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Air

Posted by Fiss on August 14, 2006

Strike Fiss’ Manifesto

May 2001

Air

I still feel the flight.  Like some kind of warm blanket around my sense of Earth, Gravity and Reality.  When you can feel the 737 line up for it’s attack into the sky, you know it’s real.  Maybe it’s the white checker-stripes of the runway as you slide down it.  Or maybe, and I hope this is the truth, you can feel it inside of you.  The aircraft aching to fly…to do what it was created to do.  I dare say that the feeling resides in me for the same reason.  Maybe us all.  The acceleration snaps you back to it’s own world.  The haze is gone, but leaving things changed in it’s wake.  You feel speed.  Energy.  The sky along your body, coaxing you up.  I should be scared, but nothing would make me so right now.  In fact, I can only urge the process forward…faster…lock me into the seat and take me higher.  The Earth slips beneath us, but we are still attached to it; until the moment it washes over you…

You’re flying.

It’s the incredible, smooth, first heartbeat I love the most.  When you can feel air all around you.  A cushion lifts you up and presents you worthy to the heavens.  It is as if you’re home.

The ground turns into a toy chest.  A fortune in model buildings, dinky cars, and farms of ants marching to their own music.  Next, as toys turn into coloured patterns, the agricultural jiffy-markers paint across an endless green and brown scrapbook; only to slowly fade into an organic brain-like scribble that melts in with silicon wafers and endless memory.

And then, as the ground slips below a white heaven…  Blue.

The most amazing colour you’ve ever seen.  More blue than any ocean, and so much different than what you see when you look up from the Earth.

It’s a dream you are part of…and all it takes is some wings.

Strike Fiss, Studio Shinnyo 2001.  Khattam-Shud, EOF.

Posted under Manifestoes, Poetry

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