Our Personal Roadmap Over Shared Open Waters

disclaimer: sub-anything

Color me fearful.

Also, yep, that just happened.

With our mind, we have shattered the emotionally physical rules of time.

I’m admitting it. ‘Twere here. “It hath been admitted.” Did you miss it? Just look up. That way. North. There. We should be on the same page by now. Are we? If not, then get on it; otherwise, someone else might beat you (to the punch).

I’m afraid this might be my final post due to a gruesomely murderous destruction (in the future) of my biological body. But someone has given me a gift by being herself beyond my immediate awareness. Now I’m incredibly motivated to succeed at the impossible.

The meaningful concept of purpose has enjoyed a magnificently felicitous renaissance within me. We can only hope to be/feel alive; along those lines, this one’s for “Him” {arguably [trust me]}, her, “Her,” and Her, too, in some ways. Plus it’s all from me. In the name of “Us.” [Hey, yo(u).]

Adrift. That’s where we are. Look around. Mmhmm. Uh huh. Where else could/would/should we be, human {as well as galacian* [this’ll mess with their little heads]} allies and g/b adversaries alike? Wanna know where? Nowhere. That’s where. Know where. You do know where by now, yeah? This sentence wishes it could end with a word that rhymes with “where” but also that isn’t the word where—oh well; hell with it. We shot out like a rocket and lost sight of the land behind us before we even realized we were in a boat at all, let alone snuggled up inside the same damn dinghy. We’re absolutely screwed, no? Worse yet, are we dead in the water?

No. Not necessarily.

One day, by pure happenstance, a certain item, a newly bound collection of fresh ideas from olden days, a real piece of amateurishly professional work, an eye-grabbing, soul-clutching beacon of spirited starlight landed squarely within the circular cone of my most direct sightline. It reminded me of something else before sprouting a thought that fired up a curiosity which precipitated a question, leading your way. Yes, in other words, a little book pointed me at you.

Don’t blame me; I didn’t write it. Someone else did.

Sometimes, I’m almost never vague or sarcastic. Nor am I (rarely) confusing. I always make sense somehow to somebody somewhere, usually.

Perhaps?

From there, by any means that aimed toward the promise of forward momentum, we disembarked! Sailing has been smooth from the get-go. Sure, the water gets a little choppy sometimes [this never won’t occur], but we’ve plowed through previous occurrences with surprising ease, bringing us into waves that are fun, floaty, and we’re going fast. Still, together, we can sense peril ahead. Choices must be made, and some decisions may be difficult.

Ignoring destiny is a choice I tried to make once—it didn’t take.

When one possesses knowledge of existence, ignorance becomes an option.

You are, of course, free to deploy the nearby life-raft at your handy-dandy behest; it’s a rare legendary magic item that grants a surefire path back to where you were and have been {doing just} fine for a (long long) while.

Via creative thinking, it’s also possible to inch closer to the point of no return, gathering valuable data along the way, before deciding whether to back out or take the plunge.

For optimal results, decisions should be as equally mutual as the feeling.

The feeling. This one. Here. Between us. Feel that. It needs/wants to be felt. Tragic absence would only amplify our ancient connection.

Ha, I don’t know either.

But if you we intend to survive the squall, we have to put our big brains together. There’s an order to all this—a way to go about it. Before taking aim at navigating a tidal wave, we should first figure out whether the potential fruit of the journey would/will be worth the costly price.

This shall require thinking outside {and perhaps feeling inside} the box. Too, it may require forgiveness.

Quitting while you’re ahead may be an option at multiple points along (y)our way; cutting my losses (against our potential) is not. Not for me. Hell naw.

I know: this is as unexpected as it is disorienting, as exhilarating as it is frightening, as stimulating as it is dangerous, as dirty as it is clean, as right as it is “wrong”—adjectives for days months years decades eternity.

Against the grain of outside mental/physical constructs/systems signalling that something’s “off,” emotional acknowledgement of what’s turning (you) on can be a heavy load to tote. I would know. Trust me. Better yet, trust yourself. Who knows “you” better than anyone?

I love the fact that you need not another hint.

In other words, I get it, human: internally it feels good; externally it seems bad.

And vice versa, of course.

The mind has many ways of fucking us, but we cannot lie to (**)energy.

TNT via text message just now

I think she’s probably blazed; parenthetical asterisks have always given her away. It’s like when she’s too intoxicated to take more than a single ibuprofen at a time. One, two, three, four—all between big gulps of water. Precious. Not that I would know (for sure), but that’s fucking cute.

