Big, Heavy Shoes

I can fly.


In fact, my feet have hardly touched the ground since January when I made a New Year's resolution to grow some balls, stood on my tippy toes one last time and pushed off the ice covered concrete into the cold air.

This wasn't the first time I've flown. I discovered early on that flight was something of a natural predisposition for me, that I am not a creature meant to be attached to solid ground, that solid air is good enough, and by that I've lived most of my life in a reality quite different from that which might be expected of me by others. In being airborne I have discovered that reality is, in fact, quite independent of the society that exists solely on the land. There are all sorts of people living on the land, on the sea, under the sea, under the land, and even above the air. There really is no uniform, constant evenness to the options before any singular or plural human being(s). For every person who lives in the same house for their entire natural life, there is a gypsy nomad with no fixed address, for every suburban family with a white picket fence there is a van full of babies, and for every social problem there is someone who wouldn't have it any other way.

I would rather not crawl around on my hand and knees anymore. I would like to destroy my standard issue cinder block shoes. It's ok to be unexpected.