abstracktion

I didn't feel like maintaining the course for a third consecutive day and uploading a portrait, despite the number of good people that tend to surround me. I do well at kiltering off track. At times, I excel at it.

And this is so oft viewed through such negative foci, met with such rollicks of disenchantment. You must perpetuate stability, society says, you must function with the utmost level of civility.

What is this--a blatant denunciation of said norms? Well then, aren't I just a little rebel, aren't I such a counter-cultural darling? What a shoulder-chip he touts, what a sneering veneer--dashing!

Therein lies something--not paradoxical, not ironic--but perhaps just simply vexing. Being stuck between these shiny new rails of curved oppression. How pseudo avant-garde: how deft in the recognition of disillusionment! (Tracks, rails, course maintenance: it is all there in its transparent simplicity; is there any other kind?).

There are trees blossoming all over this town. They make Leah sneeze, they make me want to go to Kyoto. Am I languishing in some sort of caffeine binge revenge? Some sort of wantonly covetous exhaustion (it is quite tiring you know)? But my back hurts and my feet are wide and hot.

Across from me at the library table, Leah's hair bends around her ears like a bicycle path or, more likely, a piece of formed steel that maintains that delicate balance between the artistically sublime and the searingly practical.