What do you need to walk on a rope at a height of say thousand feet?
Obviously other than piles of balances and a wild fire of courage,
you need the silence and reclusion of a paused record player.
Now we are all drunk and wasted and smooth in something,
that’s why you have been pushed like a meteor in this fallen desert…
You choose your own poison and die with it…
By it.
The only way you are going to ripple through that rope is by getting that complete bowl of tranquility,
from everybody but mostly from yourself.
A warm knife through a nice brick of melting butter…
that’s going to be you.
Swirling clown in a howling crowd…that’s the depth of your fall…
Don’t try.

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Photograph: Philippe Petit.