The Earthquakes of Trampolines.

The Bissy Backson’s are getting to me. They seem to know that the way is not their way and so they don’t want to let anyone, who also knows the way, go about said way. It really is a silly means of doing things, since no one can go anywhere, no one can find anything. 

Like looking at the world through a backwards telescope, wondering how one day you can get to what you see on the other side. Though its right there, its like the elephant that grew up in captivity, the chain definitely won’t hold it, but it doesn’t know any better. Locked behind this door that we keep trying pull open with all our might, ignoring the “push” hidden behind the mental blind spot. Its the relativity of it all as Einstein said, we can’t judge a fish by its ability to climb trees, nor can we expect a wolf to serve High tea. 

We’re strapped into these parachutes, expected to jump and know where to pull. Where we land, we can’t tell, the earths curves are too expansive to see. We’re like snowflakes falling on a winters day, controlled by outside forces, each individual moving free in the storm of their own existence, reduced to water and floating away ones the dust has settled and chosen it’s own way. 

Mixed metaphors and bags full of books I won’t get a chance to read, cause time doesn’t know that Kings Cross isn’t as cool as Harry Potter made it seem. Never trying to hide the fact that we can’t dance in the moonlight, because its just the sun we can’t see, instead we dance in the candle light with the fixed gear bikes overhead. 

I saw light once all hazy and heavy, I didn’t believe it existed, it was just sitting there as if the photon’s had decided they didn’t have to move, they were on holiday and they just wanted their Mojito’s and a way to express all their heat. I chilled with them a while, they were cooler than I thought they’d be, they had great ideas, about oscillations and dreams, dreams about being small but always being bigger than anyone who said they weren’t. I like them, too bad the laws of the physical worlds woke up and told them to get back to working. 

Sometimes the sky’s cry, because they can see the world and how dreadful it can be, with their heavy hearts and ions buzzing they can’t help but lighting the sky, and scream with their thunderous roar, it doesn’t know that its doing it, its just is, and crying and throwing its tantrum, it too can’t see beyond the horizon, beyond the backwards telescopes gaze. 

The relativity of our lives are contingent on our ability to see without seeing what we want, to feel without needing to feel, to hear because we care to listening. When we forget, we start to question why its all there. We lose ourselves in the idea that we might be different than everything around us, further then the sun or the moon, and as meaningless as the speck of dust on my nose. But in really, we’re just panicking from the tremors of waking up, on the trampoline that shakes incessantly, we can only see the shaking, feel the shaking and hear the tremors uproar. If’ only we remembered, that we could get off, stare not at the latex stretched across but at the grass it sat upon, the earth below our feet the silence of the wind around us with the stability of the ground between the infinite spaces between our knees. 

So smile, Backsons, I know your game, there’s no reason to block the way, unless you wanna jump on this trampoline, just remember where you’re going to land, the earthquake might just be you. 

 

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