Writing Somewhere Out There [M, I suppose]

[Mitch]

I

Somewhere out there, someone?s dying. Giving those last breaths, and their life?s leaving them.

His name?s Bobbie Sanders. He?s a teacher, in New York City.

Her name?s Lindie Miller. She?s a nurse, in Dallas, Texas.

I can feel them, all of them. I can see them dying, like they?re doing it right here in front of me. Like Bobbie?s lying in his sleep, his heart slowly scuttling to a stop. Like Lindie?s right here, in the hospital, wearing white, cancer getting the best of her. I can hear the EKG going off the line, going to that beep, beep, beep. . .then nothing.

Silence.

How ironic, a nurse dying from cancer. Someone who?s out there to help the sick, the ill: she dies from what she fights herself.

When you think about it, every second, someone?s dying, somewhere. Maybe it?s right next door to you. Maybe it?s that ****** neighbor you always hated, who you never talk to ? who you?re enemies with. Maybe it?s that bitchy-*** teacher you?ve got at college, the one who never shuts the **** up about anything, and talks about nothing, and promptly yells at students when they don?t do jack **** in her classes.

Maybe who?s going to die next, that?s you.

We?re all mortal here on this plane of existence. We live from one moment, to the next.

One moment you?re a peachy, preppy happy little creature. The next second, you?re walking across the street, a drunk driver speeds by, runs you over, you die.

One moment, you?re having sex with your hot girlfriend ? she?s got a nice *** ? and you?re stradling her so hard, you get a heart attack, since your poor heart couldn?t handle it. And you die.

One moment, you find a sore on your arm, and you find out it?s skin cancer, and you find out it?s metastasized already, and that you?re going to die from cancer. You go through Chemo, but you die.

One moment, you?re a ninety-something reject in a nursing home, and your weak-*** heart, it just ******* quits on you, and you eat the big **** up in the sky.

One moment, you?re skinny dipping out in the river, then you fall into the oncoming rush, and you full under, run out of breath, and you die from where you once came from ? where once upon a time, there were simple cells, weird-*** fuckers who turned into many life forms ? one being humans, you.

One moment, you?re being a jackass with your friends, jumping off this cliff?s edge. You fall and land on your spinal cord, and sever the goddamn thing all the way in half, and you?re ******* dead as doornail.

One moment you?re alive, and another you?re dead. That?s the way it works, the way it?ll always work, probably, even as much as we try to find that fountain of youth ? that immortality.

I can hear them. Moaning, groaning, spasming. I can feel the heart?s thuds get shorter, shorter, and so ******* gone. I can feel the winding in of breath, can feel it like it?s on my lips. I can feel it getting weaker, weaker, so ******* gone. I can feel the blood stop flowing. I can sense the oncoming decay. I can smell death. I can lick it with my tongue. Kiss it with my lips. See it with my eyes. Feel it tingling on my fingertips. Feel it numbing my toes.

This one guy. Jessie Davis, he?s dying right now. The poor ****, his heart?s clogged to ****. Too much cholesterol, too much going to all those buffets, all over America like a plague of death. Too much going to McD?s, Burger King, Arby?s, Wendy?s. Too many cows he?s eaten, too many hamburgers. He must?ve eaten one hundred full cows, with all that fat he?s got. With those arteries he?s got, clogged to hell. He should?ve laid off the fries for a while. Maybe had some salads. Maybe went for some jogs. But now, he?s so screwed, there?s the only fact of the matter that he just has to not be a virgin. That?s how screwed he is. How ******. How utterly, completely.

You have to wonder, how many ways. How many ways are there to die?

You could do suicide. That alone has so many ways. You could do a homicide. So many ways there, too. Execution. Natural causes. Cancer. Diseases. Viruses. Illnesses. Accidental deaths. It goes on, just goes on and and on and on. Endlessly.

Now, how many ways are there to be born?

Only one. Uno. That?s it.

