The Story Of My Fucking Life


Posted by ilbebe on December 24, 2008

If In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is yr favorite album, then y’ll know what I’m talking about… y’ll affect an accent, but not as much as much as an accent’ll affect you… th’ great unknown is the strongest reason I have yet encountered to stay with this life, and the great unkown is terrifying.

…the feeling goes but my head keeps spinnin’….

The way love goes as I have known it has been a confusing and wandering road, but goddamn if I’m tired of it. The way m’ heart swells is a neverending source of comfort to me. The change I’ve seen within m’self helps me to see the potential in all things, and thus a brighter tomorrow for me and everyone… every tone. Every dog that shits. I have seen the world in flames, and I still do, but I see it differently nowadays, I can see the renewal that must follow…

I miss the people I don’t talk to anymore, I miss the hell out of ’em. Many people have seen greater suffering than I have, but this leaves me to imagine this suffering, and I have become very proficient at imagining things. I can see m’self clocking a guy as well as I can see my girlfriend, time zones away she may be… I can see m’self kissing her and far beyond that… I see pictures of Auschwitz, Treblinka, Bergen-Belsen, Cambodia, and think of fields of sunflowers and corn… I think of eating corn and I think of being young, and I think of the astonishing beauty that my parents ever met…

My mother told me that there was a time in college when an informal survey was taken of the class and  more than half the people in the room had a direct relative who was killed in the Holocaust. I can’t imagine. I just can’t. I try to take the optimistic view that every ash that rose out of that time became a poem, but the resources may not exist and anyhow I don’t have the time to verify that…

There is good news. It is not an original opinion, it was initially someone else’s: Every strong emotion is a positive one.

You can fly if you can forget you can’t. These tears are what will nourish the bountiful fields of what’s next; those rarest of artichokes. The artichoke that feeds the many…


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