Friday, August 11, 2006
les temps perdus
it was that day
i heard a fragment of something from the plastic radio hanging underneath the kitchen cabinet and above and near the stove.
i might have been making a sandwich for her, my wife at the time.
something on the radio, i couldn't tell what it was but my tissues told me it was not good.
it wasn't. it couldn't be.
i was supposed to meet the father of a friend for breakfast later that morning.
it was all a hurry.
and then my friend who lived in nyc started sending me pictures, there was mostly smoke.
he called and i can still remember the brokenness in his voice.
i am never offended, surprised, or moved by death.
but i am hurt by the ability of what we do to each other as humans.
once, i was asked what would i would do about the situation in bosnia.
i said, either take away all their tools or LEVEL the place.
absolutely pure destruction. enforced destruction if you aren't going to play nicely.
i still hold to the thought, being a child of war and violence.
so yea, i wanna play god. actually, god is a fucking wuss who has let herself be manipulated by stupid men.
so i'm not really manipulating.
i just wanna kill.
years later, i am only beginning to come to terms of the horrors of that morning.
and it is a lame thing to respond with violent thoughts but it is also human.
how sad is it to be in this state and to know the truth of the matter?