When I am gone I do not expect to miss me, nice enough though I could consider
myself. OK, I understand why nobody loves me. But I have other things to
do than be sure of that. Isn't there a connection between understanding
and death? Understanding is an enormous grasping hand that clutches at
the fringe where reality tatters in a dying wind. Just as my life constitutes
one of the fringes of human existence. But there are moments; how beautiful
the moments are when the world of pure form prepares for a cadence; when
the symbols fall into place and the story is perfected; when the elemental
and unchangeable fact that women hate me, that your face is turned away,
recedes, and I remember that moving faster than the speed of light, your
shadow can't catch up.
God, family,
nation - all have disappointed me. They came out of the woodwork, took
what they wanted, and made me tired of noticing things. The universe has
not lived up to my expectations. The universe has failed me.
I'll die -
that's an article of faith. I was walking downtown and I noticed a car's
bumper sticker that said "Honk if you want to live." Just at that moment
the car behind must have seen it too, and started honking; and then other
cars in turn until every car in the city was honking, honking, revving
their engines till a haze of exhaust rose in the air just as high as me.
shmoetry
Surrealism
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