i try to reserve the concept of hate for instances which are most deserving of it, since i personally disapprove of hatred, in spite of my own regrettable inability to divorce my self from the actual practice of hating. hate is wrong, & yet i hate. i hate stuff all the time. such is this hypocrisy, mine.
i fancy my self an idealist, in iconoclast, a rebel with or without any particular real reason to exist in a state of rebellion. & yet i am the sort of person who will endure seven & maybe even eighteen years of ridiculously suppressive influence & make only the most abortive & pathetic attempts to prevail & escape.
<note: i was quite hammered when i wrote this. click more at own risk>
& yes, i am still here. & so what of this idealism, this idolatry of the progressive, this lip service to strength which i fail entirely to demonstrate in my own (not pathetic, but only barely) life? well what of it. i can have my beliefs & live in something entirely less than them & still believe, right?
well that’s the whole question right there, isn’t it? where are my gonzo values where it comes to this life, mine? how do i reconcile the vast chasm between my self & these beliefs, mine?
in a word (or two)? i don’t. wait, that’s three words, technically. fuck them, they’re just words. what of these actions &/or the lack thereof, mine?
there is no excuse. there are reasons, but they are contemptible & weak. i believe there was once strength in me, but i cannot swear to that as truth. there is no reality but the one i have surrendered my self into now, here. & it is absolutely true that this here/now is not what i idealized, not what i felt i was meant to be. but it is what i worked for, & what i (apparently) deserve.
hear the uncertainty there? the wishful bullshit inherent in me saying maybe this is somehow undeserved, that the resignation with which i approach the rest of my lease on physical consciousness might somehow turn out to be misguided? that i might only be indulging in some sort of inappropriate self-flagellation when i claim i’ve relinquished hope of any transcendent connection ever in favor of … whatever … & that was actually supposed to be a sentence & make sense, as if!
i had a thing to say but it was contemptible & weak. for the record, i did have good intentions at some point. where they are now, i cannot tell you, because, well, whenever this happens, my dog crawls up into my lap & uses her nose to dislodge my arms from reaching the keyboard, & i forget.
anyway. here i am writing this & the chance of it being read being remote, i feel freed to go ahead & admit it, i am a hypocrite. i talk a big game but in the end i surrender, & not in that good way. it’s just contemptible & weak.
oh well, at least it’s easy.
under the bridges, over the phone,
wind on the water, carry me home …