From the time of my early years I was often told about how my father was a child that had grown up on the streets. An emotional orphan that didn’t take things serious enough until he was thrust into the war and saw that death predominates over life. And throughout the rest of his life he was someone at cross purposes between a burden of unrelenting responsibility and trying to find the definition of himself as he had been originally born on those subsequently bygone streets. That time within when he had fixed his aspirations. The hopes that had evaporated before he had had a chance to enjoy them. A fate better by far than the generations of today that seem to have failed before they even had a chance to get out of the gate. Those ones that have stuck to a daily regimen of throwing up their hands at every unfamiliar challenge and given up. And can only get by according to the latest state supplied public fantasy of the hour. The question of their identities, beyond just being in the way of each other, simply solved by it going unsolved for the perpetuity of their own respectively short menial existence. A bunch of ghosts treading back and forth oblivious across the same asphalt and concrete boundaries. Brick by brick merely a hog pen to keep them from spilling from its barriers over into something truly important. A scathing tale of concurrent irresponsibility falling under the guise of a constantly bespoken opposite.
A whole Hell of a lot of words just to describe the obvious! The smell of stink weed and Vienna dog garlic breath wafting through the immediate vicinity during this tale. A litter plagued carpet of detritus wrought of well‐ingrained carelessness casually appropriated from the ghetto as a preferred standard of existence. To become part of this chorus and stay far away from the microphone at the front of the stage out of range of the lime lights. That ever elusive goal of just barely getting by!
But, why should I care! It is like the world around me and everyone else caught within it knows that it is all over. Everyone but me! In this damn place where I have to listen to my own voice echo time and again to realize that I am just a liar. And to realize that I have been a liar all along for the entire length of my life. But I refuse to believe it! Or at least, I am too Goddamn dumb to think otherwise. Caught betwixt all manner of serial lies. Some of my own making and many others come mostly from distant sources. One standard set of everyday reports not forgiving the fact of a few thinking otherwise. Where trust died along the way, I am no longer able to tell.? Only knowing that I am brutally suffering from its absence. I am suffering because without the grace of my own personal approximation of Hell on earth, I am nothing! Without my own innate sense of perpetual incurable martyrdom . . . Without my longstanding freak of so willingly giving up all possibility of a normal life in the best sense of a socially normalized fantasy, that for everyone was never possible; to try to indulge in the mass hysterical communal falsehood that something somewhere might be different one day. That dusty corollary that things will work out somehow in the end by taking yet another blind step, and that I am going to end up somewhere vastly different than where I stand right now. Caught instead between the Devil and that other devil. The one devil that tells me that everything will be all right. That devil’s message died long ago. It spoke to me in my mother’s voice under the fiction of my father’s presence. And now it only has me to address.
So where do things go from there? Another full moon? Another form of daily meal; eating my guts out in a silent seemingly unperturbed fashion, to maintain a facade of even tempered pretense that I have become so good at? To walk around the same set of rooms devoid of enthusiasm, only to catch sight of the reflection of the evidence of tears burning my eyes in the mirror of another’s gaze. Choking all along the way on my own inexhaustible sense of unending self-created loss? Despair and suffering these days being the common coin of the realm. One that no one is willing to share the burden of exposing to another save through anger and accusation. Not me! I am too much the liar! Too unreliable! Not willing to connect because I may be too scared that the connection might make me die a little more inside. And so it goes on! Another evening spent alone a little further along towards the fact of my own impending mortality. My insides heavy upon a gaping fissure. Eyes that go out of focus and become cloudy. The TV past midnight supplying all manner of ready phantoms from the past to my satiate quickly fading vision. Is that what life comes down to? Little by little be erased by the other end of that pencil that created you? The five sense deprecated, each in their own way, descending down to an incomprehensible level room static. It’s collective deprecation leaving one unable to drag themselves any further towards the edge of the cliff so as to then roll over off into the void. Is that what it is? At what point along this trail do you take up target practice? Or brew concoctions from the leftovers of the medicine cabinet? Or scrabble about in an old box of keys to find the one that allows you access to the building’s roof. All the extra effort so one can stand poised upon that brick bound precipice to stare out at a full moon hypnotically deranged. Until that instant that you fling your arms out wide into a swan dive, your legs pumping forward into thin air. At what point to regain that once glorious instance of the beginning of everything by way of the culmination of your worst fears come home to roost. A question with only one answer!
