Daily Archives: May 11, 2010

I passed a dead dog this morning, entrails spilling onto the dirt road.

There is a madness in the air if you stay too long

and taste the sour regret of days spent waiting

or rather not waiting,

no it is days spent in a sulky acceptance of what is not.

We drive through debris that at first was shocking and now just smells. We have got used to the rotten carcass of dead dog on the side of the road

that we pass each morning

and we don’t like the acceptance of that which should be wrong

Nothing is sterile and clean.

Chaos and muck tucks into my days until I open and close the doors to my small and cosy cocoon. And we learn what life is for millions and how we are the strange ones, not them.

Some stay forever, by choice or not. Perhaps an accident of time took away their freedom to choose. But we are still in the deciding phase, a place that worries away the months until years have passed and it is too late. And we dream of the past, we are wrecked by a nostalgia that eats away at our dreams and waits for us to wake up and say enough! Of the deciding and the regrets and the making of plans. Better instead to roll about in life and let it take you where it will. Like a bumper sticker on a 12 year old’s Facebook page, the place where she is defined and defining, “life is a journey that should end not with a tidy coffin and a discreet burial. No rather it is a messy business that should leave one ruffled, black with skid marks and whispering in a breathless voice, “wow what a ride.””

But it is not a ride. It is a messy, dirty business that involves constant waking and moving and making and forging together of moments until we come out with some fragment of success. Is success the ability to notice the stink of rotten cow or the ability to walk, head high, like a queen in a cesspit that only recognizes pride?  What, after all, is ugliness? What is the need for clean beauty?  Does this place not force a beauty made out of scraps? Can I really live in a place where beauty is placed at the bottom of life’s heap?


Filed under When the rose tint fades