Shafts of light squiggle around the barstools. Beer kegs roll across the dance floor. Sirens blare around the watertower. And I am speaking into your receptacle. Your earlobe. Your brilliant soundwave notepad. You are jotting things down deep within the Neverlands of your frontal lobe. You’ve got organisms that are sorting my words according to their importance. According to some neuro-chemical relevance criteria. The waitress looks concerned. The guy coming in from the parking lot looks disgruntled. Snow weighs down the autumn leaves. The first snowy day feels the coldest. You’ve got spark-plugs behind your eyes that stimulate the most hypnotizing gazes. You’ve got bread crumbs behind your cheekbones, and birds are flapping their wings to get in. You’ve got those shafts of light around your spinning barstool.
It's kind of discouraging, you know? I am nineteen and soon to be married. It's kind of scary. Any time we tell anyone, it's a negative response. No one seems to believe in love anymore. It's sad. Sure, I'm young, but that shouldn't discredit any of the feelings that I have inside. I have been through a lot of shit that has forced me to grow up much quicker than the people around me. I am nineteen, but I have more of the maturity and wisdom of an older person. So has he. We are both older adults, trapped in these young bodies. We are old enough to know what love is, and we are old enough to know that this is what we want. We don't want to spend the rest of our youth making the dumb decisions that we have made so many times before. We have both already experienced first loves and broken hearts. We know what we want and what we don't want out of life. It's going to be hard, and sometimes it's going to be lonely. But I think it is worth it. We are both surrounded by so many people who don't support us and who are still stuck chasing after the childish things of their youth. We have both already started growing up, stepping out of those childish happenings. We are young, but we are old too. Don't try to tell us that we are in for a life of misery. We know what real love is. Isn't that enough?
There is a thrust of distraction that surges during the peak productivity hours of the day. Political events, financial happenings, corporate takeovers, holiday sales, celebrity gossip... it's all confetti from hell that sparkles and whizzes and taps on your focus-shields and whispers through your earplugs: "this is important." What do you do? It is your daily battle. It is the crisis of your mind. Your attention is at stake. Your future hangs in the balance. I know bad things are going down. I know we are expecting snow. I know things are happening that will change everything, and that revolutions are being born and revolutions are being squashed. Reason matters not. Faith matters not. Truth matters not. Only agendas and opportunities take heed. Only the things that arouse the powerful matter to the powerful.
This is Minnesota. Cold hands, especially the backs. Icy everything. It's hard to move. Yet it is in movement that heat is generated. I have these black gloves with the finger tips cut out for writing. It is hard to type with them honestly. Subtle differences in how they feel. Micro-messages to my brain. small perturbations, pushing me off course, causing typos, slowing my flow. But this is Minnesota, don't'cha know? I proceed with hindered flow. I write it out. I've got my beverage. I've got my classical music. Now I just need to create. My brain is icy. My mood is cold. This is Minnesota. A place no one should go.
Yeah, there are strange creatures creeping through the woodpiles. Yeah, there are important things to be discovered with our eye cameras. Opportunity grows faster than weeds and poverty. But I want to sit down now, Carmone. I need to rest these invisible gravity forces inside me. My inner atmosphere is too unpredicatable right now, and I need to still myself. I take my chances with the forces that are chasing us. I’m too downtrodden, Carmone. If you want to go on without me, that is fine. I understand. You have much to live for. You have many reasons to embrace these opportunity sparkles that perpetually barrage my vision tablet. I’m losing the will to go on. People jump to horrible conclusions that are only partially true. They activate their detachment protocol because of the stupidest flaws in my spontaneity mission. Leave me alone, Carmone.