Now laying here fully eviscerated and emptied of rambling nighttime thoughts. Calm and still, with both eyes covered over so no light may penetrate the sense of a newly found isolated peace. No longer needing to tighten a noose around my own neck. What spontaneity might I offer, now that I would ordinarily have formerly dared not to? What more could I proclaim to the world that would ensure my being taken away with some modest degree of dignity? Maybe to be imprisoned? Lest anyone else know what I have come to realize! The many ways that society protects itself from liars like me. That tireless billion legged millipede. Safe from heresy! Keep the truth from leaking out, that we don’t love each other; and that we have all become cannibals too willing to tear the flesh from one and other into convenient little pieces. Something that we can conveniently carry along on our life’s journey and take out when it suits us to feed upon them in the dead of night. How we devour each other’s flesh and then call it love! And then. only to push each other away. Something to vindicate that ever-present false sense of protection from harm wrought by nagging truth over so many years ago. This is the caustic cement that binds us. Nothing more than the walls of a paper wasp’s maze. One whose sense of containment is daily built ever higher and stronger by the fiction of maturity. God forbid that we honestly confess to someone else how we really feel about them! Who can submit to that form of courage? How many rejections over a lifetime does one have to endure before they get the point that they are no longer wanted! That they have outlived their usefulness to someone else? That overarching society that has drained them dry like a publican’s offer of a dram on the house; tossed back in a single gulp; and that same glass refilled with the vitality of someone a generation younger. All that one has learned along the way of no value. Thrown away like a cum filled condom spoiling in the Sun. That vain and stupid need to come alive again. To renew the abandoned search for the grail of a wish to be ceded a small parcel meaningless responsibility yet once again; to prove something to someone, or anyone; yet again! That is what tells you that you are still alive as far as society. How stupid is this sort of life! That is the sort of truth that no one dare speak aloud lest the full measure of communal ire invested in society come falling down upon the head. Vanity and stupidity are the true currency and one does not need to know why! The unutterable commandment that keeps one from being foolish enough to summon the courage to demand an explanation. Mankind, womankind, just empty words! Failure the most prevalent popular way of life. Potters soil awaits! We die each day every morning before our time and are buried in a mounting despair. The solution, non‐existent! A mirror that we dare not look upon, for God forbid, we will see ourselves as we are.
Somewhere far away in a forgotten field sometime past long ago in a part never trodden ever since the remnants of a pile of rusting armor were left unsung by some anonymous knight. A grand gesture of honor by way of this someone’s lifelong quest to find a grail; one that had finally, without any hope of success, wound down to naught. Its carnival fiction now, and all too apparent! The motive behind it theatrically paper thin. A fool that had burned his bridges with rationality in favor of tracking down the impossible. No one left here to receive the king’s messenger demanding further unreasonable acts of fealty to the point of final annihilation. But nothing to offer God! No spare keys on the rack to unlock the rusty gates to the kingdom of heaven. Nothing more than a lonely empty piece of muddy earth where the cold wind constantly blew. A reward sundered in a pile of bleached white bones to laying in the grass unashamedly naked and undisturbed looking forward to the coming of eternity. A wait significant of a final exhaustion of desire to not return back at the journey’s start empty handed. The ultimate source of this insane quest. That truth that no one dare speak nor surrender to any ear. Those simple words, “nothing matters!” Whatever you do, it doesn’t mean a damn thing! Do what thou wilt and let the world be damned. The cynic’s prize! That is what the master really said. “All of you be damned!” So then, after all, there was nothing left but to become a liar. And since one could not dare tell this truth, there was no going home.