It was so blue my mind.

A very long time ago my cousin was born and for some reason I had to wait in my parents’ car, for what seemed, an eternity outside the hospital. That afternoon the sun was a torrent of light. The sky seamless, seemless and seemingless. Illuminating a torched, broad, faux thoroughfare where the vehicle was parked in individuated stasis. An indicator of a rich society about to be impoverished by democracy. In my solitude I wondered at the sky, which on that summer’s day, my seat dappled, trees gleaming, the air starked, my eyes scorched, in burning silence, was intensely whitened and my mind left me.

Many decades later as I drove my daughter and her bestest chummie back from stage school, this past Saturday, we met the most glorious sunset sky here in the centre of global criminal activity. The girls remarked upon the vista and we agreed that it was sintering and sincering.

I was stopped. A quantum moment of unimaginable, infinite, bounded beauty. A Planck resolution of the grains in my life and death. There is no darkness. Between piss and shit is simply a tiny sliver of shortened stark occult. All freed between two great borders of illumination. We are free. There is no death, only life.

Why do I feel so distraught? Why my desolation in the caressing, bathing, warmth of that sunset?

I drove, we moved, traffic light red, indicate, wait, be aware of all other users of the Queen’s highway, note the muppets who endanger, we returned to my mate, the secretive squirrel’s hovel, but in the wonder of that moment I was halted as only once before.

Only twice have I experienced reality. All other as fiction is fiction, the constricting construct of affliction. The constituency of the fools and their djinn master.

I cried recently, the tears dropping, like infamous rainfall, a traitor to my self. I am strong. I do not weep. Yet when I was a boy anger made me lachrymose. That rage. The indignation at a collective fools’ unreality. The outrage at those who are heathen. My indignation at indoctrination.

The closing of my eyelids increased the precipitation. Why all ways?

I saw.

I have not really eaten in a week, nor slept in a month.

What do I see?

What do I scry as I cried?

Is it entropy dying? Is the love of the world being replaced? Is it the last spiritual experience before sloth overtakes us all?

What is this reality?

Not realty!