The Man Who Vowed To Catch The Sky

...and never touch the ground.

It's an inevitable feeling when you step on a radon floor as you watch the crowd of libertines minding their own business.

You wonder how one could be in the commotion of anthropoids and feel unease.

The uneasiness of isolation in a grayscale mosaic of plastic inextricable.

But when a pagan closes his eyes and sleep under the trees as the sun washes his overalls on his own.

You don't call that loneliness, you call that tranquility.

When one loses touch with God he loses touch with everything. Right?

Is God the word I'm looking for? Or is nature a more fitting nomenclature for the generic population of voters and dominions?

I dreamt about Vittoria again. As forever I should.

She proved God in a tunnel of atomic acceleration.

I could prove God in an easier way really, by the sense of nothingness.

It's exactly that.

"Sometimes I don't know how much I love my home, until I've been somewhere really different for a while"

Been remembering things again.

Like that time I crossed the bridge from one wooden platform to another.

You've been there.

There were birds everywhere, chirping to get your attention, but most of the time you long to get to the other side before you enjoy the view.

But when you get there, your mother tells you that it's time for lunch and that the birds "dah bosan dah"

Life's an aviary.

Take time to notice the plumes of parakeets, and the planks that you step on.

I can't promise you it'd be faeces-free. No one can.

All I can tell you is that sometimes you're just not looking up. And that you have to try to do so.

Occasionally the planks are brittle, and you fall through to your end.

So what?

Honestly, so what?