because you’d be watching tv after my nervous breakdown
(a companion piece to you know exactly why)
i’m not saying you’re stupid— i’m saying don’t be naive. you’re warped by the status quo and i know your track record, i know follow-through isn’t your strong suit. but if you fail me again, you’ll fail him too, so maybe that’ll light a fire under your ass: the incentive of someone other than me to care about. (yes, that’s bile; i still produce it somehow, even without the organ of decision-making to support me as i waft through this world.) but then again, who knows anymore. betrayal works both ways and everything is relative, etc. my sense of time hasn’t been distorted from government-sanctioned chemicals. we have the same eyeglass prescription, and yet i can see injustice and you cannot. i can hear the tea boiling and you’d let the place burn down starting from the curtains.
so i am locking myself into my rituals, my machine-like work, moving from one file to another, adjusting, adjusting, harmonizing, cropping, clicking, closing, after just one more traumatizing notch in the bedpost of my subconscious. it’s that ridiculous and that arbitrary and that futile. because i know you were watching tv after my nervous breakdown, because i know that after my auschwitz you were doing your equivalent of writing poems, living a gaudy and unquestioned life, blissful and bathed in an unexamined existence, drowning in whatever the opposite of guilt is, schadenfreude and pyrite.