Vertigo

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Frightened Rabbit – Swim Until You Can’t See Land


A remote little town in the rural south. Eighty five degrees fahrenheit. You rock in a rustic chair on a rustic porch and drink fresh lemonade. Read the last few sentences of Mr. Vertigo by Paul Auster. The end. You let it sink in. A breath. You get up. Sip the last of your thirst-quenching beverage, and begin to walk. You roam. Today you fly. You will somehow make it happen. Somewhere. You will elevate. Soar like never before. Until friendly beings that you learned to worship and adore will be nothing but specks on a surface that has been detached from under your feet and will soon be long forgotten.
But you fail to recall your fear of heights.
So I propose something else instead.
Swim until you can’t see land.

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