The Next Chapter

I’m onto something new, something in-between. Something soft and something hard, not quite one, can’t be called the other. A mix, a glorious melody starts a new chapter of me, a page I just turned in my sleep. Let my life sing a new litany, weaving the old one with wild, reckless strains of youthful but mature tones. I won’t be like this forever, because it’s just an in-between, but hey! Anybody cares more than I do! Neutral is my favorite fad, and “V” is my favorite letter. Positive, but off – that slight odd influence that I love, that makes you feel uncomfortably like there is more out there. I scratch the surface of the ocean that calls me, but it is as deep as the sea, of course. Always something deeper! It will never end, going around in a slightly slanted spiral. Iffy is fine, with me, as long as it’s bold and black and white. Doesn’t make sense, you say? Oh really? Just change your picture frame of mind, and look through a new window! You see, it’s all about perspective! That off note is the beginning of the new melody, the one I’d been preparing for forever, just not suspecting anything out of the ordinary. But what is ordinary? Perfection is ordinary, and therefore, perfection is boring. Wild colors you have never seen before haunt me in the sweetest way, and a bump on the head is a trophy. If you think I’m insane, go ahead, take me to the asylum and I’ll dance and have tea parties with all the lovely people there, and sneak out through the golden window of opportunity behind your back when you just thought I had settled in. Mismatched socks are welcome at my ball, but if you wear glass slippers, try the stained glass: the colors are much brighter than the dull, clear glow of drinking glasses. Butterfly wings on an oil slick, hello, there, where are you going today? I’m off to see the world! I just have to dive through an old TV, and Technicolor is going to draw the line and define black and white. Discordant keys on a piano are my lifeblood, and they sing and stretch through my system like nectar and ambrosia. Plain was getting to me, and I needed that turn in the road as much as the road suspected it needed it itself. Let go of negative, because it is much to exhausting to hold on to. Don’t you feel the travel in your bones calling you to faraway places? Them come on, let’s run into a rustic orange and red sunset, and emerge out of a vintage cream-and-gold sunrise, laughing at ourselves for being silly. If you won’t, then farewell: perfection is ordinary, and therefore, perfection is boring.