Death To Enthusiasm!

Enthusiasm, for any thing, in another, calls our ones and zeros to design our output response. Enthusiastics welcome others to participate by simply wearing the flag of enthusiasm on their backs, unknowingly, calling to arms the troupes. This involves the lot, child to bed-ridden. How will we respond? And this fervent fancy in them creates only what enthusiasm's negation can stammer to spackel on the wall in tedium.

Without enthusiasm the dead-eyed mistress goes through the motions and stares off at the wall just to her right. But, exactly what she feels, the ennui without her favorite something, should begin creative works. Words at this stage in her tedium wouldn't come so fruitfully as enthusiastic poetry, but they would topple down from her mouth the drab pornography of text. The walls of a pornographic shoot, the layout of the fruit, waxen and oddly dusted from a collection of fans blowing forced air around small rooms; our time implacable. Passion, enthusiasm, the drive to succeed; all are staved off, and the truth comes.

Or, if we topple down the walls of self-intervention, judgment, the victim makes a greatness of her smallness, and ennui turns to false-enthusiasm still enthusiasm. She'll turn down the hallway with her head before her body and begin enthusiasm in the mind while the body's ennui suffers the supercharged chemical process of the mind's trickery.

Or, just be happy with ennui, the tedium of stasis in a queue around the block while you wait, interminably, enthusiastically, smiling even, for inspiration.