4.52 PM, Thursday, October 04, 2007

I'm a woman lost in the throes of hedonism. Lost in a ninth grade pejorative, trying to make sense of a reality I don't want to deny. Maybe there are no words left. Perhaps I've greedily sucked the beauty or sense from every pen I own. Maybe I'm down to the stubby ink that has remained stuck to the end of the tube. Wanting to bring some semblance of wisdom or wittiness to a world that finds me small and lonely. If I can find a few profound words to string together in a neat little row, then surely I am not as small as I feel. I can fool myself only slightly more than I can fool fate. How is it that I could drop through this world without worry or fear? Why must I question it when out of beauty it happens? When by either gravity or fate or God or whichever law rules I float through the obscene obstacles of an unregrettable life. Whose choice is it, then, that I follow these streets and wind away uphill? If mine, then it was chosen long ago, and if I had no part in the discussion, then it was still decided long ago and there is no point in an appeal. I have given up the power I never had, and sometimes I still long for it, but mostly I rejoice in my powerlessness. Sometimes I lie and dream that others have power over me, that I have given them that power, and I fret over my powerlessness and their ability to hoard it. Then I feel the despair of a night spent alone, for I have tricked myself into believing that I am alone as I could never be, for there is always solidarity in the human experience.