Nothing to solve

Interested in what’s going on here . . .
But it appears not much.
The noise of a dryer looping some clothing.
A toe torn by an ocean-bottom trauma.
A rib cracked or bruised by surfboard pummel.
A red LED light at the lower right side of a TV that’s “off.”
A telescope unused for months.

A wave of enthusiasm crashed, foamed and dissipated into boredom.

How would one amuse the self?
Create drama among the others?
Cackle absurdly?
Introduce the inane?
Craft illusions?
Play act?
Develop the self character?
Try to find interesting characters?
What makes a character interesting?
What’s the mystery?
Am I safe? Unsafe?
Difficult? Easy?
Approachable? Intimidating?
Simple – complex?
Is the character those things?

And does it matter?
Someone will die tomorrow. . .
Somewhere . . .
and it could certainly be me.
And I won’t care either way.

This life has been a trick . . .
a fun house of mirrors.
“Care about this or else.”
Or else what?
Or else nothing.
Nothing ever came of anything.
Is that despair or just existential calm?

The view from the director’s chair.
Almost the producer.
Almost the audience that understands that they’re the ‘producer.’
Both producer and audience, in fact.
Puppet and puppet-master.
Button eyes to button eyes.
Watcher on watcher.
Shine to shine.
Beholder to beheld.
Two of the same.
Nothing to solve.