Perhaps the Next

Walk through the fire

(Photo by Joshua Albanese)

It starts with an idea. It starts as energy expressed in action. It starts with a little story and a full heart. It starts while everything is stopping, decaying, destructing. It starts with heroes. It starts with realizing they’re human. That to be human, is to be flawed. That to be flawed, is to be alive. The most beautiful curse we know. It starts with a few guttersnipe kids and a dream. It starts with breaking the nose of the bully. It starts with bringing safety and perhaps comfort to those you love. It starts with eyes magnetic in low lit rooms. It starts with skin electric under Spring’s first blush. It starts with nervous smiles and then cascades into ecstacy. It starts with the path well worn by walking. It starts with walking off that path. It starts with banners and slogans. It starts with campaigns to remove the other. It starts with new science and old promises. It starts with blood and blood and blood. It starts with stacks of notebooks. It starts with coffee, whiskey, and cigarettes. It starts with chicken breast and brown rice. It starts with ear plugs for the night sirens. It starts with empathy cutting through you like rusted hacksaw blades. It starts with a feeling of helplessness. It starts with the feeling of clenched fists and ground down teeth. It starts with an understanding of violence. Of paranoia. Of retribution. The rabbit down the hole. How far. Can you go? What could you do if you even dared? What would you do if you held the pistol in the pale moonlight? Comfort is a hell of a drug. But power doesn’t even need a capital letter. And in the meantime, it stops, it decays, it bends the knee with Money.

“There is no rest for me in this world, perhaps the next” — Tommy Shelby OBE