Have I missed a step?
Am I still asleep?
Has the logic left?
I look up at that dull computer screen while that thought flashes through my mind… Why buy these things? Who even reads the book? Has mysticism taken over? Can this be real? Now my mind and my eyes hurt, acutely. I can’t believe it: a camp, a cult, this ideology shifted on “believing”, everything in the present tense labeled as “forgettable”. This religion has taken over. If you explain it different you are singled out a pariah, if you agree you are one of the sheep. I spoke of words/actions, they told me in blatant words: “we do”, “we have”, and “we are” “…ha, ha” (with an ironic laugh), but I don’t see. I wonder if they do, though…
The screen barks, it beckons, this call to click, scroll, hit. I sit and stare. This chair is stiff, old, and it smells. I wonder who has sat here before. I wonder what they thought. If a friend had been going through an existential crisis, depression, (other problems by other names), if that crisis was not your friend’s, but yours… what would you do? I wonder more, there is no answer, as in Moby-Dick, just catalogues of categories; out of place and misshapen, to sound beautiful, to beg meanings, and those that don’t get it just don’t. There is nothing more, class dismissed. It is singularly their problem. And they spoke in millions of meditation, and vice versa. I spoke in drunken logic to fools who could relate, whisky to breath, in a way that seemed aggressive only to those with esoteric ambivalence (crutch), and those who play naïve. Don’t tell them that though.
People walk past me and stare. I’d hardly taken notice when I put the hot coffee to my lips. Ouch, but I realize that this is the hottest this coffee will ever be; its heat expires over time, such is life. The burn awoke my senses. I am here, I am bundled, my feet are on the floor, my fingers are clicking, there is much to do, but I ponder on a drunken bar scene. I think. I wonder. This… Does he do what he says he does? Is it for show, for make believe, for the audience? Does it matter? This ever personal, monomaniacal question of: Does. And it. And Matter. And I find nothing. There is no answer, no relief, even if there were pressure, pain, bother. It just comes and goes, like everything else; as trends are cool in Uptown, and Downtown, Minneapolis and La Crosse; as the ebb and flow of rivers and seas; the rise of the tide, and the bodies within it. There is a new crest on the horizon. My mind rides that wave, as they wave goodbye. And I wish there was an onomatopoeia for that.
The sun peaks through the shades as I scroll the page. I sort of do the same as the first paragraph, sort of. Nothing new, though I can’t believe what I read- I shouldn’t say I can’t believe, because I can. And most people do. -Unbelievable! Believing and objectively viewing something are not mutually exclusive; sometimes they happen apart from one another, at different times. In this case they happen exclusively. Again I must sip my coffee and think. I wonder. I go into the work that needs to be done, the Hausaufgaben (-e, pl), the reading, the text, the papers, the pages, and I think of the cold outside, the snow, the sun (which lies), and the people around me. I wonder. Then I must stop this procrastinating. And I think it is over.
If a man is determined to jump off of a bridge to prove his point, he will. And if he doesn’t jump he wasn’t passionate enough. And if he does jump he is crazy. But at least if he does jump it is proven fact that he believed without a doubt, -and possibly without logic… And in that sense, I believe in him.