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The World in a Snow Globe.
The Mystery of Sicily, Part 2. I was wondering if things would be different. Not in New York, but in Sicily. I spent three weeks away, not even a page turned on the October calendar. I was wondering if time stood still because in New York time waits for no one. New York gives you just enough time to pull the plastic out of your pocket that feeds your soul. You hand over your MasterCard and it sucks the soul from your skin; only to be inserted back like the snapping of a rubber band. It hurts. In New York, you are just another cowboy passing through, a worker with your shoulder to the wheel, a student on the bar stage dangling, breathing without choking on the lust of another's alcohol infused breath - on someone else's soul. In New York, you are an actor, who chooses to hide behind the set design because beyond the plank that makes up the stage there drops the world. The world in which you spend another restless night, spinning like a car down a cliff, plunging as you drown. You wake and the curtain closes like a garage door. Alone, you stand in the darkness. The plane banks and you see Etna. The white capped mountaintop sitting proudly above a bed of clouds. Yellow and red clouds beneath the setting sun and you are home. Mother Etna welcomes you, shakes you back to heaven on earth as you skate in circles around the lake, laughing with your friends while confetti snow swirls around your head leaving behind the mysteries of the outside world. This is Sicily. Without Caution
Post 17 - December'05 Back to home...
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