I change culturally and mechanically, often taking form and function from nature and nurture and then forming friction from my last presupposition. By degrees, I stray from what is natural and move toward the mechanism. Enamored often with myself and with what vapid concoction with which I enforce and define my flux. To defend my disfunction, dispel my critics and insolate my invention. And the invention is not mine. I inhabit the measure of path to which my foot is most firmly nestled and think it safety. It is certainly not safe. Nothing along the path is safe, but dangerous. The deadliest however, is the unwillingness to change. I know this, culpable for my response. My soul knows too little to go. I know too much to stay. My soul only knows what I tell it. Or, at least, what it's been told. And it's been told of an illusion of safety and forgets the reward of risk. It knows the mechanism; The machine. It knows what I've allowed. So, it is my responsibility to expose it to the possibilities. To feel the future, thinking forward and give it a singular option: Go!
It is not in the rearview or bathroom mirrors. It is outside my ken. In the realm of the impossible-unfathomable.
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