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$15,000 in debt
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15,000 poems

give me a good topic, pt 1

December 16th, 2014 § 0 comments

Poem #427 for Anonymous

 

“Give me a good topic!”

 

He started many of their correspondences like that.  It was because he was usually feeling insufficient about his own mind’s ability, when sober, when trying to think of something interesting to write.  He was a great writer once he had something to latch onto, once he was in an idea that someone else had created, because he felt that he could then, at least, share the burden of his insecurity…in case it sucked.

He was always too afraid of bearing full responsibility himself.  There are a myriad of Freudian reasons for this, but he was also tired of living as a product of his own life, of his past, of his bloodline.  So, he reshaped his life over the past decade and the restructuring was almost complete.

 

As he saw it, this was the vicious pattern of his prior:

1. Risk always involves some element of failure

2. His successes were all forgotten at the moment of failure

3. That one failure defined his entire life in the eyes of others

4. People ____ (insert negative adjective) him when he failed

5. Conclusion of risk = those closest to him took another step back

6. Back to #1

 

As a result, those closest to him were now nowhere near him anymore.

 

He was certain of a few principles in his life, most confidently at the moment being his now reluctant understanding of purpose.  To him, what people often believe in as their purpose is simply a delusional creation of fictitious circumstances to make it appear as if the human being actually has one that is clear cut, and that the accomplishment of this purpose deserves some type of reward, thus making life matter.  In reality, though, he understood that our real purpose, if that is even the proper word to use in this scenario, is to exist to better the world.

 

“The World…NOT Mankind…The World!”

 

“But, mankind IS the world,” is the response often heard.

 

It was on a Tuesday morning about thirteen years ago when he first realized this and now, on his birthday over a decade later, now that he had finally been alone for long enough, he was painfully closer to understanding this primitive, primary principle of all of existence.

 

 

to be con’t…

 

 

 

 

af

 

(written with pen on paper)

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