Convenient manners

There it is, look at it for crying out loud… crisped from extreme cold leaf on a naked tree in the middle of a long winter night, a vain promise of white within white cover. I might easily succumb into nostalgia and spend the rest of the better part of an hour staring at that lonely sad sight without blinking, occupying my mind with melancholia coherent only with this frozen winter breath coming out of my mouth. But there’s no snow in sight, and I’m not going to doubt for a minute to stay here, of course…

In my fraudulent winter walk, I’m going to use these long legs to position myself somewhere warmer, out of sight and everywhere at the same time. The only functioning melancholia I have at the moment is the dystopia in my mind, this desired state of kink I’m living constantly, the only prescription for the mind contagion I’m so comfortably accustomed to enjoy. There’s no escape from here, and I have things to say.

So I do what I must do, and I do it in a convenient manner. Restlessly I make my moves across this board of life, hoping that this game is never going to change, never going to end; I don’t need to win or lose, I don’t have desired outcome sculpted from expectations and disappointments, I just need to be in the middle of the game. This loud beat is my track, and I'm that dancer... so, I dance!