…and when the smoke from exploding bad decisions and self destructive mayhem cleared we all stood gathered in the same place, emerged from bruised and bloodied chrysalises.A race of damaged moths lurking either surly or sullen or just socially inept, but no less beautiful for it. Seeing new facets that had grown in old faces, glorious, some of us could now breathe fire, some could now see further and sharper than ever before. Some who’d been all surface and polish had since delved deep deep into the microcosm and returned with many new limbs.
Others circled round wanting things to never change, wanting people to be dancers in zoetropes repeating an endless loop of the same routine they had been beheld in at one point in time. No matter how many other routines the quixotic creature in question might have in them. And then there becomes a creature and a projection of a creature, and I want to shower and have some chocolate milk, I think, and climb into bed with Eric, damned insomnia.