Words as bullets, pumped straight into the guts of all those paled faced doubters. Fistfuls of creation, shoved into the mouths of all those who dare not dream. Am I stacker of shelves for Walmart, or am I a dreamer of fantastic thoughts, running through the streets of Berlin with my bearded face turned upwards to the neon sun. Am I a struggling writer walking through the fields of Dunstable, or am I dancing with my lover on a beach in Montauk, surrounded by snow and teary eyed angels. From Paris to Milan, Kyoto to Prague. Boundaries are meaningless. Words and belief, building bridges between nations and time. The past shouldn’t be mourned, it should be embraced. The future not feared, but kissed with lips of desire. Everything is everything, from string theory, to the laughter of child splashing in puddles on a warm, spring afternoon.
All the lost vigilantes. All the losers who lost faith, all those who stopped believing. Stick yourself together again. Lick your wounds, and regain the fire in your hearts. Burn bright, and ignite those around you. Take the hand of the one you love, and lead them into realms of unbridled fantasy. Discover divinity in the shadows of ripe minds. Open doors locked through years of dampened lust, and explore what yearns to see the light of day once more. The chambers of tainted curiosity, exhumed and breathing in the fresh air of a Hawaiian pineapple field. Moving through space, exempt from constraint. Passing freely like a bird flying between trees in the depths of a Colorado forest, or a riderless horse roaming the basin of Tule Valley, Utah. Limitless and immortal, like the stars in the sky, shining for untold lifetimes.
Fill the void with beauty. Stop hurting, and chase fireflies instead. Expression, worn like tribal scars. Discovery, applied like war paint and ready for battle. In the village of Auvers-sur-Oise, save the lonely man with a soul so delicate. In Tanworth-in-Arden, sing songs of joy for a boy so shy. The world can be ugly, but lovers make it dazzle with excitement. Romance on a picnic blanket, at the foot of a picturesque hill beneath a cloudless sky. And that sky, smeared with a billion colours. The flowers of her dress, and the flowers that grow in the gardens of her mind, so organic and elegant. Preach diversity. Dissolve gender, race, and creed. Float on rivers of tranquility, and fuck like you mean it. Because if you don’t mean it, there’s no point. If you don’t crave it with every breath, turn your back on everything and disappear.
With linked fingers, run breathless through the sepia-stained streets of your local town. Hurry down ancient Venetian alleys that maze like veins around your bodies. Bang drums and drink fine wine. Eat steak, and tell your lover in poor German, just what you’re going to do to them when you get back to the hotel room. The nights will burn with fire, they’ll celebrate every victory and failure. Forget everything that doesn’t make you feel alive. Spare it no time. Ignore every useless item that doesn’t stir your imagination. Every face that brings you down, should be discarded. Spit at those who tell you to be responsible. Deny pacification. Reject conformity. Lose yourself in whatever makes you happy. Smile, make love, and never keep back the words. Fire them at will. Take down everyone. Communicate to illuminate. Throw the windows open wide, and shout the names of the ones you love. Embarrass yourself. Be giddy. If doors don’t exist, create them. Laugh like that child splashing around in puddles. Crave it all. Crave it, always.
Categories: On Writing