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I feel like a normal person. My parents are dying-
Not all at once or today: In piece and restless, over months and hours, worn sea glass to
perfect opaque ovals and I wonder at their interior, whether that murk dim shimmer- I wonder that they must be looking back at me through that filter, at the world, at their own reflections and it's no wonder at all
how each time we break we
expose a new sur face for
The World to chew
My Mother mourns forever: her youngest child an unbearable loss that, nonetheless, is born every morning. Whenever we're alone together she weeps and grasps my hand and relives her trauma for
both of us
and always asks me the same question: "How do you do it?"
It- I don't understand how you do it. How do you do it?
I feel like a normal person and I pretend that
I don't know what she means or
what It is
and through this lie
this performative ignorance
I elide myself and maybe that's
the best answer I have
When I was a wee lad, seven or eight years I told a girl
on the bus that I was a robot
She didn't believe me and insisted on testing the claim by
pinching my arm as hard as she could
face red and knuckle twisting
I cried out a-and recoiled and she said
Aha! Human after all! I shrugged and
nursed my wound with a secret smile at my first
captcha
My Father mourns himself: a Stranger to his own life- it must have happened gradually, a line crossed some random night, some August 14th, some January 21st, an arbitrary event horizon of self awareness and now I only hear
confusion and
pleading
Where there used to be faith.
I tell him stories about absurd minutia
kafkaesque tales from my bureaucratic life and
I can still make him laugh and
maybe that's enough, or at least not
nothing
I feel like a normal person. I haven't been invincible for a long time- but there's a gap between the heroic follies of youth and this sudden recognition that background characters disappear unceremoniously, or fall off cliffs, or drink themselves to death, have unfulfilled dreams, suffer for no fucking reason except that That's Just the World, lose hope, find solace in Something, self sabotage, get broken, get bent, get nothing but this stupid t-shirt and I've always
known this
obviously
I'm not an utter lamp shade but
there's knowing and
knowing
y'know?
Not all at once or today: In piece and restless, over months and hours, worn sea glass to
perfect opaque ovals and I wonder at their interior, whether that murk dim shimmer- I wonder that they must be looking back at me through that filter, at the world, at their own reflections and it's no wonder at all
how each time we break we
expose a new sur face for
The World to chew
My Mother mourns forever: her youngest child an unbearable loss that, nonetheless, is born every morning. Whenever we're alone together she weeps and grasps my hand and relives her trauma for
both of us
and always asks me the same question: "How do you do it?"
It- I don't understand how you do it. How do you do it?
I feel like a normal person and I pretend that
I don't know what she means or
what It is
and through this lie
this performative ignorance
I elide myself and maybe that's
the best answer I have
When I was a wee lad, seven or eight years I told a girl
on the bus that I was a robot
She didn't believe me and insisted on testing the claim by
pinching my arm as hard as she could
face red and knuckle twisting
I cried out a-and recoiled and she said
Aha! Human after all! I shrugged and
nursed my wound with a secret smile at my first
captcha
My Father mourns himself: a Stranger to his own life- it must have happened gradually, a line crossed some random night, some August 14th, some January 21st, an arbitrary event horizon of self awareness and now I only hear
confusion and
pleading
Where there used to be faith.
I tell him stories about absurd minutia
kafkaesque tales from my bureaucratic life and
I can still make him laugh and
maybe that's enough, or at least not
nothing
I feel like a normal person. I haven't been invincible for a long time- but there's a gap between the heroic follies of youth and this sudden recognition that background characters disappear unceremoniously, or fall off cliffs, or drink themselves to death, have unfulfilled dreams, suffer for no fucking reason except that That's Just the World, lose hope, find solace in Something, self sabotage, get broken, get bent, get nothing but this stupid t-shirt and I've always
known this
obviously
I'm not an utter lamp shade but
there's knowing and
knowing
y'know?
no subject
Date: 2022-04-30 05:43 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-05-04 02:30 am (UTC)From:her grief
but neither will I reproach
my own or
my own at hers.
no subject
Date: 2022-05-04 12:10 pm (UTC)From:No. Of course. No one wins this game.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-24 05:08 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-12-04 03:23 am (UTC)From:By any reasonable account I'm doing okay. By any reasonable account I'm actually privileged beyond measure compared to the huddled mass of my antecedents, and no doubt they'd begrudge me any complaint, scoff at my ersatz suffering...
And I wouldn't blame them.
But, alas, I'm too much the narcissist to accept any measure but my own- and too much the hungry ghost to find anything not wanting.
On the other tentacle, by what I can only explain as some neurological quirk, my moment to moment experience plays a generally positive timbre despite any and all metaphysical hysteria.
Anyway, back to the self flagellation and orgies. I also wish you the best and etc., stay away from large predatory animals and drink a reasonable amount of water.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-11 01:29 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-12-15 09:50 pm (UTC)From: