Terror and war. Get down on it. Tin can full of humans leaping into the sky hole full of sun and white. Its all clean here. Saturated in sterile light. Cold. Dressed in blue she pushes it up the narrow pass. Pushing humans aside for the money. Get the money. Every opportunity. But my mind is in a hole in the sky listening to clean towels and the hum of a rolls royce engine propelling the world into a spin behind me. Oh i wish i had my pen and a quiet place. Oh i wish i could skip this part and find myself in a clean quiet place with a pen and paper. Making things for the sake of it. Something important because it is. I want to skip this part. The tin can part, that sucks you up into a vortex and ruins your body as you try to reach the other side. We should skip this part. The fluff in the middle. But this part it where the body learns. Adapts. Puts scars of your hands and ruins the brain. Makes you conservative but breathes the sort of thinking that gets you "places". Only the places everyone else has been. Only the places everyone wants you to go because they are so familiar with it. The safety. Anything to change the world and the air around us. In order to get to the top of the pyramid you must first have a point. Something unacceptable by normal standards. That is simple. That is the hardest thing you'll ever do. Because it takes far longer to walk than it does to fly. It takes far more energy and time. Far more effort. But you meet the world on the way, it is not pushed behind in a spin. Spun out. It greets you with a smile.

And you wave you wants in anger. This. We step passed it and it doesn't matter anymore. Dipping out of the sky hole with a plunge. The sky covers us in a blanket. One that makes a point. I saw a poster of those that did it first. Wright. Brothers in crime. Metal two to e blue holds up the sky.

Tatooed at the base if your spine. I watched the masts on the ripples. Three black birds cleaning themselves on the edge of a greening boat with whites for company. That was a peaceful scene in the morning cool on a Saturday morning. Places to go and tin cans to catch. The city moves behind me. To the emerald city where familiar strangers await. What will they be like i wonder. What will they have in store. Their height is sure to surprise. I only know one and a half of them anyway.

The reasoning in my head is about making money. The earth was above me. Yellow lights on the hole roof make the billboards flash. Messages in coincidental effectiveness. Hard to read. The elderly around me with comb overs hiding the patch. The other didn't care or had lost hope. And then this man on a familiar journey. He does it every week. Find a space for it. He knows where. Another set of papers and all he wants are the business pages, leave the rest for a passer-by with an interest or a bin. The seat was his. Familiar. The set up all the same. Move on.

You don't need to pander to the obvious. Find a space and create the clarity for the brain. Create the space. Open it up.

Forget it for the weekend. You are free in transit. In the sky hole with cups on your ears. Someday this will be effortless and communal. Someday this will be beyond cash or profit. Someday it will be instant right. Someday it will bypass the journey completely and the world will forget to try. Will expect the simple. The obvious. The easy. The space. Because someone else did the hard part for them and saw the error of the brain. Created the clarity. Through migraines and headaches. They will forget to reach the top of the pyramid. Or just not be bothered.

Return to earth. This is 22 ones you can keep for yourself. Let it happen around you and don't forget the mug. That part is essential.

Pushing back the Earth