Reality is an unsympathetic creature that lurks in our shadows. If the purity of reason can’t shine on this relentless foe, then our gift of imagination and expressionism will ignite our shadows with a vengeance. I’m proud to be of another psyche. Without it, would I write to you all with such metaphorical beauty? I think not. In fact; all these words would be ordinary. The hell with ordinary! I wanna dance in the rain like a mad man! I want my jaw to clap for new friends; my eyes roll to a goth beauty. I want my head to whirl around without the sense of what is in front or in back of me because there is plenty of reason not to make it out in a small, racist and narrow-minded town called Hampden.
Can a head turn 180 degrees? Imagination could. It can turn this head again and again until it screws off its spine and lands by my feet. Even then, I’m not spitting dirt. I’m chewing what the world has discarded. Whether it be unavoidable or unthinkable, it belongs to me. My words, my feelings, my thoughts, there’s no script for what is true. Latch the hooks into this mouth with what you think is true but it will not open for you or in a way you’ve expected. No! It’ll open for the meaning, not reason. Reason does not exist here. The distinct silhouette of reason will see us and perceive how they’ve been taught and sense us as unapproachable. The metaphor itself will have a shadow which blends into the most potent of light.
Where may the predator lay? Its white eyes illumed in my shadow. Now and again its claws sting the outer reaches of my skin.