Firewood

It all starts with a quote like this.

“One night, I sat Beauty on my knee. —And I found her bitter. —And I hurt her.”

Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell

Think what Beauty means,Think what bitter is and how did you hurt her.Read Une Saison en Enfer repeatedly and wonder why did Arthur Rimbaud commit suicide at 21.Lose control,like how you’ll lose one side of your contact lens in an LSD party or lose your eraser every March of the year.Feel the empty skeletons of your friend who just broke up,feel the heavy baggage of your friend who had to choose between her divorced parents,feel the sadness which collapsed like an avalanche of your acquaintance who started smoking and doing drugs because he’s sad.Feel the spatial distribution of your quarks and electrons aligning away from each other,feel it getting closer and further and fall apart when it parted like the space between your fingers when you tried to wave goodbye at someone you don’t really know.Feel everything at once and nothing at all.

 

Go to bed without sleeping,read a bookcase of books without understanding and remembering the name of the characters of the books.Even the one who died of leukemia.Light a Lucky Strike without smoking it,feel sad because you can’t say you have read the book when someone showed you The Falling Man because you didn’t remember the character’s name.Put your head under the lamp and try to impregnate yourself with all the light and settle that as happiness.The only contentment you can ever get and have ever gotten.Imagine you’re sleeping under a warm sunshine,but feel anxiety and cold breaking inside you.You know you are about to be pregnant with darkness despite sleeping under the blinding yellow light.

 

Now go to bed sleeping at 8pm because everything seems better in dreams.Everyone seems nicer and the colors are technicolor,sometimes HD too.Wake up and feel that you can’t even dress yourself.Go to school without listening,talk without speaking,drink without feeling full.Stare at the fanblades before falling asleep and wish you could twirl into the world’s longest spaghetti when nearing a blackhole.Imagine yourself as an amoeba,as a book which you read without understanding,a parable from an article about prostitution,the match he striked and went out.Imagine yourself as anything but yourself because it’s tiring.But you can’t sleep.Get stuck in a furnace,burn and burn and realize all you ever will do in this life is burning because people keep adding firewood.Think of that Regina Spektor’s song,and think to yourself “hey,you’ll die trying.” But no,no you don’t.Because you aren’t even trying.

 

Talk to a friend whose mum took pills,blue pills that you call “happy pills”,not because they make you happy,but because they give you the illusion to be.Think about the cosmos her mother once had in her head.Feel the spatial distribution between the quarks getting closer.Like the space between your fingers when you make an oath,a solemn vow you won’t break.Break like how you did for the past 4 months.Hug your sisters when you get home because you want to,eventhough you have haphephobia.Eventhough you’re made of barbed wires.Start to understand the storm above your head will go away and it’s just a season of rainy days.Read Kurt Vonnegut to laugh at sadness and laugh at death’s face.Because sadness is funny,and death is hilarious.Remember the characters’ names because your brain has space left now.

 

No longer throw yourself against locked doors,walk away from locked doors,walk away from pillars and walk away from moving cars.

It all ends with a quote like this.

“If you want to be happy, be.”

Leo Tolstoy

And you realize you don’t have to sit Beauty on your knee,you don’t have to hurt her.You can just sit next to her and kiss her without touching her because,remember,you’re still made of barbed wires.

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