series2bk5.061

 

Eyeball to eyeball with problematic existence, imprisoned by the bonds of love, (and in competition,) I wish release with an anaesthetic elixir, fixing my spirit with the comfort of relaxing gaiety. The beige velvet curtain sinks to the floor, and I glory to be left with my own thoughts, backstage, outrageously ruminating on what I will, killing my inhibitions in a carefree caper. I shape my sliding feet to perform enormous feats of the simplest inspiration, suddenly muddling, demanding care and intricate dexterity - heralding an inner chorus of ribald mirth.      My speech is slurred and vision's gone askew,      but surely I must seem supreme to you?