Tough mudders shock the sprocket shoppers. Running through the path resistance. Smiling smugly at the bumbling bobo drinking bubbly. You elbow and nudge through the judicial sludges, past the jovial judges. Tough mudders, apathetic mothers. You topple out the melodious spout. You correlate the lady's fate to her shuffling dietary strategy. He's doing backflips in small rooms without damaging the chandelier. You marvel at your ability to spell "chandelier" on your first try without using spell-check. Now you are muddling tough through the mud. It's a tough-guy town and you are tying your boots. It's a town full of tough women, and you are letting your beard grow. You are fumbling through the fridge for some bubbly. You are constructing a funny argument for your jovial judges.
I have some secret audio files buried deep in my digital data structures, obscured from all casual observation. They are voice mails from someone that I once had tender feelings for. And by "tender," I mean "category 5, level red, insane." But I listen to them and, though I've healed and moved on, there is a slow burn the lurches in me when I hear it still today. I have these old letters, too, from people who I have loved in the past. Letters from, I believe, truly, important people who loved me, too. They say nothing too profound, but they are profound to me anyway. They are ghosts on paper. Spectre-Letters. Linguistic evidence of connection. I keep them safe. If my house were to burn to the earth, and if the letters burned there, too, I would survive. But I would miss those ghost-fragments dearly. Maybe I should just let go of them now. Maybe I should foster future ghosts.
I'm here negotiating my early release. Trying to get the gadflies to leave. Trains shuffle along the track. Gadfly passer-bys smack their snacks. Asian fish people attack the math. Burly openers draw the fire back. Inhaled me in the swirling womb. Pushed me to the outer moon. Coughed out feelings choke the fool. Burning questions smoke the room. I'm here negotiating stupid concepts with neurotic walkers. Trying to get the gadflies to leave. Melodic mothers swallow their babies with nursery hums and sleep-inducing song. Rain comes and goes and the passer-bys don't know which mood to throw. Sunshine cracks the surface of the sky. I'm here scratching the silver shavings off the lottery tickets of my mind.