The only way you?re born, is when your parents **** each other. Give into the lust, the love ? whatever it?s called to you. It?s still sex, pure and simple.

The only way you?re born, is when you come out of that womb, pure and simple. When your mom pushes one out. Pops one out.

The sperm, the zygote, they come together, coalesce. Then there you?re on the way to coming into this hellhole.

It?s unfair. There should be almost limitless ways to be born, too.

What?s even more unfair is, you should have a choice in the matter ? you should be able to choose if you want to be born ? if you want to come to this ****-*** place.

The question is, how would you be born?

Would you appear out of thin air? Would you drop from the sky, bump your head, get taken by someone?

Me, I?d make it all ****** up. I?d **** with it. What I?d do is, I?d make dying like being born. I?d make it so that it?d be like being reborn. Like inhabiting someone?s dead body.

Right now, Lisa Tanner, she?s dying. A gunshot to the head, point blank. A burglar did it. The **** face. I mean, Jesus H.

Lisa Tanner, she?s got these nice, perky breasts. What I?d do, is I?d take her body. Just somehow, come in there and take it, make it come back to life. It?d be a real miracle. And then, I?d be born. It?d be like grafting my mind into hers ? I?d have my personality, but none of my memory. It?d be all erased.

I?d think I was Lisa Tanner, for all I knew. A pretty, well-asseted voluptuous goddess.

Wouldn?t it be good to be so selective? To actually be what you wanted to be?

Death just seems like so much more fun than being born ever will be. With death, you can do what you want, if you take it into your own hands. If you do what you want with it.

I know, so many ways to die, so little time.

One moment, you think you?ve got control. The next, you don?t, your whole life?s gone as hell, and you?re some old bat, and you?re dying.

Hopefully, I?ll die young. Isn?t that the way to do it these days? Be something like Jim Morrison, or whatever else you?ve got. Die when you?re young so everyone remembers you young, so you become immortal, so you don?t have to suffer through this useless rent of existence.

I mean, those who die young, I think they?ve got it lucky. They?ve got an advantage.

II

Tonight, the sky?s blackest bleak. The stars do shine, but I might as well not see them. The moon, it?s out, and full. Looks like that face that it isn?t. Those two eyes that?re craters, that mouth that?s probably craters, too.

She steps out the door with me, Laurice. She?s this girl I know. Met her at college.

Laurice, she?s a brunette. Black hair, black as the sky tonight. It?s long, waves in the night air. She?s got a thin nose, pouty woman lips, black eyes. She?s the way I like women, black hair, beautiful.

We step in my car, I put the keys in.

She says, ?So we?re going through with this??

I tell her we are. We?re going to the cemetery, and we?re going to look up at the black menacing sky, we?re going to listen for ravens, we?re going to read the epithets on the tombstones, the forgotten names, the dates. I tell her, ?What?s there to be afraid of, Laurice??

Maybe there?s sarcasm in my voice, maybe there isn?t.

She gives me a you-know-what look, but manages a grin on that pretty face. I grin back. We?re grinning at each other, now. I say, ?Well, the engine?s running, our grins?re grinning ? let?s get this show on the road, kids.?

She says, ?Beam me up, Scotty.?

We drive off.

Half an hour later, we pull up to the cemetery. It?s way out of town, like you?d expect. All dark, gloomy, morose, as you?d expect. It?s named Helphenter Cemetery, and as we drive up, on the dirt road, dust whichway all over, I brake, and we come to a halt. I say, ?Here we are,? my hands still clutching the wheel.

She says, ?Yep.?

I take off my hands, and open the door, step out. She follows me, and we stand outside the gate, a while. Just look at it, listen.

I say, ?I can hear the dead moaning.?

She says, ?I can hear you moaning.?

I give a startled chuckle and say, ?Aren?t you perverse as hell.?

She says, ?Why of course,? and I tell her that?s what I?d expect from a girl such as Laurice is.

You can see shadows, out there. See those gravestones jutting up, as something hidden. You see crosses, rectangular blocks, arches. You see some flowers all around, gray in the night. You get to thinking, and you realize there?s bodies all over this place, only concealed.

