Themes from Life’s Scenes
Age 4: There’s a painting of the man on the moon… I thought it was the loneliest place in the universe.
Age 9: Loneliness is when a teacher gives up on s student, locks them in a corridor for hours, with the frustration evident in the aftermath of chairs toppled over by an avalanche of shattered vases and pencils from the shelves.
Age 12: The walls talk as shodaws flicker and reflecting lights of passing cars in the streets below. , darkening by the slow, drowsy hours sliding motion,rally around the clock. The words in my mind scribbles in a book I’ll just throw out the window tomorrow.
Age 17: The loneliest place on google maps is probably a single raft in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, blurred away because the satellite had captured a photo of a corpse. How much fortune that I have with technology and acess and knowledge, but I cannot put it to work always. What has been done cannot be undone.
Age 15: A flashback materialized, though I curse the limitations of memory’s ability to be accurate. Something very peculiar happened. There were shoes in the sand, laces strewn among seaweed, a message with multiple lines attempting to blotch out various scribbles. It was a conversation between various people, all about a victim who was not involved in the writing. Instead, there were pieces of chewed gum, an empty bottle of ginger ale, and gauze.
Age 21: with knowledge comes meaning. Without meaning, we get loneliness. It would be said that emotions are not for the self-proclaimed nihilist. Maybe the nihilism was a cover to prevent the never-ending waterfall nostalgia.
Age 20: Should I be surprised that a tribe isolated themselves for nearly 50,000 years wouldn’t be lonely or nostalgic? Besides being messages of the ultimate danger warning, there was a regretful sort of sucking into every story about them yet that’s only responding to an image.
Age 18: The loneliest moment in the world is wherever someone is hiding, escaping, dying, or having an experience I have not had.
Age 21: Fear of death felt like a common detonator connecting all other fears. Sometimes the void sucks you in, every last comprehension of a though disconnected. Then upon waking, with lights so bright, as if you’ve taken a nap, you answer a question succinctly, yet the context was lost. Time was lost. It wasn’t death, but a coma. It was a short coma, but nonetheless a coma. Does that mean that possibly, the void could be crossed after death? Of course you never asked anyone this throughout the year. The mind was so scrambled that you could not separate the ramblings of Rasputin from the algorithmic writing of Nietzsche when composing an essay.
Age 13: It is never easy to describe what you do not understand. There were a couple of years when you were tired and fell asleep in class, falling against the wall when you thought no one was looking. Sometimes falling could not be helped. It could be somewhat controlled, but the draw to compress your body to the ground was inevitable.