Sometimes serious

one day you might realize that you are an extra a cog, a burnt out piece of equipment in the rube goldberg world that is planned by no one an entirely replaceable piece of window dressing as an ode to strangers, withholding immense suffering in their beings fighting immense indifference on the outside we're all trying to be more than window dressing even on that day a stray runner looks into your house after nightfall at your mundane activities watching tv, and arranging flowers for a sense that there's at least someone that's at home a colleague might walk by your desk seeing you gaze at amazement, at your instantaneous boredom a sign of life, and engagement of energy flowing around them your laughing at a dog video in a bus your irritating sneezing in a concert your presence in a party as nobody your terrible stroke in the pool your dumb tweets your things are truly better expressed than not and when we all speak together, aloud fortiss

if you ask me today: HOW ARE YOU? and ask me again in 3.5 hours and then again in two weeks and a month again, over text messaging. How are you? :) I might have to keep telling you: like shit. just as many times. But that a question was raised. A QUESTION WAS RAISED about how i was. is enough to trigger uncertainty that i feel like shit. Heisenbergs microscope trying to measure something despite knowing that the answer is: SAD. BUT AS LONG AS WE CAN ASK, WE WILL NEVER BE SURE THAT IT ALWAYS IS.