no, it wouldn’t knock you out -- at least not immediately.
it’s more like a slow-motion-near-death-experience.
not that you can die from it, or a film is going to pass
before your eyes, or a tunnel of light, no.
it’s like a thousand frames per second: everything around
happens so slowly, and lingers for so long, it would make a matrix bullet effect
look like a black & white silent movie scene.
it’s no one you know, no one you dreamed of.
it’s this unknown smell, this unfamiliar breath.
a stranger.
the stranger.
and so are you:
pandora box in disguise.
you never know…
your heart pounds like never before.
all your system warns you that the enemy is too close:
the alarm sounds, screaming, all over your body, but you
just can’t move.
you want. you can’t.
it’s not that you’re afraid.
you’re mesmerized and freaking out.
enchanted and willing to escape.
it’s fascinatingly uncomfortable.
close to lysergic, almost hallucinogen.
stop thinking.
just close your eyes, will you?
that’s when tongs get to the scene and do not speak.
there’s no use for words where there’s a perfect syntax.
for tongs that touch sing psychedelic lullabies and,
THAT my dear,
is eloquence.