Then there?s the gate.

I say, ?Let?s go, shall we??

She says, ?Okay. But you lead.?

I say, ?What, scared??

She says, now in a whisper, ?Yes, I am.? Then, ?Because I?m scared for my big, strong man?s life.?

I say, ?Oh, you *****.?

She says, ?Oh??

I say, ?Well, I take it back. How?s ?sexy *****? sound??

She says, ?Just go already.?

So I do. The gate, with Helphenter Cemetery on it, I open. It creaks, loud.

When it stops creaking, I say, ?The thing could use some lubricant.? I say it knowing she?ll probably give something back, all perverted. I figure it?ll help keep me from running away like a little baby. Plus, who can beat flirting with a hot dame?

She says, ?Sounds like what you could use.?

I give a grin, say, ?I knew that one was coming.?

?Some other thing is going to be coming, soon.?

I say, ?You?re just sick.? And I grab her hand, and say, ?But even if you?re sick, I need you by my side, Laurice.?

?As do I,? she says. I tense my muscles, pushing hard, on and off, squeezing her hand.

I say, ?We?re going to die here.?

She says, ?That makes one of us. Just walk already, and stop squeezing my hand.?

?Yes queen,? I say. And walk over to the nearest gravestone, not squeezing her hand.

?That?s right. You?re my slave.?

We bend down, together. Read this first tombstone. It?s a dull rectangular block, and through the full moon?s light, we can read it.

I say, ?Thomase Went, 1920 ? 1996. R.I.P.?

She says, ?He sure died an old bastard.?

I say, ?What? Seventy-six is ?an old bastard?? I?d say, no.?

?I?d say, yes.?

?Well **** you.?

?Eventually,? she says, and we?re looking each other in the face, now. She says, ?But first, let?s look around some more.? Her hair?s all over, barely seen in the blackness. Her face is pretty.

I say, ?Come hither, queen, hie in haste. Thou shalt be rapt whence we view more.? I take her hand again, lead her over to the next tombstone, and the next one after that, and the next one after that.

At one tombstone ? it?s Donald Moller?s ? I say, ?Donald?s such a lame name. But, you know what Shakespeare said about names.?

She says, ?They don?t matter.?

At one tombstone, Lyod Franfer?s, I say, ?Really, I can hear the dead moaning.? I squeeze her hand.

She says, ?You?re such a liar. I bet you?re imagining me moaning, in your head, right now.?

I say, ?What if I am??

?I guess that would make me dead, then? Since you said you hear the dead moaning??

Eventually, we get tired of looking at the tombstones. We sit down on Ronald Downy?s tombstone, he died 1987. It?s a big tombstone, big enough for us both to sit on, if we squeeze in a bit.

In the distance, there?s crickets making that noise, the one that?s so familiar.

I say, ?That noise, those crickets. That?s the noise of night.? I say, ?It just goes along with night, doesn?t it?? I look over at her, she?s looking up at the sky. Her eyes look beautiful. She looks beautiful. Her hair, it?s flat and moving a bit on the tombstone?s surface. Her legs hang a bit over the edge. Her breasts push up against her shirt, since she?s lying down, giving them more tone.

Her lips moving, she says, ?Yeah, it does.? Her voice sounds like a dreamer?s. It sounds with fragility.

She says, ?It?s so beautiful out here.?

I say, ?Yes it is. And, you?re beautiful.?

She leans over to me, we?re face to face, some of her hair?s touching me. I grab her back, she puts her arms around my nape. I feel her breath when she says, ?You?re beautiful, too.?

I say, ?Not as much as you.? I say, ?I?m a crazy bastard, anyway.?

?But since you?re a crazy bastard, that makes you so beautiful.?

I say, ?Guess so, doesn?t it??

She leans in, for a kiss, and I accept. The lips, they?re one of the most sensual parts of the body, and I feel it, when she kisses me.

