Mid-December, 2010:
January 10th, 2011: The Beginning of the End.
Currently, too many friends watch, hear that video and see themselves: more than a nod of recognition. Rather, a break through reflection.
That was the beginning—the beginning of what should have been my end.
However, I survived. Barely, but survived, nonetheless.
How?
Another entry, if I ever get there. Entailing the nightmare many months long…too sordid, terrifying, exhausting and, honestly, the details are mostly unremembered—foggy, at best; black wholes, at worst.
Survived, nonetheless.
Why?
Why?
Fuck if I know.
…Yet.
Today was, for me, a busy and tiring one, typical for any other body, but mine?
I took a shower.
Pin on me a flower!
All day, here, there, everywhere and while enduring day-to-day living, I thought of Lazarus.
"Laz, buddy, I feel ya'. No—seriously—I feel you. By God, did anyone, after witnessing the miracle, help you home or…bring to your…cave or street corner or wherever the flurk you lived, like, a bowl of chicken noodle soup or—I dunno—fluff your pillow, tuck you in, buy your groceries for a week or…shampoo your hair? 'Cause this waking the dead shit is killing me! Jesus wept!"
"Laz, buddy, I feel ya'. No—seriously—I feel you. By God, did anyone, after witnessing the miracle, help you home or…bring to your…cave or street corner or wherever the flurk you lived, like, a bowl of chicken noodle soup or—I dunno—fluff your pillow, tuck you in, buy your groceries for a week or…shampoo your hair? 'Cause this waking the dead shit is killing me! Jesus wept!"
A body dead four days portends…catastrophe? A body bedridden three years tends to…atrophy?
Life don't give a shit 'bout health woes, thoughs, so at you it continues to throws fast-bitch after fast-bitch until…
Brain: blows.
Your Rye writer, however, was lucky, in that she had one helluva "Fielder" playing Catch-her.
For now, alls I want yous to knows…
I'm living proof:
You, too, can catch those fast-bitches…then strike the motherfucker out.
I'm living proof.
Waking the Dead is the beginning of an end.
"It's not up to you."
The downside to the upside:
The decision is one on which our upside-down minds cannot always depend.
However…
This doesn't preclude waking the dreams of living the happy end.
Goddammit, I'm beginning, living proof.
Written in twenty minutes, first entry in over a year, no reread or edits—no coherence.
No apologies.
Dammit: I'm barely awake, half-dead, and written un-proofed.
