A sight for sore eyes to blind would be truly majestic.
May 11, 2013 § 1 Comment
“Give me one fine day of plain sailing weather and I could fuck up anything, anything.” Plain sailing weather – Frank Turner.
The night rang true with that fizzing excitement song of finger on fret and electric guitars being hit without consequence. The flickering lights that let eyes find faces sat in jars hung from the trees by string like string lights. Smoke was in the air, thin in the nose, more a sent than an overpowering danger. Those lost sparks float from the fire and make their way toward the star scared night sky until they are lost amongst the persistent light of those long dead stars. For all my swinging madness, broken briefly by spells of simulated control, I had found the peace I had been craving. However fleeting, however limited and short lived I may find it, it was my peace. I knew that the music would fade, the candles burn out, the fire leave and the smoke with it and the earth would turn and drown it’s scars with blue paint and cotton wool. But until then the moment was mine. Until then, I would be free of whatever my mind had chosen would haunt me. Free to watch the sparks rise and the people cut shadows back into the dark. To sit content and easy not needing to say a word. Not needing to prove myself or come to terms with anyone. To smile for no other reasons than that way it makes you fizz and that there is simply no reason to not. I’ve often stated that I agree that ignorance is bliss. But I was wrong. If bliss is a term that cannot be split or shared amongst definitions and metaphors then ignorance should be tossed and it should be left to this night. Ignorance is tonight because my hand is in hers and my head has been clear every since.
No Longer an Astronaut.