[ distracted from distraction by distraction ]
Go, go, go, said the bird; human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
this according to Monsieur Eliot. and I can't. I can't bear the days devoid. And the moments less momentous than momus. Wherein withal notwithstanding the whispers wither and colloquy croaks. kee-ho-tay allay allay. gala gala t'seh t'seh. Discovery! Discovery! Loboto-scovery!
Sometimes my personality just fades under the weight of another. Even this, this water-color portrait of bad-teeth, balding, and strangely skipping speech can crush my measely, peasly, book-born pastiche-of-a-persona. With too much sorrow to ever get mad. Frustrated and annoyed yeah but with no such fury, I'll listen 'til there's a pause and leave. And I can't say or do anything drastic. My creativity is limited to what isn't, because, yah, I cannot bear very much of what is. So what then? Hurry to fury? Go, go, go? and where? I can't detach, can't break the cycle, can't make wild what's tame and leash-less for years. Even in rebellion, we lack panache. Like frickin' wolves turned vegan. |
