The realizations about one's self may as well be the toughest judgment a person ever has to endure. For it's always our friends that want to protect us from detrimental thoughts, forming a comfy cushion of self-value around us. But when you come face to face with the mirror and take off the mask, the face you see is relentlessly real and honest. It's your SELF - the side you may try to hide from others, the side you hide from yourself, the side you know is there.
So, as I face the mirror, trying to see who I've become, what I've become, I see a skeleton. A chewed up bone of what I used to be. The more I delve into the past, the more flesh and bone I find, long ago discarded and abolished, so I can be my light new self. I've stripped "living" into a mere "being" and my new aerodynamic form has defeated all resistance. Be it thinking, talking or making decisions, I have given up. And it's awfully hard to move those rudimentary limbs again.
My brain has become rudimentary. Do you know how beautiful and eloquent my speech about the restaurant's menu is? I have polished and shaped it up to perfection, so I'll fucking sell you the most expensive stuff that I've never even tasted! (remember, I am vegetarian, selling meat to carnivores) I'll tell you how it's my favorite and I'll make you spend the extra $5, so I can hope for an extra $1 of tip in my pocket.
All this is well, you might say. It's a craft, it's almost an art. And I agree. The art of legal stealing is a beautiful one. I've mastered it completely and now like a leech I suck out the rest of your budget, designated to satisfy your gluttony.
But the cost is this...I can't even remember the words I used to know when I studied in college, when I studied for SAT, the beautiful, meaningful, rare and sophisticated words that mean more than names to the physical world. Here I am, struggling to dig out my long lost vocabulary, buried in piles and piles of shit and every-day talk, so that what you read doesn't sound like the menu of a fine-dining machine for stealing cash and eating flesh. And, believe you me, it's hard to move those brain cells again, for while I’ve been selling flesh to strangers, I seem to have sold my own for a couple of extra dollars. Just because I thought money was more important than youth, development and wit. Let's see if I'll be able to buy them back now...with the last of my savings.
2 comments:
beautiful! best of luck, stoyan!
I agree pretty much with you, but don't forget the other side of the coin: without money you would probably be still living with your parents => no youth, at least not the way you'd have wanted it to be..
Post a Comment