In this constant shuffle, chaos is imminent. The silence is precious and petrified, peace becomes noise and panic that never settles. In this perpetual derangement the kinetic confusion is punishing, it assaults my sense of center and grates at my ears, nerves and conscious. I can’t think, my brain is in this eyeless storm, churning around itself as it washes over the shores of my isolated stretches of sanity.
There will be no quiet tonight. There is only a break in the humming for mumbling, mumbling turns to rumbling before it ramps back up to stuttering, as the immutable medley claims another chorus. And continues to shuffle. Constantly. All around me. All of the fucking time.
Abiding ataxia. Shuffling constantly.
I used to tread upon a series of endless grooves and vibrations that flowed into the high and the low seamlessly, meaningfully. Vibrant vitality shining through every bounce and step and stare. And sigh. Every tear drop met matter with a celebratory splash, glorious ripples and waves undulated within the ebb and flow, and push and pull of every second that has light and life. I stumbled into my rhythm, it was electric, and terrifying and absolutely fantastic. The roads were open and endless, the journeys erratic and unscripted, somehow all the while guiding me to exactly where I needed to be, regardless of where I was trying to go.
But that was before the shuffle.
The interminable jumble.
The constant shuffle. The ceaseless and careless tripping and kicking, the falling and crawling. The interminable jumble. The deafening screaming of the aimless calamities that bend and rustle. Rhythmic debris smashed to pieces, jagged edges strewn about the remnant rummage. Scattered haphazardly, shifting, and never settling.
The constant shuffle.*