Untitled #11

[Sepia]

Things happen and we drown. This is an end. It is a word whispered in a microphone on a stage, with everyone paying attention. It is unhappening because we aren't women enough to see it. We are too dumb, stammering between sentences, loosing ourselves into what we vowed we shouldn't back when we were sixteen, when we were still stupid enough to be willing to learn, when we were the future. We're still the future but we're slowly becoming it, our consciousness spans enough now, that we are old, we are dying without having become a future.

We drank it up, we injected it between the toes, we talked it away, we left it dying in lies, we left it behind the counter at a waffles house, we didn't do what we should have done and we are damned with understanding in a general sense, we see these things but we do not act upon them, we let them perish along with us, a harvest of poppies to replace the roses. It's not about a guilt trip cuz we had that long ago, we made our peace with it, we became it. We understood and we did it, that is us. Here are your children, Sir William Gull, here is your deliverance, here is your catharsis.

You were a magician in a book once, Jack and the writer wrote you from bad conspiracy into the legitimate world, so many years after your demise we knew you again but like all our history we preferred you in the hollywood edition and we watched you as we had a toke of the future. We always knew like you always knew Jack. You knew there was something more to strive for, something else to want, something that you didn't dream for because you knew it was real, writhing in your stomach and we can feel it to, which is why we keep awake, we're sitting in your living room, drinking cheap wine because we're young, smoking joints and unravelling the world, holding the decent conversations, holding what's left of our memories as we paint it rosy, this perfect reality.

Once, in a while we will see how our lives turned out in our heads as we go alone to the biggest theatre, watching the latest romantic comedy and if we're lucky it's smart and we're found, we bask in the glory of being understood once more before the trip ends and we're walking the old pavement we've always walked, our feet numb and sore, our heads hurting. We become what we fear and what we hate as soon as we become what we love. Life is not lived with only love. Life is knowing hate, knowing fear, knowing love.

The future doesn't exist, the future is our hopes and dreams, sometimes fears. The things you can't explain but start up institutions that will one way or another save your life. Everything that happens in the future is based on what happened in the past. Similar cases in a court of law, dramatized poorly in the daytime, that's all there is. As we watch as we go unfulfilled we're kept non depressive by you, poppets, looking into the scrying glass to reveal only what is written in the tomes sitting in your shelves and it's the shitty end of the deal for us.