Apr 2016
The best karma is being born
Into a good family
Those aren't my words, rather
They're Duncan Trussell's
Who happens to be my favorite comedian/philosopher/human I've never met
And he's right
Tons of truth live in that statement
I've seen it first hand
And I'm sure you have too
I've always been a rather melancholy person
Prone to frequent depressive episodes
That usually culminate in contemplating
My own death
Whether or not it is ethical to end it
By my own hand
Or getting someone else to
Get their hands *****
By doing it for me
I've thought about disappearing
Just up and leaving without a trace
Into the wild
Like Christopher McCandless
But I know that my grief and guilt and never-ending disdain for myself
Would shadow me
Everywhere and anywhere I went
But I'm digressing
I want to talk about the origin
Of all that lurks inside me
Drenching my soul in darkness
And feeding off of me
And getting fat
With its unrestricted and mindless consumption
Of my energy
I want to start with my maternal great-grandmother
All I know of her is what my mother has told me
From what her father told her
Which wasn't much since she died when he only three years old
The main point I want to make is that she died in the care of
Shrinks, head-doctors, psychiatrists
Whatever you want to call them
In 1948
She was an alcoholic
Who would sing and sing
Without a single **** given
On the bus to and from work
People were obviously freaked out
By her unwillingness to conform to "normalcy"
Sitting quietly and ignoring everyone else on the bus
Like everyone else on the bus
So her brothers had her committed to an institution in Manhattan
One that is known to have had ****** conditions
And filled with doctors who treated patients like dirt
Flowers grow out of dirt, right?
If there was no soil on Earth, we wouldn't exist, no?
That's another digression (and maybe a pointless one at that)
Anyway
They said she died of liver complications
Which would make sense given her history of alcohol abuse
And then it was over
For her
Her sadness had ended
Albeit in quite a sad way
In a sad place
Filled with sad people
But she escaped
In the end
Leaving her memory
And, dare I say it,
Her sadness
To permeate down the line gallantly
On strong horses equipped with expensive leather saddles
Who now live within me
And I am certain
Will live on long after I am gone
Into a good family
Those aren't my words, rather
They're Duncan Trussell's
Who happens to be my favorite comedian/philosopher/human I've never met
And he's right
Tons of truth live in that statement
I've seen it first hand
And I'm sure you have too
I've always been a rather melancholy person
Prone to frequent depressive episodes
That usually culminate in contemplating
My own death
Whether or not it is ethical to end it
By my own hand
Or getting someone else to
Get their hands *****
By doing it for me
I've thought about disappearing
Just up and leaving without a trace
Into the wild
Like Christopher McCandless
But I know that my grief and guilt and never-ending disdain for myself
Would shadow me
Everywhere and anywhere I went
But I'm digressing
I want to talk about the origin
Of all that lurks inside me
Drenching my soul in darkness
And feeding off of me
And getting fat
With its unrestricted and mindless consumption
Of my energy
I want to start with my maternal great-grandmother
All I know of her is what my mother has told me
From what her father told her
Which wasn't much since she died when he only three years old
The main point I want to make is that she died in the care of
Shrinks, head-doctors, psychiatrists
Whatever you want to call them
In 1948
She was an alcoholic
Who would sing and sing
Without a single **** given
On the bus to and from work
People were obviously freaked out
By her unwillingness to conform to "normalcy"
Sitting quietly and ignoring everyone else on the bus
Like everyone else on the bus
So her brothers had her committed to an institution in Manhattan
One that is known to have had ****** conditions
And filled with doctors who treated patients like dirt
Flowers grow out of dirt, right?
If there was no soil on Earth, we wouldn't exist, no?
That's another digression (and maybe a pointless one at that)
Anyway
They said she died of liver complications
Which would make sense given her history of alcohol abuse
And then it was over
For her
Her sadness had ended
Albeit in quite a sad way
In a sad place
Filled with sad people
But she escaped
In the end
Leaving her memory
And, dare I say it,
Her sadness
To permeate down the line gallantly
On strong horses equipped with expensive leather saddles
Who now live within me
And I am certain
Will live on long after I am gone
