#the words “insolent feeling of predestination” came to me in a dream

[space-cat-lair]

Insolent Feeling of Predestination

It hangs thick in the air, the same way my hometown's weight hangs on my shoulders, keeping me warm and dragging me down. I can feel it in the humidity of the Valley, in the tumultuous fog, impossibly still, yet charged. It's in the way it dusks, dull and timid, earlier and earlier, covering the world in a purple starless blanket. That same blanket that then turns white at morning, teasing snow like a wicked child, waiting for the moment humanity regrets its actions to fall.

It's in the way you stand in the middle of a desert road, the concrete cracked and unfamiliar with your heavy and erratic steps, so unlike the smooth gliding of rubber and chain. Right in the middle, staring down the dotted line like a bull waiting to charge. You raise your gaze, trailing it over the line until it fades with the horizon, or behind the serpentine road; then you see the evergreen trees, sullen, tired, old. Spikes so dark that the night shines upon them, their tips straining to touch the sky as if to gain a glimpse of paradise, rendering them the thorny crown of a maddening earth. Princess of all that is lost, of life and nurturing, of concrete and war. Mother of mothers, Queen of sovereigns and all life.

It's also in the way you cry yourself to sleep, thinking of all things beautiful in the world: the hug of a mother, a silent pact, the eyes of a cat, an unexpected gift, soft, soft socks, and your friend’s smile. It's all so beautiful you can't help but cry. And there you feel it, insistent like a tongue slapping on a drum, that insolent feeling of predestination.