Icarus

I can’t help but imagining Icarus. What it would be to jump, what it would be to fly, what it would be to fall, what it would be to drown. The French call it “l’appel du vide,” or “the call of the void,” that itching voice that tells us to jump, to fall, to be free. That part of us that compels us towards that next adventure beyond life. I have always taken note of this voice. 

And speaking of voices, the voice dripping with honey, the voice that sounds the way blue velvet feels, the voice that’s slowwww like molasses, the voice that’s smooth like satin, the voice is a beautiful thing, and I am a big proponent of reading out loud. The act of reading a story to another, is so precious. Over the course of thousands of years we have told to each other stories from memory, using nothing but our minds and voices. This version of the Icarus myth is simply another one, and I would urge you to read it, to speak for that boy who lived and burned too brightly for this world.