Scott Rosen, Pt. 2

Seeing what I could be, I’m happy for the chance to die. Parting the veil makes it easy to resist the laze of wealth. Languishing in the adventure of whatever level of ass-kissing your money can buy. I’ve been there, more efficiently. Not to discount the classical discovery of an adult scampering across the ocean in search of meaning but it doesn’t take that much to see where effort is needed. Continuing to ignore universe in favor of your own ego? I’m just not that blind.

My anger reaches far and wide. I feel the heat of ire everywhere I go. I can focus on the physical and look for likely scapegoats in the individuals that have hurt me. The bar buddy that decided to molest me one night. The long distant Memphis friend freezing me out. Or maybe the harmless barfly that tries to make me feel better with assurance it will all get better. It doesn’t matter how many people I incorporate into potential plots. I’m not welcome here. I don’t belong.

Accepting my unique nature narrows the field. It’s easier to see what paths are open to me. Companionship is impossible. Compassion perpetuates my self esteem and the occasional affection rekindles the spark of life. Ultimate purpose lies in what I can convey to other people. Right now that is a sparse scattering of thoughts. Barely enough to start a Pollack. I have more to give and feeling it trapped inside me, an abscess of expressionism, it’s like carrying a small bomb. I feel dangerous.

If I could find a way to express thoughts. Writing gets the thought-gunk out of my head but ideal expression involves a multimedia element. I can describe my movie with words but directing an actual movie is the pure form. Instead I think about getting a gun and keeping it under my bed in a box. I’ll pull the box out from time to time, thinking about what I could do. Maya will jump on the bed and meow, asking what I”m doing. Putting the box away, I scratch her spine and avoid the question. She doesn’t deserve any stress.

I want to shoot myself in the head. I’ve got three different entry points imagined. I’ve done the math and doing it on a Tuesday means it will be three days before anyone comes looking for me. I don’t want to abandon my cat, so there’s no reason to worry right away. I don’t even have a gun yet. Once she’s not with me it’s time to worry. Not too much though. Nothing can stop me from doing what I know is right. My waste of space has persisted far too long. In Sparta, I’d be dead already. In today’s world, I’m a living ghost.

If there’s a solution to my problem I haven’t found it yet. Death is a mercy and I rely on its certainty. Better people than me are clearly more equipped to shepherd humanity into a new world.

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