When I last laid eyes upon this sad world, it was the fall. All news from the outside world, the Americas in which I live, and the lands and oceans beyond, made me retire deeper and deeper into myself, for it was all so ignorant. The men and women that populate the land, those who live in the houses, and the rooms in the high-rise buildings, they all hope for some big, final death to come and release them from their frustration. Everyone hopes to die; it is something they would go through together, the last semblance of community that their cowardly hearts would aim for. To kill yourself, with no one else to accompany you into the great chasm, is sad and pathetic and looked down upon. But to die with the rest of the human race is acceptable…then the blame is watered down so no one feels like a fool.
But what can I say? I am also a coward. I am afraid of many things, most things in fact. The only world I can stand is one without other deep thoughts, without intelligence. I am happy to be the only one in this forest who knows what a lawnmower is. The birds think that the grass just gets cut, and that there’s no problem with this. I see that the grass that grows long in the prairie is the real grass. How do I know what is real? It cannot be put into words. And that is why I will forever be regarded as a crazy.
But, honestly, living in this natural landscape, taking pleasure in the dirt and the blood and the nakedness, I can’t say I am able to truly commune with the other animals, even the plants. Perhaps this is why I am still a dejected soul, even though I see the heavens surrounding me. The truth is, I have been tainted by humanity. If another mule walks in to this forest, I can guarantee you they will not like me. I am an animal with a human mind. And because of this hindrance, I will never be free.
I complain, I whine, I look at the blue sky, I remember that I’m a complainer, that only stupid people complain, I should really say nothing at all and accept it, but once I forget this, I am back to the thoughts again. I complain louder, and I get rowdier than before; sometimes I even scare every animal in my vicinity away. I don’t want to say there’s nothing I can do. But that’s all that comes to my mind.
If you have read this long, there must be some way in which I connect with you. Although I can’t stop hating these men and women, (reading their blogs, sipping coffees) I figure there must be somebody like me. You know, when I worked as a journalist in the “real” world, I found that the people that most related to me, my worldview, they were the quiet people. The losers, the intro-spectives, the depressed, the lonely assholes. I write this blog for you, hoping there is still something left.
Honestly, where does the forest end and the city begin? It is a notion I am constantly struggling with.