and it builds, higher and higher, and sometimes things shine so fucking bright that you absolutely MUST look into the center of it all, damaged retinas be damned. The glow keeps climbing, climbing, like a great song that kills you every cotton-pickin' time you hear it. It starts modestly, and just goes from there, up and up until you think you're gonna drop dead, hoping it'll peak soon for fear of spontaneously combusting, yet egging it on, holding on to the acceleration like it's a lifeline, the only thing keeping you alive, praying to God that there is no plateau, no comedown, that you can keep ascending until you're high enough to look down on this strange concept of heaven... the tunnel vision erupts and there is nothing else but what is immediately in front of you, all senses overloaded and redefining your idea of what 'maxed out' really means... all aflutter in a maze, gasping through the chaos as its beauty and overwhelming grace enter, become, and redefine you...
That's what I think of William F. Buckley, Jr.
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