Friday, October 31

please, bury me with it

It's Halloween. I love Halloween. It's easily our best not-exactly-religious religious holiday. When you're a kid, it's amazing because of making costumes and getting vast amounts of mediocre candy and being out on the streets as it gets dark. And because fundamentalists you know really, really do not approve. And then perhaps there is that stretch towards the end of highschool where you're over it, and then you get to college and go to a party and realize that it's still the best thing ever because of drug use and girls in costumes and the simple fact that you aren't supposed to spend Halloween with your family - you're supposed to spend it finding some kind of liminal zone and getting up to things that would make much of your family (at least) uncomfortable. So you take drunken roadtrips through torrential rain to full-costume Ultimate Frisbee tournaments and watch beautiful hippie girls in flowing skirts chase discs in the Arkansas twilight and life is amazing.

In a slightly different universe, I'd be spending tonight carving a pumpkin-helmet to wear through the streets of Boulder. In this one, it's been about a year since maybe I should just have left this busted scene and there's an ex-girlfriend it won't do me any good to see. This year Halloween is going to happen without me. I'm sure it'll do fine.

Actually, Halloween can go fuck itself.


Life used to be amazing: I've been choking on my own dual sense of nostalgia and possibility for just about as long as I've been conscious, but for a while I lost track of all that noise about how things were and how they could be, and life became amazing. Do you remember the first time you realized you were actually happy and actually living and all of that? I remember mine, and I'm tired of it. It's too hard to tell any difference between what I remember and the kind of dream I try desperately to hold in mind as I wake up. Only the mistakes are more real.

I keep wondering what I just burned a year for, but in more lucid moments, I know the question doesn't mean anything.

I could look for utility, but it ain't there. I must have written a hundred thousand words, but it's all so much dirty paper. I suppose I've learned a new valuation of a good deal I never quite understood, but it's childish to expect some kind of compensation for what you understand. What you really know, you frequently know too late.


Of course, life is amazing. It is also a shit sandwich. There's no resolving this, there's no reconciling it, and if there's any unifying mystery it's closer to the experience of finding no reason at all than it is anything else. When you're high and staring down on the lights of the city, or running so hard to catch a disc that your vision fills with white phosphorescent streamers and vanishes altogether just as your fingers touch the plastic, or in the grip of the kind of mutual desire that makes fuck a holy word, there's a joy that surpasses joy in this mystery. When you're on the losing end it's the purest kind of hell. Sometimes the counter overflows and all you can momentarily see is the unity of all things. If she still loved me, children would still be starving and bombs still falling and the world would still be full of unimaginable horror. I could stand to get over myself.

Anyway. Go get a little toasted and run around with a pumpkin on your head for a while. It's Halloween, after all. Anybody needs me, I'll be sleeping off the last twelve months.

p1k3 / 2008 / 10 / 31