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Written by w.r. washburn
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the acceleration is unbelievable. my body leans forward as the inertia of the mass of the universe presses against my skin. the weight of a hundred thousand stories buffets me and i face headward, fighting, stretching, and aching to see. as usual, the rush of it all continues to increase exponentially. faster. more. higher. farther.
my eyes well up in tears and i cant understand if it is my heart weeping, or if it is the wind of the world tearing through me again. blink. shudder. twist.
the forms that reach my retina are blurred and murked against that backdrop of the expected and known. flashes of light and waves of color march steadily to me and rip past at breakneck speeds sometimes leaving only a scent. burnt wood. vanilla. grass. sea.
who do i think i am to tame this?
it cant be done. this i am understanding. the shock. the mortal. the cascade. this continues until it stops and once having stopped i will either yearn for its return, lamenting those good old slow days of lazing in the heat of that brilliant sun and sweating against her heat. or null.
it moves so fast. so fucking fast.
quickly now.
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