You call yourself a Chameleon?

Didn't you pride yourself on being able to worm into any venue and into any niche? What could be your motivation for adamantly refusing to wear the last scale? What's the plan? To dive into the masquerade with a crack in your mask? The more embroiled you get in the circus, the more vivid the reminder that you're and outsider. You know you're in control, you know the part you're playing, so there's no danger. Delve more. Game recognizes game always. The wise will see it, you'll see them. The sheep will graze, the robots will beep, the suits will wrinkle. Guide the fish, guide the flock. Only the front runners are in control, everyone else is a follower. Are you a piece of fabric? Are you the growth of a follicle? You know you're not a body, so why not commit to being the master of ceremonies of a tribe of ghosts? • Why does my heart sink in, in the face of a challenge? Why don't I short circuit that thing so that it pushes dangerously out instead of safely (that is to say, more dangerously) in? How much are you not doing?