A lovely soul reminded me recent, the world already died.
Need to thank her, not for a fundamental truth that ought go without saying, but for her vulnerability, her gorgeous prose.
Told my therapist I solved It, by which I meant the slender thread about to snap, fragility of our grasp on a habitable planet, Tx, the next big project. She didn’t laugh, didn’t have to. You know the sort, completely discounts problem, never mind solution.
Started Tx two years ago, same time as 0. Had to finish the latter before she reduced me to ___, now I’m revisiting their shared origins. Desperation. Loneliness so acute it knows only one contemporary (fictional character trapped under the ice of the austral pole). Despair.
Would’ve worked to free my icebound protagonist, can’t execute that mission alone. Instead, I’m working Tx by request, keeping what company I can. Maybe by the time I’ve found another willing soul, we’ll have no reason to go.
Circa Tx/0’s genesis, I wrote the following, encapsulating my own beginning. Just a kid, accepting as truth whatever I was told. Your world ended seven years ago. Mine was over before I was born.
“Nuclear family promises, life everlasting in midcentury-modern.
Want to tell me I should’ve known, sooner seen my way clear? Sit tight, I want to tell You everything, Dear.
World lets them do what they do because they wear a suit and tie of a Sunday but, in a spacesuit? Baby, I really could’ve been something. Take my last ride in that one that lit up Texas sky, Mom making herself cry, J wouldn’t have had to try.
Now, what to do with this everlasting spare time?
Spend it pissed I’m not first draft pick for Messiah? Switch sides? Join Chaos, ride off into sunset, eventuality not far behind?
If I could’ve finished the narrative. How close was I? How close to confessing I’m number one hundred forty-four thousand of same? How close to the next truth? The one that’d keep me, mend me, deliver me to eternal flame.
But, I’m here, withering in mirror, mirror, neck in a bow, ready to hang on Your every next word, Lucky Joe, itching to torpedo it all for just one more glimpse, Love’s bitter kiss, chance to speak truth when there’s not a soul who’ll listen.”
/0
Need to thank her, not for a fundamental truth that ought go without saying, but for her vulnerability, her gorgeous prose.
Told my therapist I solved It, by which I meant the slender thread about to snap, fragility of our grasp on a habitable planet, Tx, the next big project. She didn’t laugh, didn’t have to. You know the sort, completely discounts problem, never mind solution.
Started Tx two years ago, same time as 0. Had to finish the latter before she reduced me to ___, now I’m revisiting their shared origins. Desperation. Loneliness so acute it knows only one contemporary (fictional character trapped under the ice of the austral pole). Despair.
Would’ve worked to free my icebound protagonist, can’t execute that mission alone. Instead, I’m working Tx by request, keeping what company I can. Maybe by the time I’ve found another willing soul, we’ll have no reason to go.
Circa Tx/0’s genesis, I wrote the following, encapsulating my own beginning. Just a kid, accepting as truth whatever I was told. Your world ended seven years ago. Mine was over before I was born.
“Nuclear family promises, life everlasting in midcentury-modern.
Want to tell me I should’ve known, sooner seen my way clear? Sit tight, I want to tell You everything, Dear.
World lets them do what they do because they wear a suit and tie of a Sunday but, in a spacesuit? Baby, I really could’ve been something. Take my last ride in that one that lit up Texas sky, Mom making herself cry, J wouldn’t have had to try.
Now, what to do with this everlasting spare time?
Spend it pissed I’m not first draft pick for Messiah? Switch sides? Join Chaos, ride off into sunset, eventuality not far behind?
If I could’ve finished the narrative. How close was I? How close to confessing I’m number one hundred forty-four thousand of same? How close to the next truth? The one that’d keep me, mend me, deliver me to eternal flame.
But, I’m here, withering in mirror, mirror, neck in a bow, ready to hang on Your every next word, Lucky Joe, itching to torpedo it all for just one more glimpse, Love’s bitter kiss, chance to speak truth when there’s not a soul who’ll listen.”
/0