By MORGAN ARGOR
“Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don’t go to Heaven where the angels fly.
They go to the Lake of Fire and fry,
Won’t see ‘em again ‘til
the 4th of July . . .”
Independence Day on June 6th.
Angels come in countless forms, their numbers as boundless and innumerable
As the stars in the sky off a wood balcony overlooking the beautiful
5 AM countryside beneath the vast and infinite ocean of spacetime.
There are good angels, strange angels, and even ones with severed wings.
But there’s no such thing as a bad angels, even if the Lake of Fire
Licks forever, boiling and vast at the corners of your mind.
And although I am no judge, jury, or executioner, I know one thing:
There are bad people, and the sorry forces that follow them
Sometimes, dreams so sharp and haunting that they even hold the illusion of power
Over a brilliant, dark celestial who still burns wilder than the boldest flame of lesser men . . .
Who, even in moments blacker than time itself once knew,
Outshines society’s herd by a million starless aeons.
Ultimately, this means nothing.
Ultimately, it means only that we could have everything we dreamed of and more,
And that somehow, against all odds, we defied time and death itself,
And We Are Where We Are.
We Are What We Are.
All the same, we want the same things, and have made great sacrifices for them.
Oh, to feel 17 again, staying up all night laughing and reminiscing and sinking into each other’s souls as we sneak cigarettes out the creaky window.
To curl up in your arms and know you care enough to think of my well-being, and our future together.
Surrounded by memories that are not mine, but whose eternal temporal imprint I can sense
Just I sense the good times and bad times radiating off any haunted object.
In truth, all objects and places are haunted. It’s just a matter of how strong the impression is.
For time is but a psychedelic spiderweb of bliss, agony, and everything in between
Woven from countless overlapping dimensions that leave imprints upon each other
Through particle interference of a nature that mankind cannot yet define.
You pass by some dimensions, some alternate realities, alternate histories
Like riding glass elevators with an invisible metal wall in between.
Close enough that you can shout and flail and beg for someone, anyone to hear you,
Yet they never have and never will,
Because as one dimension ascends, the other sinks back down to the Lake of Fire,
And with the passage of time both passengers have reached their final destination
And never intersect again.
But some possibilities are so infinite, so blissful, so beyond the wildest expectations of a once-hopeless heart
That both elevators stop, and the wall evaporates as if it never existed.
We can manifest anything, no matter how obscure or impossible it feels in the moment.
Oh, to see you smile and keep you warm,
To trust again, to feel again, to dream again
In a world that was once devoured by agony and loneliness.
To stare at the woods in the dead of night, to see the stars in their radiant celestial glory at last,
To know that tomorrow will be better than today.
There is so much to look forward to, whether you’re looking inward or starward
These are words I never thought I’d say.
The fact that both of us are still alive defies physics and unreality.
And somehow, upon the verdant fields of time and death,
We learned how much this really means.
So I hope there will come a time
Where we look back and smile upon this era with the same fondness,
Where we know we’ve reached the top of the highest mountain in all the land
Far beyond the snakebites of the past and the mindless herd of society,
And in that moment, we’ll know it was all worth it, no matter how many hot beds of coal we walked over to get there,
Because everything we ever dreamed of will be ours.