I wonder what the world’s teeth would look like.
These impersonal characters under my fingers can only convey so much pith, but what if they were filled to their brim with perspicuous imagery of the world’s jaw?
Forming a medley of every weighty apothegm classifying this world and its tenants with the labels and analyses they warrant, how then would the resulting pastiche appear?
Would they be midnight or transparent, inhaling light or ignoring it completely?
Serrated or straight; would they be constructed so as to saw through and demolish resistance or so as to glide imperceptibly ‘tween the tissue resting upon them?
For we sit atop them: however our eyes take them, geographically we take them as seats, beds even.
Forcing our gaze from the maw which yawns beneath because we lack but a modicum of self respect, here we perch,
among the serrations or teetering between the perfectly blood-slicked slopes. We perch not of our own accord.
Historical collective decision has surely forced us to this point, up this acerbic wall, but of course no single human’s choice has placed them here.
We begin and end while balancing, we know naught but the wavering.
The vacillation evacuates all thought from our mind save our precarious position and it is all we are and all we contain to avoid the bladed slopes of our surroundings.
How, you ask? We live weightless.
Immediately following alighting upon any minute thought we dare not look below, for to do so would place our mental mass on what holds us – which is, more often than not, nothing at all.
We set our transient gaze determinedly forward and cheer, or laugh, or cry, or work, or drink, until doing so is not a choice but an instinct.
To choose is to weigh each option,
and placing weight on the alternative to living at breakneck speed is to formulate the nothingness which waits for us open-toothed were we to stop for even a moment.
We light upon and laugh with truncated breath before flitting onward to the next ephemeral focus,
flying and flying to prohibit our feet from truly setting down and wondering upon what exactly they stand.
Because truly it is nothing.
We work for plastic money to spend on societally constructed situations which require the input of pieces of ourselves – when the wallet comes out,
blood is drawn from the pieces of our soul we have sacrificed to buy zeroes in our bank account.
We walk ourselves into laughter because our mind decides that that is what it will do – so where is the value in such manufactured mirth?
We cheer and hang our lives upon the results of various athletic events because if we lived for ourselves and relied on our own we could not continue through the most mediocre and mundane day.
We live weightless breathing only shallowly fighting the draw of the gravity below us and forcing our gaze to maintain away from our foundation.
For all beneath us is peril, and our cognizance constantly cannot be contained for with containment comes the cut,
clean and complete without constraint or consideration for our concomitant vulnerability.
There is no serration. These resultant incisions are too perfectly wicked.