it’s still raw inside me, you know

it’s still raw inside me, you know. the months and years that have rose up surprisingly since mama died. you wouldn’t think it has been a full three years now. you want to believe that maybe by clutching to this or that vivid memory as you fall through time you can find purchase and begin climbing your way back to some important date in the past to tell mama and little brother how much you love them properly.

somehow, by sneaking back to last fall, maybe, when the workplace finally went to complete shit, and not a damn good thing except gainful employment and employer-paid health insurance were left, you could step inside a doorway then, re-enter your consciousness, superimpose your slightly more experienced consciousness onto your slightly less experienced one, and make small changes.

then, back a few more months to thinking you were going to become a paramedic, and saving that money to work on building the time machine.

more months even–to that job you almost took in california, when you bought the plane tickets and everything for the last interview, and failed to follow through. go on to the quasi-relationship with brandy, and just fuck her like she really wanted you to. go to san francisco again but meet someone.

heck, you’re almost there. effortlessly walk through first days at the new job and this time don’t try to be anyone’s buddy. ignore d and the old work woes of 2007.

find mama still lucid, lying there in the hospital and tell her for hours how much you love her, how much she means to you, how much her dying will kill you and make your world nigh pitch black.

but, you can do better than that.

leave off from trying to pursue foolish romances with online agnostics and austin hipster tattoo chicks.

get you to church and save all your booze money for vacations to europe.

go to church with mama, take a more active interest in what she’s doing, volunteer more for the less fortunate, and remove yourself from lusting after the ways of politicians and pundits.

find hope and love and change in your own heart, pulled each day through grit and might of one determined to know himself as a true man, stripped of adolescent bullshit.

excise all the lusting after the good fortunes of others, the experiences they have that you probably won’t. save and think and contemplate and read the books you do have instead of buying more.

save all your money to build the time machine.

for, you are still raw some days from the death of little brother. you picture him alive and well in an alternate universe where you died, but he is much more intelligent than you are, so he’s already built something akin to a time machine, and he’ll pull you across the madness to a place of e realized fully.

catch e at a campus back east like columbia, harvard, yale or mit, teaching kids something wrought with deeper meaning in the books that they are reading.

catch e showing kids there’s something else profound in books that they will miss simply looking at style and historical context, and symbolism and the author’s oft-revised biography.

in all these books there’s what gushes out when the heart has been ripped raw and left unable to completely scar over. there’s a billion human souls crying out to not be forgotten, to be known, loved and remembered as special, sacred human things, rather than simply libidos and brains. there are centuries of humans living in intimate companionship with death, finding it in and on every corner they encounter.

e’s students will be progeny of parents that picked them out from a catalog of expensive choices. these students might be the first chosen birth after a series of abortions and years of using contraception. they’ll know more about the world from cable television and internet gossip than almost every scholar through history combined. all the right experiences, preloaded onto their mobile devices, will be waiting for them: the correct number of sexual encounters and drunken nights, the proper friends to connect with, and people to avoid.

huxley’s brave new world will be summarized neatly one semester in an intro english class and the grad student teacher and kids will bandy about how quaint and naive it seems to them.

any one of these students who becomes intimate with death early will drop off into that no-man’s land, far away from the commerce and activity of those who matter.

how will he explain to them about things like raw and unhealing hearts?

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