i wake up

go back to sleep

wake up again

get out of bed

shit, shower

get dressed

scrub the bathtub

vaccuum

pick up shirts from the drycleaner

go to the bank

pay the cable bill

pay a parking ticket

go home

eat some leftover chicken and a banana

mix the half a glass of sprite left and the half a glass of coke left to make a full glass of flat pop

drink it

wrap a couple of christmas presents

change for work

go to work

have two actual conversations about things that matter

the entire time i'm there

the rest is all bullshit

come home

and so on

it is the mundane that will kill you

and me

bit by bit

very slowly

taking away pieces of the life inside us

making us think this is the way things work

that reality is nothing but this dull drudgery

when in fact it's brilliant and beautiful and bright.

i'm going to write this story

about two beautiful genius fatherless boys

who are more terrified of success

than they are of failure

and they're pretty damn scared of failure, too

so they end up dooming themselves

to average lives

completely succumbing to hegemony

regular salaried jobs

a normal family

maybe even a mini-van

just gears in the machine

pretending not to notice the machine

is falling apart

and destroying everything it touches

but they can't handle the monotony

the painful everyday emptiness

of life in this consumer-oriented world

so they drink themselves

first to numbness, then

to death

as is the family tradition.

i'm going to pray that this story stays a work of fiction

because i don't want my mom to lose

her father her husband and her sons

the same way

and because

i know both of us

are good enough

to truly live

and make and do

and think and experience

and create

and be happy.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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