"Sugarplum fairy came and hit the streets."

            I remember taking a walk on the wild side. I remember wearing 3D glasses during the day time because my reality was so electric and so gigantic, that my eyes couldn't keep up. My pupils would cower, hunkered down in the surrounding blue-grey weather. They would shrink away in the yellowy white of their Ray Charles ways. I was on fire. I was attacking my own self, from the very nape of my neck. From the center of my spine, is where I started, and from whence my powers and problems grew. I was only looking to be alive, to have the world permeate my skin. To feel every existing wavelength with the very fibers of my muscles. I just wanted to have the weather seep into the roots of my teeth.  I just wanted time to pass through me, and pool at my feet. I wanted everything, and I wanted every moment and facet of life, to feel me watching it, to feel my eyes on it, my desire of it's fucking attention, so that the sun, and the nitrogen in the air, and all the poison in the ground, would have no choice but to stop it's necessary action on Earth, face me, and acknowledge my every taste and scent and flaw of how I stood before them. I wanted it all, I wanted the terror, and how I portrayed it only to be forgotten. How my brain would run like a shaken child, pounding against my skull, it would rampage upstairs, destroying the bad memories as they flooded the gates steadily. I pictured my brain, fervently dropping wine glasses of poison happenings, and stomping them ruthlessly like the Rabbi at a jewish wedding .I wanted everything, I wanted the exact epitome love, I wanted the flutter of my heart to feel fatal, and I wanted that comfort of  unquestioning commitment to the emotion. Where I had once felt like a half-read paper in the wind, tumbling feet over head in the dirt and grit over the edge of a sidewalk, I wanted love to come and have swept me up. Giving me the safety of gravity, like someone snipped the threads that held the night sky, letting  it fall on me like a blanket of black velvet; heavy heavy heavy as eternity. Heavy as what it held. Like my heart in its anxious confusion, wondering what all the racket my brain was making upstairs was really about. That blanket dropped like the new year at midnight, or like land that held dynamite. I wanted it all, I wanted the sadness that I held at bay until it caught me by surprise around a corner and grabbed me by my throat. The utter despair that demanded my attention like I expected of the Universe. The sadness that chilled my blood and stopped at the nape of my neck, the start of me and my problems, and resigned, frozen solid. Completely  stopped by the sadness, immovable, silent, hollowed and trapped under the ice. Stuck, the sole existing thing within the darkness of this emotion, living off of a trapped air bubble. Waiting for my life source to be snuffed by the calamity and  weight that the sadness I created, held. It was a beast of burden. My experiments gone wrong, a pet run loose. My consequences of these Ray Charles eyes. This sadness bore an infection from the smallest sliver of a shard of glass from a posion memory my brain crushed to smithereens,  but never properly disposed of.  I had wanted all of those things, the truth of them. The sweat of my Earth, and I wanted to know her taste.  If these hands were to be red, and god damn it there was to be blood, then I want it to be the blood of everyone I know. I wanted to know the deepest depths of the moments I encountered, I wanted them to bloom in front of me, with first breaths of air. I wanted to be the first face recognized, I wanted to be permanent, and important. I wanted the world to be connected to me, so we could chase eachother like tails. I was going to seek it like a duckling follows the first thing that graces it's eyesight. These kaleidoscope eyes that I overwhelmed with 3D glasses even, in my hunt of all things "more". In  the search for the farthest extent of "Right Now". And if I was going to dig  my toes into the ground until I could feel the heat of the sunset on a summers day in China, then god damn it I was gunna watch it die too. And, as I saw it, with my Ray Charles eyes. As I saw it with my minute pupils quietly seeing behind a 3D wall-the sooner I died, the closer I was to this "Oneness" I couldn't  capture as Dallas McMackin. This wholeness, that I sought. An idea I was educated about but had no personal experience of because in  all my efforts, I had concluded that life was slicked. It was our invisibly saran-wrapped, physical playground for the stupid,  for the dumb, and for the idiotic.Simply for the physicallity of it all only. Earth was where we suffered. We had a miniscule 70-80 year sentence on this blue and green orb so that we could become acquainted with the notion we have souls. We were given physical bodies, and life stages, and puberty so we could be fascinated, disgusted, and then familiar with our casings. We are like empty, self-fulfilling photo albums; where will we go? what will we capture? what might we want to keep with us forever? what would we die to forget? These are the things Earth is for. Our slicked, bubble wrapped world of perception-our Dummies Guide to gaining experience, so that we may one day hold the wisdom to truly want to understand these souls. So we start with ourselves; we are given disease, and death, and sex of all kinds so that we may understand our emotions, and the many colors in which they can paint us. How the way we feel paints our world. How if you look at the colors long enough, they can change and blur. What once was red, is completely blue sometimes in the end. The people, that the universe creates, winds and sets off toddling this way and that, those are the most catastrophic and game-changing of the tools we get on Earth. In this world. The most important tool, is others. I think more so than ourselves, because if it was just ourselves, nothing would change. The colors would never change, because we would never mix our palettes. These people are the objects that we bump against, friction of the souls, the ones that sand away at us. Intentional, accidental, vicariously; whatever the route may be, it's imperative. Intentions hold possibility of immediate change, results like a hammer to a piggy bank. Then there's the collective unconscious, still effective on us in our time here, like a trickle of water that grows into a river that evaporates only after it has formed the Grande Canyon. I felt these facts, and I wanted to know death sooner, because I had figured out the riddle of my here and now. I had burned and beaten, and loved and  