The rest of the night, it swirls around, it?s all a blur.

We do it atop that tombstone, her with her perky breasts, her beautiful brunette hair, her pouty lips, her thin body. Me, a crazy bastard.

When we?re done, we lie atop the tombstone, in each other?s arms, and stare at the sky together. I stroke her hair a bit, while we?re lying there. I say, ?I love the night.? She says, ?Yes, it?s so serene, and peaceful.? Both our voices must sound like dreamers? voices.

We don?t say much else. What?s unsaid, it?s conveyed in other ways. Just by the look in her eyes, when she looks at me, when I look at her. The way we hold each other, I stroke her hair.

We fall asleep, there, in each other?s arms, naked.

[vegeta rocker]

i'm not sure where you were going with this, it was well written though.
I enjoyed your points about death and birth, it is odd that we can die so many ways but be born only one.
Are there any other parts to it?

[Mitch]

Yes. I plan to make it a novel if possible, perhaps a novella - it is already up to 11 chapters.

III

Sometimes, you just disappear. It?s the greatest feeling you?ll ever feel. It?s a thing you live for.

When you lie back, and you just disappear. When you lull off, and you just escape, you?re no longer here in this world. No longer in its struggles. You?re not in the humdrum. Not in the reality.

It?s when things keep going on, but you?re not there.

It?s where you?re still existing, but there?s no pain. There?s no anything, but this feeling you?re gone. You?ve disappeared.

People, they take drugs to feel like that. People, they have sex to feel like that. People die, to feel it all the time.

It?s not a feeling you feel often. It?s not something that?s always there. You can?t force it, because it won?t come if you do.

Disappearing like that, it?s how you wish life was. You wish it wasn?t so much suffering, wasn?t so much let-down after let-down, take-down after take-down. Wasn?t such a disappointment.

It?s the closest to dying, but not dying, when I was in her arms, sleeping.

When you sleep, you?re weightless. You have no weight.

When Laurice and I were in each other?s arms, lying there on the rocky surface of the tombstone, the crickets chirping, looking at the stars. We were gone. We weren?t there. We were somewhere else, someplace you never thought existed, someplace you thought was imagination. Laurice and I, we?re in bliss. We don?t know anything then, but each other, and we close our eyes.

Your mind, your mental self, it still remains, but the physical?s blurred. It?s almost as if the mental?s physical. As if there?s no difference between the two. Like they?re one.

That type of feeling, that type of moment, it?s nothing you?d give up for the world. Somehow, it makes it worth it to live.

IV

The sun comes up, rises its happy self to the sky. Laurice and I, we kept sleeping, disappearing.

We?re woke up by this old woman coming to a grave there. She?s this orthodox woman, she?s obese. She says, ?Wake on up, now!?

We react. Our eyes come open, and we look around. It?s those few seconds when you?re coming back into place, where you?re coming back from disappearing. Where your mind?s blank. Where nothing matters and it?s okay you feel none of it matters. When it?s okay to be an apathetical monster.

Startled, we let go of each other, and scathe around the ground for our clothes. I find her bra. She finds my boxers. We switch articles of clothing, then scathe around some more. I find my jeans, my shirt, she finds her clothes, too.

We put everything on, quick.

She?s still looking at us, the sun?s lighting her up. She makes the cross around her with her hand, says, ?Father, son, holy spirit, amen.? She says, ?I hope He will forgive you two, for what you?ve done. Adultery, lechery, copulation, fornication! A deadly sin.?

We say nothing. We want this old bag to go along her way.

She says, ?And Jesus, he died upon the cross, he suffered for these sins, so you?ll be forgiven. So you?ll go to heaven. Satan has his nefarious grip upon you two. You?re getting closer to hell already.?

I say, ?We?re sorry.?

If there?s sarcasm in my voice, or not, I don?t know.

She says, ?Sorry? To me? You should be sorry to Him, if you want to be absolved. You?ve committed a wretched sin, after all. You?ve got to pay penance for it. I?d suggest going to the church, and telling your sin, so you can be forgiven.?

