Cold Nothing

The farther you wander into the ice field, the more you realize. . . well, that it is melting, of course, but also that life has been a hideous joke.  We try our hardest to make it mean something--something--but everything is reduced to smaller and less tantalizing bites until all you can do is sit and stare into the blank distance while you think how stupid everyone behind you is. 

And then there is Donald Trump. 

I'm tired of the blank cold, the frigid nothingness.  It made interesting literature, but it is only for the youngest readers with the unknowingly full lives. 

Color, man.  We can represent it with black and white, but we need color to warm us up. 

Ha.  That worked somehow.  I never know how I do it :)