Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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And there's a demon in my brain

I've dreamed about her for like three nights straight and I absolutely hate it. It's like dreaming about my father, I go to sleep and life is a beautiful shining beacon of hope and love and joy and I wake up and my world falls to pieces. I am forced to remember hope and beauty and love and all the things that hurt now that they're gone.

Life isn't like that for me anymore, on some fundemental level. I used to believe in romanticized notions, in a future full of long talks on the porch of an old house and sunsets and long slow days winding into adventuresome nights. I might as well admit that I love the wilderness, at least as a place to be. I love trees and grass and lakes and moss and sliding down mud embankments on your butt or getting your shoes soaked jumping from stone to stone to cross a river or stream.

Anyway I used to look at what my parents did and think about how I would do it differently when I grew up and I'd imagine myself alone on the streets of London or Florence instead of with a pair of embarassing old fogies. Alone or with somebody that I wanted to be there with.

That stuff drops by the wayside though, dreams of a little boy who had to grow up quicker than he would have liked. Now I just see 3 more years of uncertainty at the undergrad level, then a terrible year of getting a masters in something I'm not sure I want to do for the rest of my life, then a long drawn out boring PhD process leading into an uncertain career and a lifelong fight to achieve anything in a world where meaning becomes less and less valuable by the day and intellectualism is seen as antiquated and mostly useless (business school, business school ra ra ra, learn to suck money and prestige from the labor of others!).

And through it all an intense and powerful loneliness whose solace is found not at the bottom of a bottle or the tube of a syringe but rather in the smile and praise of a man who has been dead for almost half my memorable life already.

So I don't want to dream of love and beautiful girls anymore. I don't want to dream of hope and long lazy days in the sun when it hurts enough to bring tears that it's all gone when I awaken. Sometimes life can be so bitterly cruel it shocks even me. And it can all ends in a billion pounds of rubble as a concrete grave. Hold the thought of desperate calls from a burning vertical city in your heart the next time you see a loved one (I have none left to see).

She was always a dream, a fantasy I toyed with but one that could never come close to being real.

I should hate myself for that.


I don't need to be told that this is not the way the world actually is and is a fucked up picture of it because I know that. But it's the way I need to feel right now. If I admit that sunshine and lollypops and all that stuff still exist and are achievable by me then I will have to start letting my father go and I can't do that while I still attend the school where he spent well over half of his life. I need to mourn some more.
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