the city as animal, and we all scuttling around in the shadows of its steel girders and short-term memory framework. i'm seeing a foothold and a history among the scattered ruins, but i can never quite reach them more than have the grips slip right out from my fingers.
there's something along the lines of the sense of the feeling of hurtling forward. stumbling tumbling bumbling downward and then toppling over oneself which never ends until it does.
we're always in a sense attempting find our equilibrium, and perhaps mostly equalizing for short pockets of time. but what sweet respite from that upside-down turbulence. i long to find truth, love, belief, peace, and sustenance in those brief moments of calm, of clarity.
meditate on nothingness for ten minutes, clear your mind of any sort of anchor to anything or anyone, and then when you come back, eat a dish of ice cream with whipped cream and hot fudge, or nuts, or sprinkles, and flip a large bird to anyone who made you feel bad about yourself.