By this time, I?d like to scream at her to shut the hell up, she?s ruining how great last night was. I say nothing, though. These old women, living to die, they don?t have a clue what?s it like to live. To give into your impulses. To satisfy yourself.

She finally turns around, her fat, it wobbles with her, as she goes into the distance, with a flower in hand, putting it upon a grave a ways away. It?s probably her dead husband. She probably thinks the dumb ****?s in heaven, like she thinks she?ll be.

I squint, to see if I can see what she?s doing now. It looks like her lips?re moving. She must be telling a goddamn prayer.

I say to Laurice, ?Religious zealots, can?t leave home and not find one.?

She says, her hair a sexy tangle from sleeping on it, ?Got that right.? I?m sure my hair?s all sticking up, too.

I say, ?Let?s get the hell out of here, shall we, kids??

So we go to my car. And leave.

On the way to her house, to drop her off, I tell her, ?Last night was wonderful.?

She says, ?Yeah, and what else is new??

I say, ?Nothing else?s new.? And I give her a grin. And she gives me a grin. I want to touch her hair. I say, ?I?ve got something that?s new, actually.?

She says, ?What??

I say, ?Your hair looks really sexy this morning, I want to touch it.?

She says, ?And you were calling who perverse lately??

I say, ?Like I said, I?m a crazy bastard. I?ve got a libido the size of the titanic.?

?I?m sure my tits are more titanic.?

?I?m pretty sure they are. But, it?s the way we men are, you know. Especially me, a crazy bastard. Sex is on our mind quite often, especially when women have sexy black hair going whichway over. Us crazy bastards like it. It drives us mad.?

She says, ?These so-called ?crazy bastards? sound like some kind of cult. I?d like to join.?

?Maybe you?ll get to. You?ve got to learn from me first, the number one crazy bastard.? We pull into her driveway. I say, ?And here we are, queen. Your royal cottage.?

She says, ?Sure is ****** for a royal cottage. I?m disappointed, king, I expected better.?

?Maybe someday,? I say. ?First, the king has to get a good job.? We step outside.

We step up to each other, and wrap our arms around each other. We give each other a parting kiss on the lips, and I grab her hair. She gives a smile about me touching her hair. I say, ?Parting is such sweet sorrow.?

She says, ?You can go ahead and lament all about leaving me, get in a mire and everything. I?m going to go to my cottage now.? She turns, and she?s walking away. I can?t help but grin at her witticism. I watch her butt as she waddles away, womanly and attractive. I watch her black hair, all over and sexy.

When she?s slammed the door to her royal cottage, I step into my wagon ? it?s got quite a lot of horsepower, but not as much as me ? and I return to my royal gallows, my dorm. The place with bars, where the only way to obtain the key is to procure it by a degree, by paying money and getting an education in a specified field.

Then, I can eventually be king of my own castle.

[vegeta rocker]

i really am liking this, it is very well written. I love how the guy (don't know his name) seems to go off on a pointless tangent, but then he starts making sense. The quick narration then usually pertains to what is about to happen or what just happened.
If you don't post the entire thing i would appreciate if you emailed me the rest.

Great work, look forward to more from you as always

[Mitch]

V
I?m lying here and I?m thinking, thinking about Laurice, thinking about everything. You know how it is, you lie in your bed and thoughts leak into you. Come into you. It can?t be helped, and happens.

What I?m thinking is, we?re just organic machines. We?re machines, built by nature. Built by evolution.

We?d like to think we?ve got a soul. We?d like to think there?s love, there?s a God, that our existence has a real meaning, we can change the world, that there?s good and evil. We?d like to think, but none of it?s true.

All we are is, is a teeming mass of people. A mass of cells, of atoms. Of tissues. Of organs. And like the cogs in a clock, like a car, like any machine, all of what we?re made of works in concert to create what we are.

