It doesn't help me to be scared. However, right now, I am scared. It is not a serious kind of scared. The fears are silly. The fears are no cause for alarm. It is a very boring scared nature. But it does stop me dead in my tracks. The fear has nostalgia all inside of it. The fear is warmth encroaching on a very cold, very small heart of coal. The fear is temporal. The fear is poisonously boring. It is attached to all people moving about in my little shady city. It is part of very happy and celebratory and positive people moving about their lives. Being scared when holding a mandolin; being scared when eating; when using the computer; when taking a bath; when about to sleep, and you have to go through the motions and thoughts of prayer just to keep everyone alive (feeling that all religions, all wish possibilities and belief structures can wrap nicely into a succinctness of common thoughts, words); being scared of love (the "beauty walks" are simply going for long walks down a very long street in the middle of the city and seeing attractive women and men at the end of the workday, the start of relaxation, or other kinds of business). But these things don't account for the depth of the fright. The fear starts at the top of a snowy mountain and the avalanche is soundless and sudden. I want to stop here, afraid but safe, with my false security (an eventual period). I don't want the words to dig through my fallen mounds of ice and snow. I never want to know why I am constantly scared out of my mind.
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