The Lights Will Go Out

Right now I feel as though life is a holy mess--as if there is an inhuman pandemonium occurring in the air around me. People as a specie have become second, even third, fourth, etc., issues of interest to my mind. I'm further preoccupied with the happenings unfolding all around me. I'm watching a beautifully strange, lit-up, autumn Ferris Wheel make its rotations, and I am peculiarly hypnotized.

Each car on the revolving wheel possesses a different realm. There are realms of cacophonous street life, blasting sirens and garbage trucks, blaring horns and roaring engines, drills and hammering. There are realms of dancing and swing music and the sound of my tapping feet on an old wooden floor. There are realms of the sound of my family's hearts beating--loudly and quickly, slowly and lowly. There are sounds of ice clinking in glasses of whiskey that are still yet to be drank in a smoky bar in Hamburg. There are sounds of the waves of the ocean lulling from a terrace in Spain, where the night sky and doo-wop music sits waiting patiently for me. There is an anxiety that mirrors mine and merrily welcomes me to the South of Africa. There is a realm of a house in south Texas calmly watching me discern it all, and there is a nest of squawking baby crows that patiently wait to be hatched one day. There are these realms, and so very much more.

The excitement and dreaminess of it all can drive me to mad nights of sleeplessness!

But somewhere else, in another realm called Georgia, the lights will go out once again. And it is for this man's life that tonight I will turn out the lights of this Ferris Wheel called life, too.