…and met a fist not intended for me along with a speech bubble filled with stars. You know that blinding start that keeps you alive? Your body cant tell if you are breathing and so jerks hard only to find you’ve scared yourself to just this side of death? Why, because comedy sucks hard to write, drama is close to the heart and close to the surface. I looked around to find the batman … but, he was still already dead. Why fight when you can bluff? Who said that? Why not move to action? Practice the art of non-pro-activeness.
Good thing my to-do/ne list is shorter than usual:
1. Nail the colors to the mast…. only to find captains of industry wrapped in patience waiting for their next chance to control the weather vane.
2.Prove the crowded letters of the round table, if spun fast, reveal an uroborus of ‘adopt-adapt-improve’ with no clue where to begin.
3. Figure if front face affronted forward is frontage or facade and if are we traveling against the light or silhouetted.
The idea of an impossible task carried out for impossible reward. I am feeling taxed by the effort of thinking. Breathing, though, seems to be an involuntary event.
‘Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair? … Somber and grave grows merry in time.’
I am remembered to the immediate.
I will sleep unaware of the clarion call.
I hate you so much it’s unreal.