Over the ridges

I had a sensation of omnipotence earlier today. As if the only obstacle was to fill my backpack and exit the front door, and head for a distant shoreline. The question arose though: would you follow me if I take another path than the one laid out for me, for us? I think you would. I could dress in a loincloth and you could be Jane. We could live in an alley jungle and live a dream of urban decay. That would be swell! You and me, in another place with model clay circumstances and with an eye for the picturesque within gray stone and throbbing sound waves. Or, you could be Tarzan and I could be Cain, and Abel would visit during late afternoons, bringing fresh baked cookies and sing like Jacques Brel. There, panting in between motherly brick walls. There, panting... there. Hear me Jane! We together! We without purpose, yet infinity at hand! Save us, oh heavenly Father for we will sin! As surely as the stillborns don't cry, we will falter at your gate. Thus, all is well, all is swell!