I am bored, witless.
It has served me, boredom, when alone or with others. Waiting, after feelings have excused themselves; passing as emotion, or is, shadows in the shade.
Periods of indifference and flashes of witfulness, though not much lately.
There is Love - most hope to have it in the present or future, little point in glancing back, too many points as facts, no use in staring. The heart is an unfocusable mechanism. Eyes suffer in different ways, though only by little degree.
Like wit, love requires the participation of clever and willing people to exist in the present. Otherwise, love lingers in the past and future, as half of any love may sometimes accept.
Few emotions resemble one another more than love and wit. Perhaps only jealousy and desire are more closely aligned. Some people will understand the first sentence, others the other. Some, none. Or, neither.
It is an open joke, love, - retold poorly, too often, sometimes dangerously well - depending on the involved; their willingness to laugh and sigh, and slaugh again.
We each might be clever, for a person or a few, when the whole of the cocktail party gets to listen. No words can pause nor delay the party of life for long. There is hope to cut through manners with the occasional rsvp fragment, for one in a bottle, or the album that everyone agrees on.
Répondez, si'l vous plaît…. Avis! Avis, avis?
I spend much time in my life solving problems, or trying, too much. There is decreasing space left to feel my way forward. The cleverest of people enjoy and endure much more leisure than I. They maintain the ability to dismiss. So many want it - the quality of effective negation, the enthusiasm of a well or often articulated No. No?
I am surrounded by smart people, they are oftenest correct, and forgiving in correctness. If only that, that one quality could be held against the other in light.
Wit and charm emerge as byproducts of inactivity, recreation, pleasure, and the joys of dark sin. These nine ingredients produce uneven results once the heat is increased, or applied, fast or otherwise. Heat does more than make things hot.
So, what is hell, if not.
It separates, clarifies, melts.
No, no. I have to go soon, too soon. That is a tangent for a different set of tangents.
Few possess charm by incorrectness alone, always depending on the naïveté of stranglers, the kindness of Exterminatoring Them All!
Ever Ways, and Yours,
cc. Mistah Dubois