Brightness falls from the air. And the room is spinning. The world is turning. Revolutions keep happening. We can’t stop the natural order of things. Kabbalists always tell that story about the sun and the moon, but it’s not just them. Something about the moon growing brighter meaning that the messiah is near. 22 years and I still don’t understand the concept of a messiah. Not really. Brightness falls from the air and it means that my body is throwing heat again, trying to sync up with that which is happening externally because the internal environment demands that. Brightness falls from the air and I am ready to exhale. I am ready to remember what that gap between breaths feels like when I twirl and dance in it. It’s the trick of slowing down the automated perception and de-habitualizing so that we can actually be alive to this life. Maybe there is no meaning. Maybe all meaning is veiled. Maybe the purpose is about that thing called love. Brightness falls from the air, and it is a cascade of peacock feathers and if we get lost in them we have a chance at dissolving backwards into ourselves. It’s a matter of letting go and it’s a matter of releasing and it’s a matter of doing nothing at all. It’s about getting off. And it’s about the high that takes us over. I want to be covered in glitter. And I want to dance in it. And I don’t care if it’s pesky and takes months and months and months to migrate off of my skin to illumine some other part of this existence. Brightness falls from the air and I forgot how beautiful it is to enclose confetti in handwritten letters and I want it on my lips and I want to kiss you. All of the numbers melt into yesterday and the imagined past fades like dreams that were too unimportant to hold close. Brightness falls from the air and it is Mary of Magdalene’s words in that lost scroll. So many systems to understand that which we cannot understand so many words to describe that which we cannot describe. Something about bolstering courage in a turbulent world. And the waves lick and crash and they lick and crash and lick and crash against. Hard juxtaposition and when it hurts it snaps me into a different space. We rise above and we rise above and once in a blue moon I yearn for an anchor. And the promise comes back to me some odd years later and it was simple: No matter what does or does not happen, we will reuinite on the next blue moon. Location to be determined. But it must happen. It will happen. And that’s how we parted after you returned my lock pick set. What is so satisfying about the way that pins can be manipulated into openness? Or spiking our dinner with Damiana that night so that you could have your first orgasm with him. And you described it as this cliff and how you kept getting stuck at the edge but that night you were able to soar and it was the best sex of your life and I disappeared back to the airport back to 1,000+ miles away because that’s the safe distance. Because there was something waiting for me in the mists. And for a while I panicked. I thought I had lost the dragon’s crystal, and I didn’t want to return to the lair without the precious jewel. I had never lost it. It merely went invisible for a bit. Brightness falls from the air and there are sunglasses in front of your eyes. There is something about moving. We have to keep moving. We do keep moving. But we mustn’t encourage the stagnation. And I think that’s what you meant when you were talking to me the other night. Keep moving keep breathing and the ignition gratitude will carry me through. Brightness falls from the sky and it is noisy, but not unwelcomed. Amber rose anointing oil on my pulse points and I want to glow for you, and please don’t let me fall too far. It’s posthuman identity politics and maybe Neverwhere had something great to say on the subject. We are. And we are not. Nirvana is the extinguishing, the blowing out. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

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