Red light, green light.
Time diffused out an open window on a windy day as I lost myself in daydreams about nightmares. Then just as quickly I rushed into a moment of urgency, like chasing a shooting star in the Mulholland sky, a transient peace of quiet, a breath of air as Scylla drags me down into her furious depths. Go go go! And stop. When it happens, clouds cover my eyes, and my visceral being is pulled back, back, deep and far by dulling talons. They grip at secrets, they grip at fear, at somersaulting weakness, and as I sink a little further I hold my breath and scream. The silent screams shatter the crisis bit by bit until all that's left to catch me is the solitary drift of sleepless sleep. Eyes close and body quiets, while mind and soul fight on into the vulnerable night, suspended in hope, a blindly determined will of wit. Facing the faceless, this will not be the end of me. Run the red. Hope for green. Crash and burn. Repeat the scene.
stopstopSTOP.
And go.
