Shower Scene: Take 1

1 March 2013

Dear Reader:

There’s something about the take off, more so when you’re tired: The dramatic lift off, wheels leaving the ground, the runway below you and the clouds ahead of you. Headed thousands of feet up, at an angle, your ears pop and the tightness in your stomach matches the aircraft’s roaring engine.  Still there’s a sense of anxious wonder flashing through my mind about what’s next --if this is the risk that ‘IS.’

Sleeping on an airplane is next to impossible. My mind racing too fast, and frankly I’m running through the emergency scenarios, realizing I really won’t have time to put on my mask or the person next me, we’re all screwed if we crash. I figure I’ll enjoy the ride and not think about a second time.

After the pilot finds a comfort zone in the sky, I pull out my laptop to watch Anthony Hopkins play Alfred Hitchcock. Fucking Brilliant. Yep, I said it. The masterful film recounts Hitchcock’s making of Psycho, one of his greatest works, and the relationship with his equally brilliant wife, Alma Hitchcock. I am enthralled by creative genius. It wrestles an inspirational kick in the ass to critically evaluate the angle by which to tell the story of a woman in a shower killed in suggestive terror. Truth be told; we’re all a little obsessive over the accomplishment of our next great moment in the story.  How many dare to rip open the shower curtain to expose what’s really going on in the buff?

From my window seat on an airplane, headed to the Arizona desert, far from urban poses, I sit mischievously mauling over the appealing and appalling ways to master the turbulence it takes to make the Earth move.

There is authenticity in leaving behind which presently spits out like a 4-letter expletive. What was once a vision is accomplished and moved on. No, not written off, rather pushed to the back of the line until it can meet the highest of obligations or until needed in dire circumstances…for a greater purpose, used for an agenda.

Ahead is all there is. Falling forward is still forward. The only thing I can think to do next is light it up – do it because 'they' said I can’t and who will stop the process of limitless when it is birthed in sheer insanity? I won’t. You won’t. We live for breakdown of Psycho. Like Hitchcock, there is no antidote but success, which scratches all acceptable standards.

So while I ride through the rough terrain of the sky, moments before landing – I gaze out the window, strangely confident my feet will touch the ground.

Stay with me…we’ll meet again.

Yours Truly.