Article: 288713 of talk.bizarre From: kevbob@coos.dartmouth.edu (kevbob) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Frailties Date: 2 Dec 1996 08:55:45 GMT Organization: not enough Lines: 89 Message-ID: <kevbob-0212960355440001@atgw2-kip-3-66.dartmouth.edu> I am, without a doubt, cold, wet, and tired. The world passes by, as the rain pours from the clouds.I am an irritant to the graveyard shift, a gnat to be brushed aside whilst reading the paper. I am a consumer, I am marketed to. I spend my hard earned dollars on frivolties, entertainment, and medication. I rent to own, charge it, impulse shop. I am different? -- The world is spinning, and so is my head. The dawn is sneering at me, as always, since it is well rested and i am as tired as a Top 40 song. the pain in my head is the one real thing to me. Without meaning, I stand and scream. Passersby look, and scurry away. Friends look quizzically, but at least i didn't scream anything coherent. Nowadays, that is when they worry. The soundtrack in my mind has turned from fast and pissed-off to slow and mournful. Cigarettes have lost effect, habit is their only existence. The coffee is burned, and my mouth is cotton. Somehow, i know i am going to make it, but wonder if i will want to. -- The grail. It's all i want. It's all anyone wants. Some people have theirs. Some people know theirs. I... I... I think one exists. No, i hope. It's a sorry ass idea from an antiquated time, but it is all i have. A mystical, ethereal cup of wood, which once held the savior's blood. Most people are frightend, horrified, or offended by vampirism. Yet, how would they fare if the full light was shone on their souls. I, at least, am aware of my hypocrisy. Sometimes, when it is darkest and i am all alone, it is all i have. Singers, real singers who sing real songs about real things, they understand. They feel the pain, only they are able to let it out, or at least share it. I open my mouth, and, and, and... Nothing. A gasp, a wheeze, after many beers, perhaps a belch. Never words, explanations, or symphonies. Never, NEVER, any answers. Questions are asked all the time. How many are answered? -- Happiness, in my best guess, seems to be ignorance. For in not knowing, you never question. In not questioning, you don't fear. In not fearing, you feel no pain. How do you stop pain, when the source is unknown? They say the grail will heal all wounds. They say the grail exists. They say to get the grail, you must be pure. They say the grail doesn't exist. They say the story is a lie. They say it is a way of keeping the masses in line. Dichotomies... (I must be a college student.) Everywhere, there are no questions with correct answers. For all answers are correct, but things don't work that way. There is only ONE correct answer, and it must be mine, since HE couldn't be right, could he? no, no... HE's different, a heathen, a martyr, a populist... -- The light is bright, overpowering as the glare off frozen snow. White, pure, sanitized, painful. How can you find the answers when the pain of the search is UNBEARABLE? How will you ever know? How will I go on without knowing? -- And so I stand. Another day, another night. The wheel turns, unaware. The motor spins, uncaring. The worlds move, unassuming. And i wait for tomorrow... -- kevbob@coos.dartmouth.edu "Be my self, wanna be my self." -Front 242 Non solum anima sed etiam deo careo. -RKBINC