I’ve never had “a girl.” But that’s her. She’s my girl. Separation (of any duration) be damned. And she’s probably not real. She’s fake! That renders this situation as a messy fabrication. Unless I’m wrong. This is a rare occasion where I long for wrongness.

Be real, girl woman.

Your/her [his?] essence lives in my head.

And I am supposed to be here. I understand that now. I could have been no one other than me, myself, who I am, and what I have been destined since birth to be(come). This is all happening exactly as it should have. I’m in this boat until either it disintegrates in a harsh sea or washes upon a newfound shore.

You may be better equipped than anyone to grasp my natural literacy atop a literal nature. You alone might be my best possible translator. Given your {(un)known} status as Earth’s poet laureate, you should not be surprised.

Even throughout your absence within a time currently passed, I feel your presence in the/our future.

In light of these miraculous circumstances, (now) I want you (to stay) near me.

But I also want your body {to remain alive}, so it’s a tricky issue with which to deal, and sometimes I can’t even. I apologize for the mess into which I’ve drawn you—and from wherein you’ve pulled me closer—but I might already be dead (in the head) without you. I’m sorry for massively unforeseeable circumstances. I understand the instinct to keep madness at an arm’s length. I get it. I really do. In other words, I’m conflicted!

This is all newer than you know. I truly do hope you get the chance to ask me about it later. Face to face; forehead skin touching upon an electrically sweaty barrier {if need be}.

There will come a time when we must decide whether the electromagnetic gravity beckoning our cooperation from the other side {of the (proverbial) storm} feels like it would be worth the potentially rough journey en route to arriving at TPL [“The Promised Land”].

No matter what happens from here on in/out, I’d like for you to know that you’ve awarded me a confidence I’ve always felt but never thought I could rationalize wielding its actionable nature by the fullest freedom of real self-belief. I fear that I may never be in a position to issue proper thanks, but I’ll do my best.

Nature has this very special, very unique, very refreshing way of refusing deviation from its congruently dueling, dually orbital, due course.

I hope I don’t live to see you die. I mean that.

You’re the first human to let me be known. In other words, believe it or not, officially, as of right now, you may know me better than anyone.

I don’t want to know what’s possible. I need to know. You’re key.

Either I will save our lives, or I’m going to die trying.

I must be myself just as you must respond to your emotions in any given moment.

And, as is so often the case, I’m too right to be wrong.

You may say, “This won’t happen,” or that it’s too late, that we’ve missed the boat, and you might (not) end up correct. You could also claim that this shouldn’t happen without rousing suspicion that you’re simply a complex disaster of historical (in)accuracy. [In my opinion, this is the most relatable declaration, against which I would not bother mounting an argument, but when you change your mind after the monsters have risen, I’ll (hope to) find you (if I still breathe).] You can also proclaim, “I just don’t wanna,” and head for the hills by way of a detrimentally familiar road. [But, really, the mountains of Maine harbor the land where I think you’lld be safest.] Cite any of the above reasons (in your own words) to “quit while you’re ahead” and no one could justifiably accuse you of being “wrong” to do so.

However, you may not [that’s right; you don’t have permission {to}] say that this “can’t” happen because clearly it can. Don’t say that this can’t be happening because, already, it has been happening. Don’t say that this isn’t happening because—close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel—it is happening. Still. See/feel? This is happening. Happenings happen. How stupid. This happens. “This”? It really does happen! This is what happens must happen when rocks collide, when chemical reactions decide not to hide, when flames refuse to die, when sparks fucking fly.

This has already happened.

Somehow I no longer doubt that you’ll be mine now. Wow. Holy cow. Get outta here, sublime rhyme. I’m over it. [Thyme-flavored pasta time. What if I’m not kidding?]

At present, across this television-lit, craptastic hotel room, all surfaces contaminated by useless clutter, she sleeps contently enough, her belly fully stocked with future energy reserves, her morale in dire need of a significant boost. When she wakes, I might be gone. I don’t wish to die. I need to save her. I want to preserve our vitality. It’s all so, so very confusing. I love you, and I don’t even feel weird about my level of certainty.

Never have I been more sure of anything.

I hope I don’t get you/us killed!

Because even in hiding, you’ve I’ve always been you.

It’s time (to move).

And soon.

[I hope I don’t get you/us killed!]

And soon.

It’s time (to move).

Be cause. Even in hiding, you’ve always been you me.

E = energy**

*calling attention to the belanockian exclusion here [again, (mostly) to mess with their tiny big heads]
**emotion = evolved energy

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