.
You have so many lives, push yourself into the void off the deep end. The void is a soundproof room, sleep in it or scream; the void wants to play, close your fingers around its neck and inhale it, ingest it, squeeze it inside your atrium and let its oxygen thicken your blood. You came from somewhere but you also came from nowhere; you’re unstill matter, tabula rasa every single morning. You are so many things.
What is it like to be so many things?
The feather drift of an eyelash in the void, scar tissue crystallizing over wounds, infinite power grids of cells reflecting white light and cold fingernail shavings flicked across the linoleum. You’re the connective tissue, white matter shifting and changing as the void gets up and stretches, indents pressed into its calcified skeleton, raw blood and saliva and the glia holding it together, dead cell dust on the floor. You are the neural charge, the first open eye; you set it into motion with the ultimate cosmic yes.
You are so many things and you are so beautiful.
We’re parallel worlds but you overwhelm me when your fingers touch my skin, its electricity crackles and I can’t tell what goes where in time, or how many eternities there are wound tightly into now, but sometimes things touch you and nothing and sometimes things touch you and everything. Some things brush against you and seep through the cracks in your shell, dissolve into your system and alter its chemistry, sliding and diffusing through your viscera like fever-molten ice.
You’re a spark that can flare up any moment and die any moment but for that moment I’m rooted in it, transfixed and watching the crash; you are the universe unfurling, a blinding collision of unfiltered light and I can’t look away.
I can’t look away, your fingers touch my skin and my lungs tighten on contact, my heart ricochets violently and plummets into the void of my stomach like a monster elevator with cut wires and I can’t look away; I want to absorb your energy and coast on it before the universe consumes me, hold onto it for a moment before I’m a consciousness without a body, before the primal frequency splinters my vertebrae and I’m chewed up and spit out again and again like seeds.
A | A | A
You probably thought I was going to recommend Orange Is The New Black but I’m not.
The middle seat is your domain.
I’ve been in cars with them when they’re full of liquor, seesawing on their feet but steady on the road. Farm boys have a grasp on a steering wheel, they were born holding it.
I desperately wanted to be a cool Gen X-er in the 90’s but there are a few reasons why I’m glad that never happened.