I only want to read about misery spite hate crime. I never wanted to read about rabbits talking to badgers. Why would I want to read about that since all I ever lived were crimes and passions, the wrong way to live.
That’s me! Always in the wrong place at the wrong time even born the wrong side of the track.
I’m always wrong. What’s wrong with me? Everything’s so god damned hard and for once why can’t I have it easy. Is it wrong to ask to expect for once in a fucking moon something good and unexpected - for something fortuitous to happen.
I guess that’s why I don’t want to read about happy bears. I hate fantasy creatures and animated films. I can’t relate to talking to happy bears or some other creatures. It’s lonely out here. What’s a sister got to do to help you understand her?
It’s hard out here. Maybe it’s hard out here for you too, down on your luck or things got you down or you’re tired of fighting about or for things that shouldn’t need fighting for. So am I when you get down to it.
But a sister’s gotta do what a sister’s gotta do to survive; you know what I mean.
A sister’s gotta survive never consider suicide it’s not an option
because a sister knows that there are others just like her who have been through more than her too. A sister has got to survive to show others it can be done and then teach them how to survive too. It doesn’t matter how much you hate this system you gotta learn to fight your way through it to survive. Even if you’re not in some perfect god damned family I once imagined existed before I turned my mind away from fantasy of nice stories about nice people and preferred to expose myself to books about mind mystery and crime.
Sister let me show you your way through this torrent of events, cause a sister’s gotta survive. Our children need raising. It would be worse without you there. God forbid my children grow up like I did. A child’s not meant to see all the things I saw by choice cause I’m a Buddhist or by coincidence, who knows? – All depends on your view of it, your belief system. You can win some but you can’t win them all.
A vivid memory captures me walking across Columbia’s campus in a driving icy winter rain with some crazy heavy set woman pushing a wagon full of books. She sat near me in class and one day invited me to a campus movie and I came so I felt the least I could do to repay her would be to walk her slow pace in that horrid rain.
“Where you headed,” she conversed, “to your next class or where?”
The wind whipped my face.
“I’m going to Lewisohn Hall like you are.”
“Oh,” she said, I’ve never seen you there before.”
“Likewise,” I replied. I’ve never seen you there before either.”
“So where are you going?”
“To drop off papers for financial aid.”
“What the fuck,” she said, “I’m a nurse and I gotta save my money and pay my way through here and I come here and then I’m paying for you too - you getting money to come here and I have to pay my own way.”
I opened my mouth but instead walked away. I pretended she didn’t exist though she was in my class. It was as though I had stuck her in a glass jar and covered the top with a net so she could breathe but not bother me. I could pay attention or not. She couldn't hurt me anymore. I was just glad I didn’t have to pretend to be her friend again and walk slow with her in another downpour.
Poor woman! What made her so hateful so unwilling to see -so hurtful? Didn’t she see that what happened to me can can happen to anyone?
Hmm, I guess she must have her own misery.
Don’t we all?