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there is something eerie about staring down through
the remains of rooms where the flooring has collapsed.
it goes beyond the mortal fear of falling and death,
beyond the realization that there but for the grace of god go i.
maybe there is some innate sense that this is not something that is or
should be possible.
it is like staring through holes torn in the fabric of different dimensions
and it throws off your balance and perspective, leaving everything askew.
splintered shards of boards jut off at illogical angles,
heavy radiators dangle from pipes like rusted fruit on steel vines,
and doorways swing outward into cavernous voids.
people once walked, talked, worked, and slept
along these planes now almost entirely inaccessible to man.
distant portals open to rooms and wards whose secrets will remain hidden
until they are erased by decay, by fire, by the wrecking ball.
there is always this pervasive sense that these are the
areas where the answers lie,
that if one only pushes a little harder, takes a few more risks
this search for who knows what will produce some tangible results
and this consuming drive will somehow be rewarded with
reprieve, release, redemption.
this is the nature of my obsession. when you look at me,
you should see not what lies before you -
my physical shell, a fragmented collection of skin and bones and blood.
you should see the conspicuous absence of what i was, what i could be,
of my very spirit, which has divorced itself from my corporeal form.
i once walked and talked, worked and slept along planes
now almost entirely inaccessible to man.
even now as we speak i am drifting somewhere, restless
stuck in limbo, in the space between floors.
the remains of rooms where the flooring has collapsed.
it goes beyond the mortal fear of falling and death,
beyond the realization that there but for the grace of god go i.
maybe there is some innate sense that this is not something that is or
should be possible.
it is like staring through holes torn in the fabric of different dimensions
and it throws off your balance and perspective, leaving everything askew.
splintered shards of boards jut off at illogical angles,
heavy radiators dangle from pipes like rusted fruit on steel vines,
and doorways swing outward into cavernous voids.
people once walked, talked, worked, and slept
along these planes now almost entirely inaccessible to man.
distant portals open to rooms and wards whose secrets will remain hidden
until they are erased by decay, by fire, by the wrecking ball.
there is always this pervasive sense that these are the
areas where the answers lie,
that if one only pushes a little harder, takes a few more risks
this search for who knows what will produce some tangible results
and this consuming drive will somehow be rewarded with
reprieve, release, redemption.
this is the nature of my obsession. when you look at me,
you should see not what lies before you -
my physical shell, a fragmented collection of skin and bones and blood.
you should see the conspicuous absence of what i was, what i could be,
of my very spirit, which has divorced itself from my corporeal form.
i once walked and talked, worked and slept along planes
now almost entirely inaccessible to man.
even now as we speak i am drifting somewhere, restless
stuck in limbo, in the space between floors.
| conspicuously absent |
