I have a separate life out at the edge, sort of a peripheral existence where other things are important and odd distractions are the norm.
It is there I write fascinating; amazing pages that illuminate life’s shadows and stretch the laws of reason like 30 pounds of trash jammed into a 10 pound plastic bag.
The plastic becomes excruciatingly thin, even becoming somewhat transparent at the greatest stress points, but never breaking through.
The problem is that I can never place such pages upon this blog. They are written in images void of punctuation and falling just short of understanding. Unlike this, where you are reading one word at a time, slowly piecing the picture together, the communication on my pages at the periphery explode into sharp images all at once.
If it were sound it would be like a massive speaker bursting music through a vacuum. There is no vibration, or sound waves, but simply and quite loudly the very essence of Stairway to Heaven reaching through the far side, colliding into one Galaxy after another like a steel ball echoing across a pinball machine, waking all inhabitants only to again become eerily silent.
Unless of course I pull the plunger back once again, compressing the intergalactic spring with such great force that once I let go it sends the steel ball at light speed off of the playing field and splintering through the back of the known Universe, crashing into and leaving quite a dent in time itself.
It really is best that I leave that kind of stuff out there at the edge. It would be different if time didn’t have multiple sides -and dents just across the way didn't became protrusions in someone else's space.
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