change

how can you ever expect to change things unless you begin changing things? says the prodding, here at the end of the night; the nag, the itch in the back of my skull, he says such things often, in unguarded moments, the last muscle to relax. tonight i respond: i believe i change an appropriate amount. one must at least keep pace with the world around oneself, but this is an unwinnable race, a speed i can never match. what direction to turn from the meadow at dusk? where to turn, when you have fallen into a crossroads in which you have seen all things occur? where could further interest possibly lie? it is the death of curiosity, the final playing out of original sin.