“I am not your rolling wheels – I am the highway.
I am not your carpet ride – I am the sky.” (Audioslave)
I can sense this formidable lie: freedom.
I seem to have lost it for so long but it is peeking out by sudden small bursts of breath. It keeps distilling in my veins this supreme drug: amnesia. A welcomed trance where nothing matters anymore.
Fresh oxygen in my lungs, the allowed caress of a fine white linen shirt on my skin, music and Oz. No need to click my heels I am where I am supposed to be, No need to kill witches, I refresh my own grimoire everyday with spells and potions that can sustain and overpower any mean bigot from the east or west on my path. The flying monkey has disappear and my cage is made of obsolete neon tubes so fragile indeed…
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