Life is static.
The drone of the fan blades ******* in hot air on a muggy summer night,
The lull of the cicadas in the warm glow of the evening,
The rustling dance the leaves do to mimick the wind.
My head is tired but my mind's wide awake,
I can see so much beauty in the world where beauty is not often seen.
I evaluate the images like static getting ****** into a null void of black and white and specs of color all buzzing around and intertwining into a greater art.
I take everything in like static.
I lay in bed with my eyes wandering my room and staring back into my own soul.
Static.
All I see is static