Often in the times of mind wondering - and sometimes confusion - over thoughts and feelings, somehow I find myself coming back to this constant again and again, no matter which road I started from, following an invisible thread in the maze. And this - returning back to this constant regularly - this is how I know it has become one of my truths. It stays clear when everything else varies. And that it, is my desire for her. It is one certainty I can't deny, she's standing there, every time I shed light on myself, a naked goddess in the sunset illuminated from all different perspectives.
I still remember it vividly. Singularity happened violently - almost inevitably. The energy was tremendous, the light blinding, the forces unimagined. And then there was dust. And silence. And the formation the universe began. Slowly. The laws were re-written -again- and this universe was now the only universe that made sense. I was alive.
Mind wonderings and thoughts finding their way to connect back to her. It is strange to observe the frequency and the absence of control over it. My thoughts are mine on their genesis, conception, but as soon as they'are out, they have a will of their own, cruising through the cosmos of my brain, meeting new planets, interacting, finding friends, sometimes enemies and dark corners they need to avoid if they want to stay alive.
And they seem to always be trying to somehow connect to her. It's also strange to write about me like that but writing my thoughts down in this particular canvas is something I haven't done in a while, and the observation of my brain probably falling in love is thankfully not like those quantum mechanics experiments - the observation doesn't change the outcome whatsoever. Paralysis by analysis doesn't work in desire, it's still there. "You are my center when I spin away," said Thom Yorke almost 15 years ago and the beautiful delicacy of his words makes it still echo in my mind whenever a specific set of notes is hit in me. He's not the first to say that.
Sometimes my head feels like a squash room where the ball is my thoughts, illuminating different spots on the walls as it bounces, vibrating, exploring the depths and space of my mind - and she is the racket. She provides the landing -safety-, the lift-off -spark- and the power trade (energy) for the ball. What a trinity.
This power trade is the source of this system. It starts with the impact. As the ball interacts with the racket, the forces change, the kinetic energy of the ball is transformed to potential -the ball hits the net- there is vibration, the net welcomes the ball gently -acceptance- there's tension and then, then it gives it a kiss and off goes the ball. The potential energy flirted back and forth between surface of the racket and the ball - and now the energy is kinetic again - the soft kiss- off we go to the cosmos - ready for the next always-slightly-different liftoff;-beware brain I'm an explorer now! My mind is the room, my thoughts are the ball and she is the racket, Ariadne.
It's an interesting system to observe. This power trade-off between the racket and the ball happens momentarily compared to the rest of the play - most of the time is spent between the ball and the room, the walls and the trajectories, the thoughts inside my brain. The impact only lasts for a moment yet it's enough. That's how I feel about her and me and the times we touch, the times we interact, the times I dream inside her. We land on each other - rub our thoughts in moments, touch and pulsate, we become the vibrations that release this energy, we split the atom, and the energy sets me off wildly, I am the ball and I am content, it's liftoff. "I am moving out of orbit" said Radiohead, in a song named "Bloom" so I think they were grateful for moving out of orbit as well. I'm grateful for these trips even though I'm making them alone sometimes. I know it and that's alright, I still really enjoy them. I like this type of me.
I wish this brain release of words would be a simple, uncomplicated poem written in a notebook smelling jasmine dripping color from the deliriously pleasant times when I could still feel her touch and my soul felt immortal and my pen felt like a sword ripping through the fabric of cosmos as I laid down my words, the new laws of this universe created from my pen and oh my god if this wasn't worth it then nothing is.
But this universe, like all universes, suffers from its expansion. The distances are always growing. The vail keeps stretching and the powers holding it together although never weakening, will one day be inevitably defeated Penelope. Because the melody of the planetary dance going, the valse of these systems en perpetuel mouvement, it comes from a musical box; it's finite. This was the dark corner and there's no avoidance. And since all future times will eventually sometime become present, it might as well be now, that's what I think sometimes, let it all break be torn apart, don't hold back Penelope. I can't change the rules of this universe, I can only lay them. A true saving would require the deus ex machina. The creator. Odysseus. Her.
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