Sunday, December 4, 2011

Cloven

I'm not a smoker.
Never have been.
But I tell you, I'd give my December rent for a pack of Djarums right now.

It's the end of the semester, and I have plenty of time but zero energy. Hiya Ovid, Camus? Just call me Sisyphus. And this guy? Oh yeah. THIS is my boulder.

All my life, I've been tempted by the proverbial "view from the top"--believing that once I get there--if only I can reach that summit--then finally I can rest. And finally I will be able to look down on the struggle, stare out across the progress, and up at the possibilities.

They say you can see for miles up there. That the world somehow makes sense when viewed from above.

Down here, I see nothing. Too much sweat in my eyes.

Polygnotus immortalized his Sisyphus on an urn. My immortality likely lies in one.

Ashes to ashes, as they say.

The gray waste of a clove cigarette.

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