Shadow-black curtains veil this night with uncertainty. The room that excludes it is dark and cold and desolate, save for a lukewarm soul and a white box. Inside, I am shaking. Inside, I am a jumping bean, I am exploding with art. A firework trapped in an aphotic, half-hearted casket. I am the blinding glow that waits to pierce the dim air, just as this living screen breaks the tiny space into millions of writhing pieces.

I will escape. I am expectant.

It appears that something in the juices of contained rage has revived me, some sour ingredient has caused me to claw at life once again with the fervor of a rebirth. Am I recreating my decrepit personality? Repolishing the bulb of brilliance that once gleamed under that hard cranium I used to own? Have I pushed up the soil that covered my grave?

Is this it?

I feel that I am pounding on the door of reason with twenty-nine fists. Thrashing the portal of logic with as much muscle as I can muster, and still more. What's behind that aperture? My hands are eager to know, to discover... my lungs are gasping for the sweet cool air it promises. Soon.

I'll slip into the illustrious universe of street and stars, of the orange ambiance of tall lamps and the excitement that underlies the deep moonlit hush.

eva i have fallen in love with u all over again