HATE AND ALL HIS FRIENDS.

WHAT ANNOYS ME, WHAT PAINS ME BEYOND BELIEF IS THAT LIFE GOES ON. AFTER MY MA, LIFE GOES ON. EVEN MINE. HOW BAD. HOW UNFAIR. HOW WRONG.

WHAT WAS THAT? THAT WHICH I CALLED PAIN? WHAT IS THIS? WHY AM I AT WORK? WHAT AM I DOING? WHERE IS SHE?

WHY HAVE I STOPPED BEING GRATEFUL TO THESE  *WONDERFUL SUPPORTIVE PEOPLE?

WHY, INSTEAD OF THINKING: WHAT A GOOD PERSON

AM I THINKING : ONE DAY YOUR MOTHER SHALL DIE. AND THEN YOU WILL FEEL MY PAIN. AND THEN YOU’LL KNOW NOT TO ASK QUESTIONS LIKE, “HOW ARE YOU”

AND THEN YOUR PAIN WILL DESTROY YOU, LIKE MINE IS DESTROYING ME, AND WE’LL UNDERSTAND EACHOTHER. AND WE SHALL BE REAL FRIENDS AGAIN?

JESUS.

***********************************************************************************

Somebody who loves me who I love just sent me this:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
by W.H. Auden

Exactly. Exactly.

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About Miz. Kyrte

I read, I write, I love. My favorite quote is: We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Bukowski, baby! Extremes ;-)

2 responses to “HATE AND ALL HIS FRIENDS.

  1. I’d say your feeling that way (about your friends) is perfectly natural if it didn’t sound so terribly condescending.

    We love you, Mildred.

  2. “Hunger of the body is altogether different from the shallow, daily hunger of the belly. Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not.”

    ― Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible.

    I am tired of how are you. I will kill the next person who how are you’s me. What do they want? For me to rip my face open and bleed for them? Because I cannot say “Fine. Just fine” and I am sick of grieving in front of people. Terribly condescending…screw terribly condescending. I don’t want that question in my ears ever again.

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