Above, the sky appears to open up beyond gates of gold. A luscious cloud-cover that could only be conjured from a can of paint and a cacophony of creative brushstrokes. Bordered by the baroque framework and gilded glory of a past not quite ready to fade, the sky looks like an arched afterthought. The wandering eye could get lost amid such treasures, seeking out what is beyond, only to meet destruction, or at the very least a certain soreness, upon colliding with cement. The tricks and the artifice only possible with expectation.
I live for these jarring moments when reality is skewed, or slightly questioned, when what seems real is no more than a dream or a mirage. The result of a joint effort of wishful thinking and suggested possibility; the will to believe can fill in the most questionable of blanks. For the most part, the mind works this way because it’s a system that, well, works. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, what we see is what we get. But for that one time when it isn’t, it feels like the universe is winking at me. I love that feeling. A shared moment of mischief. The sudden glimpse of the Trickster. An instantaneous shifting of the ground you thought was stable. Little earthquakes of consciousness.
Mercury’s retrograde madness… it runs on and on and on and on…
