Dusty Smelly Perfect


No one is here to guide me.

To engage full intuition.

Bounce against the fencelines.

Answer the unkind phonecall of the mystery.

Breathe the soot of my own limitations.

Cough forth the bitter-tasting old way.

Untangle invisible webs placed by my own hands.

Discover alone.

Hold possibilities (to my sternum) for which there are no language.

Anxious, mute and lacking glory.

Hands extended out front.

Instincts erect.

I listen.

"We are called upon to do something new, to confront a no man's land, to push into a forest where there are no well-worn paths and from which no one has returned to guide us. This is what the existentialists call the anxiety of nothingness. To live into the future means to leap into the unknown, and this requires a degree of courage for which there is no immediate precedent and which few people realize." 

-Rollo May, The Courage to Create.

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