Thrust
by Jason Fresh
Unquestionably, undoubtedly there is doubt in our existence; there is question in our stance across the Elysium Fields of Good. Maybe we are not either – unquestionable or without doubt. Maybe I am not grammatically correct, or perfect, or perforated, but I can be me. I can contribute my verse. I can thrust myself beyond convention. As I sit wearing newly altered Boy Scout shorts that are too small for me I wonder if my name will be remembered. That is so sad. I suppose the worst part of wanting to be remembered is trying to be remembered, trying to matter, trying to thrust my name into the limelight. I thrust. I wonder if there is something meaningful – consuming, coffee, my video camera, my time, my daughter, my, my, my……Fuck! ‘Maybe’ is one of the only words in our language that has meaning to me. It is because I doubt. It is because I trust. It is because I write ‘doubt’ and ‘trust’ and they both resonate in my heart. Am I the only guy on the planet that feels this way? What is the truth? What is the plan? Who has the answers? I sit not on the high ground of knowing, not in the ivory tower. I embrace my death. I embrace my life. I live for 99 years in the 33 circles of existence. I submit to the foolish notion that I can live forever – not in Jesus through a stroke of benevolent love, not a time machine that transports me to the abyss, but live forever, thrust into a universe of my own creation, at the East End of the Fold in the Fabric of Night. You all must find the Topaz Lounge and meet me there. Thank you for this night where the full moon is bright. Once again, I say, “You don’t have to be wrong. You don’t have to be right.”
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