In the beginning… when everything was perfect…
America, the beautiful. The land of
perpetual wind… the valleys of plenty and the ridges of inspiration… a spirit
that breathes life incessantly… a river of conviction… like a desert… dry and
seemingly neverending… the bed of a once lover… a dust of dead leaves.
The event horizon had passed… passionate extradition and seething
expatriation… the migration of the intellect to some far eastern deceit… an
alien invasion of ideas… an orchid in the valley of the lilies… assimilation…
the lily of the valley of the orchids… cross pollination… an orchid of the lily
of the valley…
Refrain.
America does not exist… to carry on a total lack of respect for her freedom
and maintain still a model of her desire… transparently as well… we the people
are nothing, save in love. And then it
is when we allow for transparency to the reaches of our nothing so direly in
love, we come to notice that there is real opacity… solidity encounters in the
externalizing of the risk of securities… in the dilution of intellectual
property to the winds of inspiration… skating along the concept of an edge…
Cue the violins.
Errancy… the flight from the mystery of the desert to the immediacy of the
plenty… solitude saturated with others most precious… this is the most pure
moment will ever experience… breathe life and forget… keep moving… though there
is nothing left to say in perpetually carrying on… all the same in silence…
And in the distance of the deserts… the dry rivers of America throbbing
like the ancient veins of world… there was at last nowhere to run, no forward
motion to hide in. We just stood and
listened to ourselves think. Watched
ourselves dance in the hazy cool eyes of Brooklyn hipsters, angel dusted indeed…
all of life became foreign.
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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