Vertigo

Vertigo.  It’s not so much the fear of falling, but the urge to fall. High up, glancing down, pondering the myraid ways to drift into an abysmal tumble. One senses an imaginative gravity, hazardous heaviness. Gravid tugging, tugging. What if I leaned forward a bit more? Would I tumble if I release one hand from the railing? Gambling and reveling in dangerous possibilities. What if I close my eyes, lose all sense of direction? Loose my grip and allow the prelude of a fall engulf my thoughts? Distracting messages racing, as heaviness accrete exponentially with my diminishing sense of location and being. Nonchalantly gambling. The thrill of the risk anesthize my muscles. I shiver and slacken. Then, a sudden rush of panic, and a drowsy nod plummets the body weightily earthbound.


It is the same with every risk, every hazard, every broken rule. The potential to partake in an unbelievable and possibly scandalous act evokes a thrill, like stealing a forbidden fruit. It’s subconscious reverse psychology. The more I can’t do it, the more I’m driven to, if only just to accost reality and make myself a perfect instance of nothing ever being too absurd to occur. Creating the impossible, living in surrealism. That’s defying reality, losing the generic “truth”. So when I lose the “truth”, what is there left to seek？