Poetic pissed off speech lacking in commas
It’d matter to me not to be pissed off all the time not to be angry about everything being able to sleep at night not to wake up feeling like I’m dying not to be breathless not to be scared about taking the final breath not to be constantly scared of losing my family and friends the oldest one the most fragile the loneliest the most erratic not to be willing to learn to say “the late Mrs or Mr” or to lose my passion or my appetite or to just lose.
It’d be nice indeed so as to be able to want, so as to be able to breathe.
What was quickly understood was the need to come up with something different from what we always knew so far. To tame the unknown.
In this small world of mine it’d mean learning to speak German to play the piano to teach my stepsons in the morning (quote). Learning in the morning and cooking Osso Buco with Sicilian Gremolata for 5 servings. Difficult, isn’t it?
I promised myself I won’t do anything as I used to. (Punctuating for example).
With hindsight I realised I still wanted to learn to bits to fill up to contain to control to capitalise to manage. Darn!
As an artist, these frozen times are driving me to make way for someone else. This is a tragedy! I’ve nothing left to say nothing left to do all is said had I something to say before? Or during it? Or maybe after?
I felt like being quiet for once not having an opinion leaving the circle of trust where I felt invincible irresistible.
I don’t want to resume the insane daily routine where the invisible was worse and IS now concretely worse. But I got back on track complaining complaining about every little thing snubbing happiness taking every opportunity no thank you, I took the money I felt sorry about strangers and I did more work while thinking it was crazy to.
So, as I am still talking nonsense, unleashing myself on this piece of paper during a sleepless night, I’m thinking I may trample down the most important thing. Being SPACED OUT a little longer. Zoned out, out to lunch, getting the heebie-jeebies, being old late, very late. Being late on understanding what was before, on imagining what would happen afterwards, on thinking about what’s happening as it is happening. Trying to embrace chaos trying not to fix it because it’s supposed to BE new, uncomfortable and make you sidestep and enjoy the small joys on the way.