March 9, 2013 § Leave a comment
I hear myself rattle. Like a loose cannon thundering out it’s damage and then recoiling to the horror of those around. All iron and thunder in the belly of some old warship, dirty faces duck and dive for cover. Every other cannon in it’s place. Following suite. Happy. Unified and united in the a joint objective. That’s how it feels sometimes. As always, the truth is a little less poetic than that. I pull myself up from the all familiar surrounding of the floor. Bottles, butts, bystanders. The usual. Sick, stale beer, dried blood. More questions than when I embarked on my quest for answers. I drift out of the debris and make my way down onto the street. Back with the normal people. Back with the sane beauty. Going to work. Not pulling runners. At times like this too often rash decisions are made. About our directions. Our place in life. Our friends and our lovers. I’m sober now. I’m easier. I still feel all of it though. Most of it. The angst. Go easy until we speak next. I hope you find what it is you are looking for and I hope, that when you find it, it is as good as you’d hoped.
Whatever the fate of the loose cannon, be it nestled deep in hull of a ship it sunk itself or tamed and strapped back into line with the others, I know that, in that moment, it felt good to iron and thunder. It felt good to be loud and out of control. It felt good to break rank even if it was a moment of madness and potential selfish destruction of my immediate environment.
It felt good to be a loose cannon, but loose cannons are always tied down in the end. That, or they sink the ship.
That’s the story I’m sticking too.
No Longer an Astronaut.