R.I.P. Gab Doller, 1988-2008.
when receiving news, the feeling is roughly approximated by inertia. the carpet rug was pulled from under you to reveal a gaping hole in your own house's floor and for an instant you are neither standing squarely on something nor falling. or that you have just donated blood, and every step either sinks into the pavement or your knees just buckle. or:
and the light fails and the fog rolls in/and you're trapped in your overturned body/under a blanket or burning car,
(Atwood, "A Sad Child")
why, man?
well if there's something marlon taught me, i guess it's that nothing really comes after the answer but a false sense of closure. or that answers really aren't answers, just paths to new questions. and real closure is like the horizon; it's a destination that recedes with every step you take toward it. i guess i should stop asking.
i stopped praying a long time ago.
what do i do now?
and the light fails and the fog rolls in/and you're trapped in your overturned body/under a blanket or burning car,
(Atwood, "A Sad Child")
why, man?
well if there's something marlon taught me, i guess it's that nothing really comes after the answer but a false sense of closure. or that answers really aren't answers, just paths to new questions. and real closure is like the horizon; it's a destination that recedes with every step you take toward it. i guess i should stop asking.
i stopped praying a long time ago.
what do i do now?