EnoBowie

Progress



I’ve gotta fix it. Make it different. Make it right. Make it novel. Make it visceral and extreme. Gotta bring the white light. Bring the red and the gasp. Make it final. Make it real make me fall in love. All consuming sacred obsession hidden from your view but not mine. A tattoo inside the mind’s eye glaring back at me with a seductive smile and an offer too good to refuse. I salivate and kneel and scream and rage against the wall of reason that holds me back from ecstasy. That stops the train from derailing. The straight jacket wisdom that prevails a million times per hour over the reckless compulsion to annihilate. To destroy the universe. To break the rules and hop off the ride. To refuse to play and let life ooze away like a slithering serpent onto a dirty rag. It’s beautiful and complete. It’s all I need and more. Nothing more perfect or insane or meaningless and misunderstood. I keep it at bay in a little box with a bow like a gift waiting on the shore to destroy the progress I've made. I doubt I’ll win every battle but must strive to find  joy in uncharted terrain. I’ve got this but I don’t and I think that’s O.K because it’s our condition and we have no choice but to embrace the absurd and play this perplexing game.

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