Mound of Earth
I planted pumpkin seeds in one of the unused flower beds alongside my apartment. If they take, that could make the advent of autumn a bit less odious. I just overheard someone walking by ask a resident of the oddly carved-up house next door, "All right, who buried your neighbor?" Maybe she'd see the humor in that if she knew me as I know me...
The reply, "Dude it's so fucking great; every year they set up tombstones there" made me at once feel a little bit of pleasure at the invisible effect that I have and a hell of a lot of misery at the awareness of just how fucking long I've been here. I should have sent my alma mater a card for the five year anniversary of my graduation. I would, but I can't afford to buy one. Considering that I didn't have a senior year, this milestone means that I have now been out of school without a livable life for twice as long as I was in school. What a lovely little fact.
I still hear it from goddamn everybody: "The best years of your life are ahead of you;" "You will be discovered by somebody;" "You're just having a run of bad luck - it will end." And while I smile and am appreciative of everyone's kind words, I can't help but let part of my silent response be to say: Fuck you. I don't know what kind of wonderland of foreordination you live in, but in the reality I know, counter-induction is a delusion used by gamblers and fools. Is there a finite amount of patience, virtue, and conviction that I have to give before my account comes due and the magic of your infinitely just universe delivers me to a life that has been made a horror by that very patience, virtue, and conviction? If you don't know, then shut up.
I had one such well-intentioned giver of encouragement flank his comments with tearful gratitude that I had been there for him, that I had been a positive influence in his life. I didn't think "fuck you" then, though I didn't think any differently about the lack of logic in the sentiment. But I was too awash in the vivid remembrance of the pleasure of doing - of being - good, to give comfort to aggression in my mind. For a long moment, I felt as though I recognized myself. The suffocated husk of a human being that I am from day to day - that was the stranger for a little while. And I felt as though the good person who might have gained forever in wisdom and changed the world for the better was still inside me somehow.
If the world eventually trades good fortune for ill, is my term in hell to last only until that concealed person is truly dead?
The reply, "Dude it's so fucking great; every year they set up tombstones there" made me at once feel a little bit of pleasure at the invisible effect that I have and a hell of a lot of misery at the awareness of just how fucking long I've been here. I should have sent my alma mater a card for the five year anniversary of my graduation. I would, but I can't afford to buy one. Considering that I didn't have a senior year, this milestone means that I have now been out of school without a livable life for twice as long as I was in school. What a lovely little fact.
I still hear it from goddamn everybody: "The best years of your life are ahead of you;" "You will be discovered by somebody;" "You're just having a run of bad luck - it will end." And while I smile and am appreciative of everyone's kind words, I can't help but let part of my silent response be to say: Fuck you. I don't know what kind of wonderland of foreordination you live in, but in the reality I know, counter-induction is a delusion used by gamblers and fools. Is there a finite amount of patience, virtue, and conviction that I have to give before my account comes due and the magic of your infinitely just universe delivers me to a life that has been made a horror by that very patience, virtue, and conviction? If you don't know, then shut up.
I had one such well-intentioned giver of encouragement flank his comments with tearful gratitude that I had been there for him, that I had been a positive influence in his life. I didn't think "fuck you" then, though I didn't think any differently about the lack of logic in the sentiment. But I was too awash in the vivid remembrance of the pleasure of doing - of being - good, to give comfort to aggression in my mind. For a long moment, I felt as though I recognized myself. The suffocated husk of a human being that I am from day to day - that was the stranger for a little while. And I felt as though the good person who might have gained forever in wisdom and changed the world for the better was still inside me somehow.
If the world eventually trades good fortune for ill, is my term in hell to last only until that concealed person is truly dead?