I talk in circles. I talk in circles because I think in circles. I think in circles because I live in circles and why do I live in circles? Why do I not live in straight lines, from point to point? What am I accomplishing this way? These pretenses and principles are gorgeous when glittering, but it always comes back to the loop on the line, to the knot of this age I have yet to unwind. And I will stop talking in circles when I stop living in circles, because neither pleases me, neither takes me into the breast of life and beats its chest.

And so, tears pouring and mouth open, I let escape silent screams of...of...silent screams of nothingness for I have nothing to scream. I have no mantra to save me, no mercy to be sought. I have but an open mouth, opened for escape of the silent ache. I dare not make a sound when I cry. And I just want the circle to end, and maybe even the line, because what if lines are just circles straightened out, and all I do is slide up and down like a bead on the string of your plucked heart. Yes, I just want it to be over because I can't stand another sparkle and fade situation, waiting for the moon to rise, the snow to fall, that phone call never returned three years ago.

I gasp for air, and realise that I don't want it and I push hard on these keys as the offender of whatever decency I once had, robbed in the night of my demise. And I never really fell, you know, I just floated endlessly, waiting for a signal that time had ended but since it never existed there was no end. Will I end if I never existed? Can a circle stop if it never began? Where are the answers to this desperate breathy plea found in night's shadow-song? Is this what I wanted?

So the second hand life sets in for the fourth time and no transcendental tree can open it's branches and sweep me into the life syrup. I have nothing to offer, not even empty hand for they are full of pounds of flesh and blood, separated and merged in quiet desparation. Yes, Thoreau you knew the words, but I know the life. I know the light. I know the death, and where are you?

The word, my friends, is suicidal.

11/14/2001

Posted on 11/14/2001
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