Albert Hoffman's Bicycle By Joe Hakim

Falling off, falling out, in my mind there is no doubt that everyone is truly alone when surrounded by the clones of all the showbiz phoneys, comedy henchmen cartoon cronies, still holding on to the faint hope that the world will somehow move forwards towards a clear horizon of understanding, in a society that keeps demanding that we should highjack a worldwide tragedy to try and catch a glimmer of authenticity - as we make ill thought out points about nothing in particular, surrendered vernacular, a desperate bid to appear spectacular in each other's eyes,

mesmerised by the sky as it grows dark , while the stars of possibility still twinkle incessantly, this light I see travelling across millions of years of space in order to reach me, two galaxies intermingling and giving birth to to renewed planetary activity, as the sensation of inverted gravity pulls us all up from the surface as we continue to look down at feet still placed firmly on the ground; there's still plenty to be found in our heads other than the existential dread that wait for us all at the edge of experience, because this might just the beginning: soaking up ideas and ideologies through our skin each and every moment of the day and night,

as everything that lead up to this point disappears in a bright flash, cogs and gears turning fast as we prepare to take flight into the firmament, a permanent vacation into the unknown - the collective mind is blown into a billion pieces, as all around us time and motion ceases, and we are left with only the fabric of thought as it irons out its various creases.

Copyright © Joe Hakim 2006

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