Arthur Graham’s Reviews > Your Glass Head against the Brick Parade of Now Whats: A Beautiful, Nice Poem > Status Update

The part of the cure where you think you’re cured and you go back to doing whatever it was that needed to be cured.

Blowing kisses to yourself in the mirror.

Mouthing, “Fuck you,” right up against a mirror.

Wishing you were never born, you deprive yourself of being able to wish for it and you suck.

That moment when you start to have a little feeling/emotion and you look back on having just acted out of not having any feelings/emotions.

That weird moment.

That moment when you don’t have any feelings/emotions and you look back on having just acted out of having feelings/emotions.

That weird-weird moment.

Two types of eye contact: none and fuck you.

That feeling of regret knowing you’d make a much better idea than person.

Knowing that’s what you’ve done to yourself all your life anyway, so good job, much better.

Much much better.

“Ahhhh much better” would be a funny suicide note.

Living as an actor vaguely aware of a role in which you are comically dedicated to maintaining a version of yourself that is only an echo of what you think others think about you and even they are bullshit built of echoes.

And it sucks.

Man, I’m telling you, it sucks.

This is coming from a version of myself almost dead but grabbing the ankle of a version still standing.

Feeling like shit in bed at night.

Laying there like a brick from heaven that missed its target and now has to remain.

The way so many things go uncorrected and join the flow of things becoming the past.

The simultaneous explosion of guns in the faces of the entire firing squad, killing everyone except you, but you die of starvation, tied to the pole, laughing.