The merit of sanity

You say, do this correctly.  Clockwork motions, live life by the book.  But it's such a boring book!  I plead.  To no avail, you simply correct my posture and pat me on the head; nodding approvingly at the vacant grin that is slowly becoming a permanent fixture on my face.

And then, one day, I yell STOP!  Flinging arms wide I do my best to jam the clockwork, springs and gizmos ricocheting dangerously.  I like it.  I like danger.  The grin is gone now, replaced by a satirical smirk; eyes sparkling with malevolent intentions as I step over broken glass and bit of twisted metal.  I walk.  Away.

Looking up, I notice sky.  Bright sky.  In my mind the sky here has always been grey.  How long has there been sun?  In the beyond, there are crumbling architecture, things falling apart; so much more beautiful then things maintained.  The composition is both exquisite and sad; somehow it's perfection in a way restrained life could never match.  Here, on this street with it's broken sidewalks and tufts of dirty grass I can be happy.  Sunlight on my palms and face, maniacal laughter coming from somewhere- my own mouth?  

Anyone who sees me will say that I'm crazy.  But in reality they're the crazy ones, the ones pushing this beautiful existence away with both hands.  So on I will trot, skip, jump-but no, not walk; on into this uncertainty and dissonance and bewitching pandemonium.

Sunlight on my palms and hands...

The composition is both exquisite and sad...