The Centrifuge

The potential energy that clung to this body to reprimand and retard is forced now to the perimeter. It is released as heat and I feel it radiate from my person. I am heat. Netted muscle knits in advancement. A feeling of well-being settles upon us now as we affiliate with this, the world of common and communicable experience. I am jarred into wakefulness. I am pried from the abstract. Standing in the center of the sigil, gloriously present.

We are nearing the end of our exile.

My fear was always that there were a certain, fixed number of resources to allocate. I have come to suspect that this is not the case. Okay, really it was absurd – a revenge fantasy of the impotent. To test this hypothesis, however, it is necessary to construct a worthy vessel. A bearer befitting the borne. This is Unified Field Theory shit, kids.

Still, there is some property of physical activity that interferes with imagination. I use the word imagination for want of a better term. Imagination is not what we think it is. It is not simply a fictive picture show derived of contained chemical happenings. It is something far, far stranger.

I suspect that coma patients, opium addicts, and autistics are furthest along this axis. What they see and know is otherworldly, unique to each, and incommunicable. They cannot access this middle band, the wavelength on which communication is possible. What they can access is pretend and yet not false, or so goes the supposition. Related to this are art, dreaming, and creative enterprise generally, but also barking lunacy in its many shades. The capacity to make and alter is to fashion form from nothingness. To remake some portion of the material world. Is that not the very basis of power?

At the opposite end, of course, we have simple machines such as the lever. We mostly fall somewhere in between. I am moving left and am pleased to do so. It is easier and less dangerous. I spin and burn. Watch me shine.

I can still feel it. It’s not gone – not even dormant – but waiting, perhaps have fallen back to take position in marrow or vertebral crevice. It lurks and bides its time. Someday it will win. I know this; have always known this. The important thing is that it will not be soon.

In the present it is time for change. It is time to stand and take what is mine.