A feeling surges through me, screaming out, let it be known, I am in this world, right now. Yes reality, that old friend, rips through my windpipes and rushes out in a whirling swirling breath to echo through the night. The wind that lashes, the smooth fluid motion of the bicycle, the realisation of a larger world, a larger something, but yet a connection to its essential elements. This is no cybernetic interaction, no pensive inside thought, this is the world screaming out and flowing through in a circular motion of give and take that thrusts me into unseen euphoria. The bottle that lay broken on the street, the car that crunched under my boots, leave them behind for another day because on this one its all about the rush, the joy, the ecstasy.

I pause to consider the stories and the emptiness they leave behind and realise they will be always be there, not here. It’s not a matter of excising them from my mind but of emanating them through my spirit into kindly expressed exhalations of existence beckoning the most reserved of characters to venture out to live and breath, and more, to feel. Yes, this is what it means. To look out to sea and not to feel the vast dark void but the light off in the distance as affirmation of the residual warm affections of lost moments that wash up on my mind each night as I try to jump over the chasm between consciousness and sleep. The touch of lost lovers, the stories of lost people, oppressed and beatific, living in their own place somewhere right now, immediate sensations of incredulity at the crazy all-encompassing global clouds that swarm and touch off things releasing seismic waves of monumental significance. Where do they come from? The everyday touch, the beauty of an idea swelling and on it goes. Let not the festering wounds of history be drawn up into this enormous vortex and the robots who speak strictly in currency terms to leave in their wake a world devoid of soul and subtlety.

Longing and missing is no better than hoping and wishing and I keep riding my bicycle on a cold dark night under the light of the silvery moon feeling alive, feeling high, feeling connected like I’m a star in the sky.


Mark Simpson

Scoresby, Australia

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