Surviving

It’s more than being about the knobs on the television you hit every morning, as your round the daily exercise of waking up into your world.

It is more than the bread you toast, and more even than the new polymer teeth you use to chew it; so much more.

It is more than depression, or grim contemplations on ordinary things, or mear reflection on painful sentiment.

In fact, its probably more than just being alive, as it is being not dead. More than daily hum-drum and the intoxication of busy-ness, and profit and engineering, and screwing and blood pumping, and music, arts, racism, and loving and leaving, and walking and burying.

Its not literature that is keeping your brain pounding, its the relation of it to you life, to love, and the waning of each. Its a prediction of your life, and an organized chart of suspected morals and mortality.

Death is the strongest word in your vocabulary, assumably because you can not use it as a toy like "love", or as a weapon like "love", or like a pillow talk screw word like "love". It has some concrete value. Its an absolution and a truth.

So survival is more than the channels you choose to drag you kicking and screaming through the day. Its not the company you keep or the lover you undress each night until it becomes apparent that nakedness is only politics. Survival is not waiting for that phone call to make your day happy, or counting on that piece of ass to make your work day disappear.

Its not a fat secretary or a warm breast. Its not chocolate almond soufflé or super sized chicken nuggets. Its not optimism or a sad vicious duty to living. Its not kiddie pool full of Raisinett's. Its not god, nor God.

From the cradle to the grave, from seed to soil, from placenta to rigor mortis, from fuck to fucked. Amen.