I was carefully cultivated in a trailer park. I remember all things, even if these things have never or not yet occurred. The year I awoke was nineteen seventy three. I stood in the kitchen and addressed my mother as Gloria. "Gloria", I said, "I am going to levitate now." This story would have little significance today, if in fact my feet had remained planted, but this was not the case. To Gloria's disbelief, my body rose far above the nauseous yellow flower print of cracked linoleum. With my back against the ceiling, arms and legs outstretched, I then saw the future, interspersed with the blurred, imitation wood grain paneling of my formative years.The trailer home in which my bones extended was located beside a highway. My formative years were spent standing within the confines of it's chain link fence. The fence was constructed to prevent my disassociation with the flesh beneath the wheels of a vehicle in route to destination(s) then unknown. Synchronous with my early victories of cognizance was the underlying supposition that my life beyond the front yard was directly dependent upon the speed to which I travel. Inside the chain link fence was a death that is much more devastating than the cool sedative of inexistence; this particular death burns the living for each day they stand still and neglect or otherwise suppress their potential for movement. My movements have been erratic and clumsy resulting in mild geographical displacement. These movements are crude and inefficient by virtue of the skin and bones. These movements render extraneous designs or rather obstacles which my mind can quickly transgress and transcend.