soothed and worshipped my skin, but I couldn't reach my soul. I was exhausted by the rattling of my mind, and the quivering of my heart. The echo of my steps, and the harsh rasp of my breath not only in, but constantly following with an exhale. My fingers and my hands were my only friends, and they felt as trapped as I did. They begged to die, they only wanted to write and they hated watching me hurt myself when they KNEW that THIS life was only to learn that lesson. It was like finding out about a surprise party beforehand, and the dread of having to fake a sincere reaction. Of having to re enact and hold onto that lie. To try so hard to make it authentic for the world, a midst having probably just lost the very point OF that moment- The surprise. Life was an obstacle course to give your soul bruises, so you're better equipped in handling the magnitude of the After Life, or Hell, or Heaven, or whatever other world awaiting with the need to be capitalized, may be. I had wanted it all, and when the surprise was blown, I wanted to know exactly where  my prize was. I would stop up my throat if it meant I could strip this skin and feel time with my soul. If temperature lost validity and I was made up of the same components as Joy, and Anger, and the substances that make up all the light years of space, then that's exactly where I wanted to be. I had been walking, I took a walk on the wild side and met my maker one afternoon. I used a syringe to get some heroin into my veins so I could paint my world a little, and my soul jumped ship. I had perforated my skin, right through my moment on Earth and tapped my soul  on the shoulder. Instinctively it jumped, not expecting company for another 70-80 years it was caught off guard. I was handed a note through a dark door and it said "Open Your Eyes", so I did. The Dallas McMackin casing that I had been so crude with, opened the eyelids I was assigned that first day. As I did I realized that my vision was that of complete white. There was no shade, no color, no contrast, no shape or dimension. In my selfish and blind urge to paint myself something different, to change where I was into somewhere I wanted to be, I had thrown parallelism between my soul and body. I had flailed, and perforating my soul with a needle, I had sent myself spiraling too far ahead of myself like a balloon losing air. Luckily for me, the world is greater than I, and it's hands are gracious, Like I said, I took a walk on the wild side, and I do not remember where I went when I did leave this world, but all I know is when I got to come back, and I tried to "Open My Eyes" the world was all white. So far from my intentions of painting, it was now entirely blank all around. I brought my hands, my loyal servants and friends, I brought them to my face and found tears streaming my skin. Dancing rivers from my eyes-running, screaming. My fingers caressed the water telling me the details, they conveyed to me that there were tears here, and they brought cupped handfuls to their mouth to tell me that they tasted of salt, like the oceans that slow dance with gravity back here on Earth. In the white, the vast, stark nothingness without the comfort of dark, this is where my pupils were first ever afraid. They called out to my hands for directions, for details and for news. My brain smoothed away years of crushed glasses and bottles and porcelain remains for the time being, stoically internalizing the things my fingers and hands were interpreting. The messages of my hands, that first feeling of tears from eyes, this was my surprise party. Sensations, the ones I had spoken so low of, the ones I had thrown aside, and demanded instead to know "What Next?!", pounding my fists! My heart sat listening against my skull, intent upon every noise and happening on the other side. trying to make sure that it missed NOTHING of what my head was experiencing. My whole self was with me in entirety  watching my face, my reaction to the surprise party of my life. I remember when I returned from that walk, on the wild side that day. How I had overdosed in a public bathroom in a gaudy search for an emotional niche that was out of my reach, and when I was handed back to my body, soul in tact, I remember how I couldn't see. The amount of white made me cry, and I could feel  my head and heart eachoing eachothers greif and regrets realized. I remember how my fingers had felt the tears between them just to hold onto something, and how all of a sudden one of the times I blinked those tears away I saw the world appear in front of me again. I saw the blue sky, the robin egg blue sky, like it was mixed with just a dash of cream. No clouds had come to greet me, but a tree was there. With tendrils for branches, and I smiled and looked up within it's canopy, at a sparrow. A tiny brown sparrow with black markings, how it flitted from the ground only for a second before he took to the treetop. I remember watching this bird take off from the ground into the milk and sugar sky and how I paid attention to the sensation that my smile had, the pull of the corners and it's picturesque timing. How I intentionally remembered EVERYTHING about that moment, because I had almost lost it. I had stolen the beauty of the surprise, I had tossed it like salt over a shoulder.  I had lost so much time trying to negate everything around me in a shallow and heartless quest for the next best thing. I had ALMOST failed my bubble-wrapped world. But the world had grabbed me by my throat, along with my terror and love and sadness-it had looked me into my eyes until the moment no longer belonged to me, so that the memory of it was never  even an option. It had slithered through me,  overseeing my framework, seeing me for everthing I ever was and the things I could be if I tried, and it gave me the chance I was given the day I was born. I was re-assigned my task. My true task, as I had been told; ONE instruction, "Open Your Eyes" so I did, as I had 17 years before that, And I saw again, as if for the first time, like I had 17 years before. I had taken a walk on the wild side, and now I just remained with open eyes, because the world is already watching me, staring me straight into my eyes, into my iris, into my cornea through my optic nerve and pouring out into my heart of hearts. It is already there, it has always been and always WILL be, so I may now continue on walking. For it is not the arrival or the end that I need seek, but I must see the many colors of this world, and feel the textures that this life leaves on me. You see, we are but canvas, and we must choose to roll in the world of our colors. We must seek to battle the blank.