Monday, March 04, 2013
THICK AS A BRICK
I looked around and saw the world around me without a filter. No orange, and certainly no tints of rose. Just life the way I've been living it with the people around me: the things they do, the words they say, the voices they use, the disgust they have for me, disgust hidden behind fixed smiles that drop the instant I do not do what they want me to do, the minute I do not say what they want me to say.
They have mirrored how I've felt about myself, and I have embraced their thinly-veiled disdain with a vigor and appetite that I did not know I had.
Do this, rondavis. Try that, rondavis. Is it really true that you can ... ? Did you really do ... ? The monkey boy nodded and accepted the things they offered with outstretched, shaking hands, and embraced the items with self-loathing. Because once you have contempt for yourself, it's easy to let others pick up the weight for you. Helps with my lower back pain.
In the middle of the debauchery I wondered if this was the script for the rest of my life. I wondered if being lonely in a room crowded with babble and degeneracy was my new norm. The part that thinks I'm repulsive hoped so. Mayhem and madness seemed fitting as I started Year 52.
You still have things to do, one concerned friend said over dinner.
You don't have to do this to yourself, said another, as he stood outside in a cold early evening breeze.
I started to protest that yes, I did have to do this, I needed to degrade myself. I needed to be as disgusting as possible. I needed to superglue the mask to my face and become the loathsome loser.
But that made no sense. I am not a loser. The brick in my brain crumbled. The fog lifted. I woke up and saw myself.
I am awake now, aware that my doings aren't done. Not yet.
Thank you, Harv. Thank you, Larry.
To the people who enjoyed pushing buttons to see what the monkey boy would do next: you belong to the old days now. I really don't mind if you sit this one out.