snow, sorrow, and shakespeare in spring

living through watching the drama overacted on the world's third-rate stage. holier than thou, artsier than thou, in all black with slicked hair. talking about force and pressure and the meaning of reality within a fiction-leave the play behind for a moment. what about all the fictions within reality? not a part of this extravagant minimalistic trendy world view? hold a mirror to nature. a funhouse mirror distorting the image so action suits the words that have been twisted like burnt metal scorched and sooty suiting the exact words but not the exact thoughts. groping through the snowstorm. April's spring squalls swirling, obscuring our scatterbrained search for moral certainty. snow flies at an angle as the world tilts, overweighed with worry. icy drops fall down my neck. I raise my coat before my face to block out the world and the cold. and the uncertainty and the fear. another paper due, another test to determine the future. myopic view. so important and so vital. so small and so worthless. Hamlet's guilt, living not for the moment. slipping about, floundering only to be maimed in revenge. revenge moving forward mindlessly. pledges march by in rigid formation kicking up dust like big school yard bullies proud of their new toys. embarrassed, I look away.