Tibbit, tibbit, tibbibbibbit.
March 21st, 2009, 6.30 AM
My wicked ways find me in Orchomenus, Greece. I’ve long aspired to make it here… I’ve learned a lot by being a city girl, and I suppose Orchomenus is a city, only it is not “just another city” – nay, it is a good city. I am not going to claim “perfection,” though – that is a specimen in deep-rooted scarcity.
In a man’s young days, he is (ideally) reared by his parents. His mother is there to pick him up when he falls, and his father is there to play peek-a-boo with him. Age takes a beating on the soul just as it does on the body, so why is it that when we grow up, our parents are no longer there for us? Who is going to save you once you’ve aged yourself past a point of no return? I wish my mother would kiss my grown-up boo-boos (for I invariably fall to this day), and I wish my father would still play peek-a-boo with me. Who’s going to save you then, when even your most ornate prayers won’t satiate? I pick myself up like a man and I play peek-a-boo with the city, but that should not be all there is to this. It does certainly feel a little unfair.
I asked my grandmother if she would like to accompany me to the coffee shop, or to the movie theater one of these days. “I would love to,” quoth she, “but I unfortunately stand unable to leave my bed.” It hit me like a ton of bricks because it was all most true – she is indeed bedbound, and has been since I made the grave mistake of turning 17. I will maintain a healthy distance from the line when I say that I might be at fault for that fact. Maybe I was one of the many factors that wore and tore on her being over the course of the last nine decades, but oh, what does it even matter? My grandmother is alive, and while I’m steadfastly catching up to her, she will be the one to go out first. It most certainly is at least one fragment unfair.
Visualize Schrodinger’s cat for me – can you discern the tail and the whiskers? Can you tell Texas from Texas whiskey? Do you see it take form as it turns to a ghoul? Can you see beneath the skin, beneath the muscle, beneath the owl? Are you ready to cut to the bone, and are you ready to face life for all it’s worth? Are you ready to escape the moratorium and get to the mythical terre des morts? Are you ready to bid farewell your most internal guts? I hope you are.
I was coerced into selling my guts to the Devil some while ago. Not that the guy and I are hangs or anything… I just needed that grocery money, I really did. And I was so desperate, as a matter of fact, that without a second thought, I surrendered an integral internal part of my body to him. Am I any the better for it? I don’t know. It is lonely here, and I would complain about it being dark, were I afraid of the dark. I am not yet used to seeing the light, you see, but I will get on it eventually. I am a marionette at the mercy of my own will, and it is all well suboptimal. I think that it is, without a doubt, most unfair.
Life is unfair, and I am a bitch for ever expecting otherwise. Every day is a futurity lost from your grasp in under a heartbeat. Everything is useless – words, especially so – and I find myself in a happy land a deplorable man. Maybe if I look outwardly for once, yes, just once… maybe I would find something I haven’t found yet. I am not legally allowed to browse about, so I am doing my best with what I have, that much is true. I might be able to build a boat out of matchsticks, but there’s no guarantee it’ll ever sail without casualty. The October wind informs me that spring days all come to an end – yet here we are, the vernal equinox surrounds, and we are none the better for it. The land is hospitable, only we are not. That gives way to an interesting dissonance.
If I am to shine on brightly, I need to come to terms with dissonance. I am trying to reason with The Entity, but I never really got anywhere with him. Maybe tonight’s just not my night, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow I will own up to it all and be a better person for it. Maybe someday I’ll be a person to begin with.
Goodnight, little Orchomenus songbird. I bid thee farewell.
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