And that's The Peter Panda Dance

 When you're down and low, lower than the floor, and you're thinking you ain't got a chance:

Maybe you don't. When the resistance has weakened, you might look victorious. Perhaps you win by proxy, or others' disqualification, or preoccupation. It may not be a win if you are the last one standing. How can you really feel good when you have fought for nothing?

Letting the timer run out so that you're the one standing in the winner's circle is hardly earning anything. All they know is that you arrived. Is comparing low to other lows even worthwhile? Little internal lies to avoid sinking just below the surface is probably the lesser path than simply doing nothing. In the end, that is what was done, but when you just try to call it something else, I don't have a name for that.

There is no dimension to the emptiness of pacification. It is weakness and provides no warmth. Stuck in the mud of disrepair, I am unable to calculate the numbers to provide the escape. I just want to lay my head down on the ground and not think about who I thought I was. There comes a time when you find comfort at the bottom, knowing you cannot possibly fall any further. 

I have been so sure that the parts I am installing can be made to work. I have researched, reasoned, and modified them in ways previously unthought of, and yet, I take a drive and find that I was only fooling myself. These physics are something that cannot be changed, or in this case, misunderstood.

It is a sobering thought to understand that in some ways, we never grow up. There is a part of us that is perpetually fifteen years old, and it cannot be changed. To live and jump onto the train that is speeding by. There comes a time when conflict brings the ugliness of all decisions to light. Looking at the ground, I find that I am in Paris in 1871. Every step taken led me here, why am I surprised.

I have no rest, just the noise of the war. It rages on and it never stops. Like the noise in my head, it persists and I cannot make it stop. Those watching this parade are standing on the sides and keeping the screws of distraction tightened. I have no say. I hear them shouting at each other over my head. They do not make much sense to me and for that I can find hope.  

It is a familiar feeling, this low, low feeling, because when you're down and low, lower than the floor and you're thinking you ain't got a chance. And that is the Peter Panda Dance.