WORMS FOR BRAINS

sitting on the bus on a foggy morning and only thinking — is this, finally, my life? do i hold it with both hands? do i try to live?

when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’

maybe if I keep telling the story, it will never have to end. that way I can keep you alive. If the story lasts forever, so will you. yes, you die in the end. yes I am the only one who remembers. yes I am the only one who knows. But if I never say it aloud, maybe you won't die. maybe this time orpheus won't turn around. maybe peter won't deny him. maybe when I reach the end, you will have had time to come up with a clever solution and escape. maybe this time we survive it together. and the next time, you can tell this story with me. maybe everyone survives and we don't have to tell the story at all. maybe they don't. if I never finish, I'll never have to know. let me speak for a little bit longer. let me live in a world that you are also in for just a moment more. sometimes your memory feels like a noose. I'm sorry. I'm not ready for you to die

you only have to let the soft animal of your body blog what it blogs

who up grieving the unlived life of your childhood

(voice of a man invariably alienated from the human experience): Hey guys