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1 | --- | ||
2 | title: I wanted to tell you something | ||
3 | genre: verse | ||
4 | |||
5 | project: | ||
6 | title: Autocento of the breakfast table | ||
7 | css: autocento | ||
8 | ... | ||
9 | |||
10 | I wanted to tell you something in order to \ | ||
11 | explain the way I feel about the Universe, \ | ||
12 | its workings, etc. But I couldn't yesterday \ | ||
13 | ---I'm sorry---I wanted only to ball \ | ||
14 | myself up and cry all day. It was the sixteenth \ | ||
15 | day in a row this happened to me, and to be | ||
16 | |||
17 | more than two weeks waiting to cry is, \ | ||
18 | especially when, the whole time, I wasn't able to, \ | ||
19 | absolutely horrible. It was no sweet sixteen, \ | ||
20 | I'll tell you that much. Unless at yours, the Universe \ | ||
21 | kept telling you to quit having such a ball \ | ||
22 | and that you should have died, like, yesterday. | ||
23 | |||
24 | At first, it feels like you're winning--that yesterday \ | ||
25 | you really were meant to die, but since you still _are_, \ | ||
26 | you beat the system somehow. But the Universe bawls, \ | ||
27 | "No, I meant you should've crawled into \ | ||
28 | a hole and fucking _died_!" And then the Universe \ | ||
29 | punches you right in the gut, something like sixteen | ||
30 | |||
31 | times, and all you can think is, "Some sixteenth \ | ||
32 | birthday! Maybe I will go die in a hole." Yesterday, \ | ||
33 | at times like this, is a luxury the cruel Universe \ | ||
34 | refuses to give you. This is when it's a pain just to _be_, \ | ||
35 | when that Marvell line about "rolling our stuff into one ball" \ | ||
36 | just seems glib, when you don't want one body, let alone two. | ||
37 | |||
38 | Something else that may come as a surprise to \ | ||
39 | you: over the past more-than-a-fortnight, these sixteen \ | ||
40 | days, I've had nothing to eat but crackers and a cheese ball. \ | ||
41 | (That's not entirely true---yesterday \ | ||
42 | I had some candy, peppermints and Jujubes.) \ | ||
43 | Maybe this is why I'm so mad at the Universe--- | ||
44 | |||
45 | because all it has ever wanted, this Universe \ | ||
46 | that gave me life, fed me from its breast til I was two, \ | ||
47 | and even before that, made a place in which I could be--- \ | ||
48 | all it's wanted was for me to take the sixteen \ | ||
49 | steps to sobriety, fold the Eight-Fold Path over yesterday \ | ||
50 | and step around it lightly, as I would an exercise ball, | ||
51 | |||
52 | but the problem is, dear Universe, there's no way I could be \ | ||
53 | something as hard as all that, to wake up yesterday \ | ||
54 | morning, stretch over my sixteen selves, bound out like a ball. | ||