. elsewhere . . letters from the inaccessible .


5 February 2001

stardust and afterimages

grounded out.

I touched the leads to each other, and it made a fantastic spark. Truly, even a passerby saw it... perhaps only because I made the mistake of telling them that it was coming. Of course, right now I can't see anything at all. I can barely make out the shapes thrown at me during the arc, and how I recoiled, because I was afraid.

But remember, I told myself, electricity is the stuff of life, as much as water. Or is it all stardust and afterimages? It always was in the past. What I remain today, something irrational in this day and age, is a coating of wax, a seal which I never broke. I saw the arc before me, strobing the very nature of my soul, and could not touch it. For some reason, I knew it would always go wrong, the current would ground out through my leg or my arm or my head, and miss my heart.

why I can't tell you

The fears you already know. I'm not ashamed of my fears. I'm afraid of my wishes. I'm in dread of my hopes. As much that they will come true as they won't. Where does that leave me?

musings of señor prod.

Not much rest for the weary at The Revolution. And not much solace for the fearful. What price glory?


©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-