part #17 on reaching out and not touching

peculiar that both by instinct and avarice a mention can be made not solely of the intangible benefits of a garrulous scream into the aching void of a pitch and squealing rural night but also of the friction that sparks fancies of half-remembered half-hopes. at this, what is now surely the threshold of another and forlornly anticipated stage of a life that has consisted so far of cold breaths condensing in an achingly brief and mournful plume, i choose to be pungently and forcefully unafraid. for where fear, and the fear of fear and the fear of fear’s fearful followers – indeed where the shadow of fear has been cast so inelegantly across my every move – I shall now take it upon myself to reach up to the shimmering gallery of beauty and excess that have hovered so tantalisingly out of reach for so so so long.