There's something soothing about the fact that despite being surrounded by the modern comforts our culture offers, if i were to lie down in a parking lot or field i could die. By the simple task of catching myself falling, propelling forward, i am keeping myself alive, kinetic. Even just shaking makes me aware of the biological preference overriding any melodramatic deathdriven thought. Every step is a tiny victory though the monument of the footprint is quickly obscured. Any destination is thought projected on a blankness (ha-ha-ha), and if i look up my eyes are diverted by melting dust, enough to sting but no real harm. it's like the city is wilderness; cars are just better adapted animals, and i am the only one trying, the only one that needs to try.
I slip, catch myself, hands wet and burning. Straighten up and wipe the snow off, the snot off, push through the banks of build up the plows coughed and spit in my way. and clouds of snow glimmer prismatic exploding light built up all day caught in labyrinthine unique hexagons. and there's a little boy drinking hot chocolate in a window wondering where the marshmallows go as they shrink into clouds. Tempted to stand there and watch him grow up. will he still wonder when he knows?
shake my head like someone's watching
start walking again like someone's watching
stop, over-casually light a cigarette like someone's watching
I wonder and know what my imaginary audience thinks because it's me all around. Bored by the actions but appreciative of the effort.