Tuesday, January 10, 2017


How many months, ugly man, you wasted on the dreams of a hollow earth, how many hours on the electric universe and how deep the story dug into your soul, a thrilling alternate reality to the popularized findings of archaeologists, geologists, astronomers, botanists, geneticists, philologists, and videographers, which ties them all together in a single, unlikely, web -- no, no, you will never tell, how many worthless podcasts, how many radio shows, how much Netflix binging, how much article trolling, how many pics that sent you cackling, which sites you dare not mention, which you would but never visit, you need only to keep this private.

How many dusty books, how many unlearned languages, how much knowledge forgotten, or forsaken, from how many hours of quietness distracted, how many neighbors unnoticed, how many friends unmet, how much love avoided, how much work unfinished, how much uncleanliness around you, about you, within you, by how many injuries conquered, by how many troubles unsettled, how many difficulties not embraced, how many prayers unspoken, or absently muttered, how much grumbling and groaning, never complain about.

For all of the posts unpublished, and all of the thoughts unwritten, the sentences composed and decomposed, for all of the wisdom and folly not followed, not necessarily knowing the difference, for all of the elaborate, nonsensical theories that passed without an exposition, by your wanton disposition, your cowardice and fear, that brings you crawling wretchedly to the foot of the freak, make your accounting. Let others excuse.

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