That fucker is out there, lurking boldly and invisibly in the day light. Old flow he is, slow, wet, and thick, pulling you down to a torpid pace. Weekends of Dolor and slumber. Cortisol and haze. He had me before, knocking me low before I knew I was low. Pinning me on my back, before I knew I was there. Impregnating me with inaction. Long days motionless and trapped in fog. I was Felled for an aeon at least.
But defeat is the prequel of victory in the long history of life. And the perusal of personal revolutions illuminates sensors that always existed. Sensors that bristle at the slightest flux and fire at the first true read unleashing anger, distance, velocity, and dream. Motion! Endeavor!
It's with this anger, I extend my arms and blade my feet keeping dangerous seed beds outside the kill zone. The S.A.D.S net active and deadly. All desires to extend love blunted! I am not to be lied too. I am not to be lain down as the waves of history roll over. I am not to remain the victim of inadequacy, floundering in the long slow waves of depression and missing the warm wonderful days of waxing seasons.
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