[Portrait of Adolphe Basler Moise Kisling, 1914]
Insecure consequences, that’s what they are. You see them flung all over the slatted wooden floor and you know the spewing source. You’re embarrassed by the mess. Triple the inconvenience all the way to half of yourself. You’ve been walking around like that, naked as green leaves. Certain of your flesh, but that’s all. Your inner stretch causes Caucasian operations to chug to the finish, a black shiny car selfie itself to ride outside causing bundles of trouble, trouble, one stumble after the other. You’re one big jerk. A jerk spouting facts that end up kicked under the bureau, lost, forgotten. A naked foot. You can’t think on your feet–a quality you’ve always admired in others. You look down. Others take it for shame but you want to retrieve pieces of yourself. That’s all. You’re looking for yourself under the table, the stolen desk, the sagging chair, the broken lamp, the supervisor who supervises all that you do, counts your footsteps and dislikes your nail polish. You are today’s lost cause.