Essay. Essay for teacher and to be paraphrased in class. The paragraphs alter slowly like the phases of the sun during the day. I have stared so long at my slow moving prose, blindness starts creeping in. Sitting at home, the pangs of loneliness jump out of the drawers and cannot be scared away by music or a television turned on. It is safe to say I just need to lie down and take a nap before I lose any more of my marbles.
People ask. I say, Oh life? Life is life. I’m experiencing growing pains with it. Lumps. One lump, or two?
Life. If I were to stop loving and feeling so intensely, then what? I don’t want to. Even if there’s nothing around to love.
They may move at their own pace. Like I’m giving them permission, right? No, I’m just letting go. And I’m not screaming. I’m breathing in and out like a Buddha.
I say, I know you think I can be fanatical. I can just tell that’s what you think of me. You’ve never said it, of course. But laughed when I mentioned it, as if, “I’m not gong to say…” So I’d like to stick up for myself here, just a bit. I’ll say, I’m enthusiastic. An idea seizes and excites me. I seize and ignite a flag. It’s in my blood. I was born to protest, storm about, mosh, stomp, charge, scream. “Your ballot boxes are too small to hold our dreams!” On a good day I burst at the seams. We shall divide the class up into teams.
The crowd goes wild. That’s what they want to do, whether they’re prompted or not. They’re like a pack of jackals, them and their voracious appetites for violence, downfall, and cruel digs. Cruel digs, like vultures hacking up a carcass and carrying it away. This is your captain speaking . . . Complaining inside the freedom of the ‘verse.