Usagi's CCYWC slam
This discrepancy, disparity, duality of two-worlds-in-one-head of a reality, of a word that by my definition has no definition anymore, has no meaning nor significance to my day-by-day existentialist existence that for a lack of a better word I call my life. I admit sometimes I am inclined to lie back in my chair and stare at the sky and ask, “What does it all mean?” It’s just a thing I do. I don’t expect a solution, resolution, absolute absolution; I’m not that dense. I prefer to quip a snarky “Forty-two” and that’s the best answer I’ve found as of yet: Nonsense.
According to anyone with a god to sell, I’ve got a one-way no-stop train ticket to hell. To tell the truth, I don’t think even the devil would take my soul. The problem is, I don’t believe in anything I cannot see and that, well, that pissed people off. The Tooth Fairy takes all her money back. Santa Claus leaves only coal. I’m on the Easter Bunny’s permanent black list. People scoff when I bike past church on Sundays and go to the library instead. I am the first to admit the world is not as it seems, but I prefer to live in my own head, not somebody else’s dreams, not the words I read on a billboard somewhere. Godsdammit, I will covet my neighbor’s ass, she is an attractive lady.
Hey, I’m serious. You can laugh and you can be offended, you can rationalize this is not what I intended to say, but at the end of the day this is my reality, this is how the world appears to be to me, and with every word it just grows sillier, grows all the more absurd. This world is slowly going insane. Is it any wonder that I retreat into my own brain, where it’s dark and warm and at least the pain is familiar?
I lie awake at night, you know, and stare into the dark of the ceiling, trying to find patterns, trying to catch a feeling for the shape of the future; gasping, reeling! under the weight of the unknown. Sometimes I wish I did believe in a god; I wish I had the comfort of religion, because I’m not that brave on my own; but nobody can tell me enough about it to convince me god is any more real than the stories we tell children to make them behave. I’d like to believe I’m part of something bigger than just me, but frankly—I doubt it.
And I’m scared.
I’m scared because I care for people, homo sapiens, these brains and skeletons and lives we share. Whatever reality you may choose to see, whatever god you embrace—we are all part of the ‘human’ race—and we are destroying ourselves! over power and religion and land and—empty space—and I have no choice but to go along for the ride. I’m scared because us humans as a species are committing suicide, because there’s nowhere to hide except inside my own mind, and I’m afraid I won’t ever come out again and then I’ll go mad; I’m scared you’ll find me wandering the streets muttering to myself about the things we shoulda had, the things we shoulda known, I’m scared that at the end of this all I’ll be the only one left, I’ll wander alone; the only one whole 'cause even the devil won’t take my soul.