Alec Febbraro

The pain of gain

I walked outside today. In my backyard, a personal nature, the nature of my nature, COVID free and connection free. A place in which I have the liberty to be, but no one can love me as I do it. I went outside, and it was blistering cold. A real cold, the kind that scares the other cold. And in this cold there is snow. Snow I remember from when I was quite small. And my first inclination is to play with it, with my bare hands. And I do. And there’s a reaction of freezing pain that I knew was coming which for some reason still surprises me in the moment and after. And I feel relief that I still feel that surprise, that perplexity, because I’ve touched snow so many times before, out of desire, only to be punished by the hurt of the cold, and then rewarded by the desire, as it all happens again, despite my knowing the outcome, knowing how both work in relation to one another, each sensation, the sensation of wanting and actions and reaction, or thinking I know I do, and through thinking I know I somehow feel what that knowledge accounts for, or know what that feeling accounts for, but perhaps these feelings and logics are doing us not enough justice. I didn’t go outside today. I didn’t touch any snow. I simply watched it from afar and imagined each sensation, each implication, each temptation, maybe if I write these words I can improve my station, just kidding bro I’m on fucking vacation, to vacate this nation, and placate ovation, on top of the world, you can be too, no intimidation. I think we need to innovate our innovation. Without that being taken as dictation. One more time, seriously, so, I went outside, and it was cold but sunny. The warm air cooled me as I give you language verbose that accentuates hopes, sows dreams at seams. The cool air whispered to me in the way that only certain lovers do. Then it held me tightly there and hovered in a way that only certain mothers do. Then I struggled and broke free of the grasp and began to gasp but that’s just more air. I love and hate this despotic despair. I love and hate that I’m beginning to care. I love and hate this pains reign, this reigning pain, get out of my hair. So I can start anew in a place that I choose let’s call it THERE.