Perhaps It’s Just Me
The devil is tugging ever so gently on my coattails. I am not particularly interested in whatever it is he might want, so I will just sit here until he tires from lack of recognition. If I hold my breath I can hear their world, so I must keep breathing along with the gentle whirring of the AC. Finding my own rhythm, despite how clearly their electronic bass drums thud from molecule to molecule in the open air. Funny how we call it that: Open air. It has never felt particularly open, or airy. I find the outside world rather prison-like. It is imposing. Much like wandering around a zoo, but flipped on its head. Their captivity is freedom as some of us wander around taking note of what is going on in those metaphorical cages. The more we learn, the more we wonder which side of the cages we are on. Artwork by Müge Olçum In this moment, I make a promise to myself: To not mention any item from the static list of gripes I have. I refuse to give any of it precise explanation. No more wander