Wednesday, June 13, 2007


I’m diving again.

Head first into oblivion, I see it there waiting for me. It smiles, warm and welcoming and says “Come on in, child. Been waiting. Been too long.” I smile back at oblivion and think “Yes, it has been too long.”

I remember the last time I toyed with oblivion. My reproductive parts had been fucked all to hell and after having them removed I spent several months on my knees praying to the church of fuckall to try and repair the damage. It worked, but the church kept my soul and oblivion loomed large on the horizon.

I ran. I always run.

I found safety net in open and inviting and understanding.

I believed in the safety.

There were the uppers and the downers, and the strip clubs and the old drunk who took me to strip clubs when I was too down and out to pay what I owed. And I took it.

Because it was better then oblivion.

But there it was a nice smiling, yawning, mouth-pit. It waited. It opened. It yawned.

“Child, you bore me.” Says oblivion to me. “Child, you run for all the wrong reasons. This is easier. You come join me and you will see.”

I say “Fuck you, oblivion. I see a light at the end of the tunnel. There is always a light. Fuck you oblivion.”

Oblivion just smiles that knowing smile. That happy waiting smile. “Yes, child there is always a light. I learned to use fire a long time ago. Much better for catching moths like you.”

And I ran.

And I run.

And I keep running.

I sleep. I wake up with crusty eyes that have been filled with tears. I realize that I’ve been crying over my dreams.

Suddenly it hits me.

I miss my father. I never knew him as an adult. That hurt. I avoided him like oblivion and it hurt. And now, suddenly it stings me a bit. And it hurts. And I remember the life half lived. Easier to half live then face what that yawning black hole is.

And I ran.

And I run.

Oblivion smiles at me. “Why you always running child? It’s faster if you go this way.”

I remember lessons of my youth that I don’t believe. “Hard roads. They are safer in the long run. That’s what my elders told me. That’s what I’m meant to believe.”

Oblivion rolls over and grins like a Cheshire cat with a mouse in it’s paws. I know I’ve spoken too soon. I’m going to get lost.

“What makes you think this is the easy way?” Oblivion asks me.

And I ran.

And I run.

And I start to see it then.

I start to see it now.

And I think of my father. Because that seems safe. And I realize it’s not. My fucked up life, my fucked up life is as much to be blamed there as anywhere else. Family is a lie, I conjure up when I want to believe that maybe, just maybe, if I were a good person I would hold closer. Then I realize there is not truth to that. Family is part of that opening black yawning path. The trickster, it is Oblivion, lying in wait. Loki, the Coyote, Anasasi, waiting and waiting for me to fall into that trap. To think there is comfort in a family that never wanted me anyway.

To think there is comfort in a family I believe in.

Oblivion laughs at me. “Why you so scared, child. I got so much to offer her. Come take a taste. Just dip in a toe, and see what I have to offer.”

And I ran.

And I run.

I want to worship at the church of fuckall where the prostitute is holy and the goddess smiles on me.

There is salvation in her somewhere.

If I can be strong enough to believe I myself and my history then I can keep from sinking into the shit that wants to engulf me.

Fuck tragedy.

Fuck my father.

Fuck oblivion.

It is better not to sink.

Oblivion smiles at me “What makes you think you ain’t already sunk, here, child? What makes you think you can be free of me.”

And I stop.

And I smile back at oblivion.

“Because,” I say “I’ve done it before.”

And there is only silence in answer to that.


Anonymous said...

Crikey! That's a powerful piece of prose you've posted there (and so quickly after your equally thought-provoking piece).

[Note to self - I really must try harder].

Looking forward to your next submission.


Very nicely written. I love how you didn't hold anything back. It is wonderfully cathartic to be able to articulate how we feel. Some people self-medicate with drink and drug, but also the written word can be just as powerful. Thanks for a great post.


By the way, this reminds me of someone else toeing the

John C said...

Gutblog. Anything I could say would detract, it was that good hon.