The Consolation of Danger

Too slow is the speed of life, so we try to outrun avalanches and race sounds, flee into roaring tubes of hungry water, brave invisible waves in the sky. Too barren is the landscape of life, so we take shelter in surly jungles and unruly gulfs, set out to survive deserts where even memories die, trespass peaks reserved for birds and clouds. Too bloodless are the aesthetics of life, so we declare emotional asylum in the turmoil of music, find refuge in the jarring, scarring beauty of poetry, ask to be abducted into the haunted wilderness of art. Too transactional are the relationships of life, so we pawn our souls for the drugs of cults and creeds, trust in friends or their imposters, risk heartbreak for a few moments when the world spins. Too fraught is life with the danger of safety, so we seek salvation in a rush of adrenalin, or a trickle of madness. Empty-handed is no way to leave. We’ll hitch a ride on those spikes along that flatline. Or be impaled upon them.