Thresholds

Imprisoned in my cell awaiting bail in Montparnasse (I lost my patience with a clochard and poked him soundly with my stick, thrashing the snakes that sounded from within his slack & pickled skin), I think on the door to freedom.

Why do we fear to cross the threshold to the new and taste the other? Why do we drag ourselves like zombies through the secular cathedrals of the great god SPEND with our skin itching, throat aching and time ticking on to the flicker of unnatural light.

Never entertain a faceless house that’s first purpose is to take your money. Never queue to seek an audience with a machine.

We’re held in narrow cells confined and weary awaiting judgement.

Cross the thresholds of the secret places, pass through one new door each day, break the apathetic fear that manifests in the blunt and lazy whimper of tomorrow.

There is no past, there is no future, there is only NOW and the end is always nigh. (Repeat)