We forge our way through this disgusting land of compromise and the stink of failure looms large.
The moonlight saves our pity and spits it out in a cool, February night light. The landscape of our dreams and our youthful desires dies against the furry flesh of all that we've become.
I think that I've finally figured out how to end The Matt Show.
I think I have the framework in my mind.
I don't want to feel shame anymore. I don't want to keep thinking about what an old, wizened and sickened bunch will think of my lifestyle when their crust-cut-off sandwiches are ready on trays in a sterile kitchen. I want to run free in the fields and think about nothing but the sting of a spring wind.
We now hope we will wait. We don't want to run or act or exist in a cogent space - we want to be hidden and unidentifiable. In a land that has no markings or geo-coding ability.
Trees. Water. A piece of sky.
We're alright.
When Jack Nicholson walks into the restaurant, in that epic scene of As Good As It Gets, extends his arms and gut-wrenchingly asks:
"What if this is as good as it gets?"
There is reality to that. We are always yearning for this example - this ideal of how we think things should be. The ultimate being. The ultimate me.
The ultimate you.
But we are stuck with who we are. We cannot change it. Though we try and struggle and kick against the goads of this life.
We try to look so distinguished - so polished - so ripe.
So holy.
But in reality, we are part of the mud and the roots and the guts of this world. We are connected to the breeze, when it swipes our cheek in a moment of ethereal chill.
That's us.
We are roving beasts, caged in a game of beauty.
Whatever we will get, whether we think we deserve it or not, will only ever be...
The Best Of The Beast.
'And the beasts will dance...in a sunny field of grass and warmth and joy...in a space that exists beyond time...in a forever summer....a forever summer..."
