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Bleating Fomality
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December 12

 

BLEATING FORMALITY

  

Stupidity stalks me when I am tired, hijacking my mouth.  I can put this off to pilot error or interruption of service on my neurologic pipeline, but truly I have been captured by senseless, irrational muttonness.  I would love to say it was pigheadedness but, alas, I am not self-determined, I am a sheep.  I open my lips and out pours the same plaintive cry as the surrounding herd.  In addition, once begun, the wail is unending; it’s as if the bellows works on its own carrying a tune which blends with the entire wool-coated world.  I shift and run with my position according to the movements at large.  I am following the reactionary breed, dropping the specifics of my personality as one of the crowd; my brain is switched off and a quick veneer grows over my eyes.  I can’t see, think, or speak for myself and yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay.  When as a petulant three year old I do fall to sleep in my tracks, I wake as myself with many bleating apologies to be made.

 Put morbidity on a leash and never walk it alone.