L is for living. Leaving your office at 4 am with an occupied mind, empty heart, and a gigantic ego. As you breathe to the tempo of your footsteps, you smile to yourself, now that’s awkward! Plug in your earphones and focus on getting home to your reward - one dollar worth of streamed internet juice. Don’t blame it on me or yourself. Blame it on the time when intimacy is calculated by GPS coordinates that you swipe right and left. O is for obscene Flashing seconds for the thrill of instantaneous satisfaction, then scarily taking it back. Recycled snapshots are there to stay, taken to go in timed void, an invisible testimony. From my story, into a gallery; Neglected and rarely visited, but it’s right there to stay. This constant urge to find or be found by something, not someone. Sensorially flipping through squares, deposits in a sperm bank. Why so precise, precious? Nothing really is set in stone, we are what we indecisively let go of, not keep. Being brushed by the rushing question whether to stay, leave or just exist in that time and place is the fuel of this fear. What are we afraid of, really? We are afraid of ourselves, that’s it, munchkin! We’re the products of living obscene loneliness, together. L is for loneliness. Even angry morning shows are sad today, Lol away.