At Last

I've been too visual to write coherently, so I'll update with a few excerpts leading up to production.

Sunday evening, I'm running as fast as I can though I'm not quite sure from what--responsibility perhaps?--in any case, the important thing is to stop running, but for the life of me, it's hard; I've lost perspective you see, and fear lurks in the darkness, fear of failure, fear of challenge; my whole body is wracked by fear; tension runs like electricity along muscle fibers and reverberates through all that is me; "fear of god," said Jeff. What am I going to do about it? It's hard to say. Drink. No. Write. Yes. This is the beginning, this is the boon, the beauty, the blessing, the grace: how lucky we are to have this indispensable tool and how ungrateful to use it so infrequently that it collects dust in the darkness....

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You are the blink of an eye, the time it takes a leaf to drift to the pavement, a break in the clouds or a cloud that scuttles over the moon, a raindrop that ripples the surface for a brief second before submerging. Everything will continue as it was before and nobody will know the difference.

Wonders creeps like vines over the skein of reality, entwining the mundane with ineffable glory; for those who choose to see it, the mystery is intoxicating. I trace my fingers over the curvature of space and time and crumple dreams between my thumb and index fingers; I destroy civilizations with a casual glance and forge chaos from bars of gleaming darkness. Life curls and unfurls and wraps around itself, repeats itself, destroys and recreates itself and we are victims swept up by the tumultuous sea.