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Wednesday
Aug062014

All Rubble

If there were such a thing as another option, we would advise you to keep moving. But there is no such thing. So keep moving.

Move, go, move until you yourself keep pace with the moving, merge with the moving, and then what? A daffodil, perhaps, on a windowsill, into which the whole world pours? A nice start, yes—pretty—but already gone.

So how can we say it? A flash of lightning? A thundering kaboom? The fire? All this. A clap of shine that shelters the darkness. A clap of darkness that shelters the shine. Applause!

But goddamn how we yearn to wash our hands of words and yet, at the same time, we can’t stop talking. Talking too can shine, does shine, has its time and then it’s gone, like wilting daffodils, forever.

Live every moment like a punch in the face. Get knocked out.

People will tell you to let go and let Whatever, but this assumes some selfsame you who lets go and remains, now bereft of something and probably crying, boring your friends. What if, instead, you let go of you, the you that holds things? If you let it all go together, it would all go together.

Wind, rivers, music. Blue balloons that vanish into blue skies. Like that.

But, then again, you letting go of you makes for a tricky jam. Because then you have to, in order to get the job done, let go of the you that lets go of you, too, and—wait—we’re making us dizzy. You really are infinitely persistent. So maybe just fall, or drop? Collapse, and die?

Dying takes practice.

So when things fall apart, fall apart with them. Stay falled apart. We know, we know. This is the last thing you wanted to hear. But what, if you would just stay falled apart, would be left that wants to hear something, let alone hold on to something that would need letting go?

No. Fall apart with the falling apart. Fall apart together. Whatever.