Pain?s not real. It?s just created in the brain, and relayed to us. It?s a defense mechanism. It?s our body telling us not to hurt ourselves, not to kill ourselves. It?s the self-perpetuating power of the human. Of all other animals. It?s survival.

We humans, we go against nature. We create our own natures. We?ve got clothes, we?ve got stores, buildings, computers, TVs. Guns, plastic surgery.

We?re not happy with a sunset. We?re not happy with just sitting out in the open woods, the moon shimmering up there. We?re not happy with an open field, we?re not happy but with what we make as nature.

Naturally, we?d be naked. It?s the way nature made us. Dogs get to walk around naked. Cats do. Rats do. Squirrels, raccoons, elephants. Any animal known to man but himself is naked.

Naturally, we?d live out in nature, unchanged. We?d not assimilate areas, not urbanize them. Not build houses, not build skyscrapers, not build roads.

Everything in the world, it?s synthetic.

Women, they?re supposed to wear this ridiculous make up. They?re supposed to be thin, they?re supposed to be what?s labeled as ?beautiful.? Beautiful, meaning they?ve got to make a lot of sacrifices. They?ve got to either drop dead, or get pretty.

They?re supposed to be obsessed with looking beautiful. They?re supposed to cry and get all pissed when they don?t have big tits, so they go out and get a breast augmentation. They?re supposed to look at their nose and think it?s too wide, it?s not thin enough, so they need to go get a nose job. Their *****, they?re not good enough for anybody, they?re ugly, they?ve got to get an *** job. Their face, it?s ugly, they?ve got to go under the knife, change that. Widen the space between their eyebrows. Get fuller lips. Womens? chests, they?re too fat, holy ****, they?ve got to get liposuction. They?ve got to starve themselves, not eat anything. Become anorexic. Become bulimic. Barf up all their food.

And in reality, all we are, is flesh machines. Our heart beats, supplying our body with blood, which allows everything to get nourished consistently. Our lungs breathe in the air to oxygenize our blood. Our brain controls all of our autonomic processes. It controls the heartbeat. It controls breathing.

It controls sex drive, the need to keep our species alive. We?re the products of evolution.

In our world today, there?s no natural selection. Natural selection, that?s when nature allows the better-suited genes to survive.

For example, if a mentally handicapped guy named Bob was born in nature, he?d die. For example, if someone with dwarfism was born in nature, they?d die. For example, if George Bush was born in nature, he?d die.

But instead, the worse genes keep going on. Genes which make it so someone?s more prone to cancer, so someone?s more prone to getting obese, just like every other American.

With our societies, organized as they are, being a veritable cesspool, bad genes are all over the place. Everyone?s ******* screwed.

In essence, we?re inhibiting evolution. Slowing it down. Making it go in reverse, even. It?s because we fight against nature, we make our own nature, a hell with roads, people squirming all over the place, businesses, commerce, machines we?ve made. We?re fighting viruses, bacteria, and natural selection?s making the tougher ones survive.

Say Donald ruptured his heart. In nature, he?d die, but since we?ve got heart transplants, Donald survives.

Say Larry?s got cancer, and does Chemo. In nature, he?d die, but since he got the Chemo, he lives. And goes on and has sex with Lisa, and has kids who pass on his cancer gene, and then their kids go have sex when they?re old enough, and pass on the cancer until who the hell knows when, to the point where every human on the earth is dying from cancer.

We might as well just commit suicide already.

We might as well not even exist. Because inevitably, our race?s going to go extinct. That?s something that can?t be stopped.

For example, the sun?s going to become a red giant, eventually, when it?s all used up. It?ll swallow the Earth whole then. For example, a meteor could hit the Earth at any time, it?s just a matter of time. For example, we?ll fight pithy wars, and maybe we?ll nuke the **** out of each other, and we?ll all die from radiation. For example, the AIDs virus evolves so it can become airborne, and we all die like ******* flies.

It?s all against us. The human race is a collection of star-crossed lovers. We love to learn, to find out things, but our own love is probably going to kill us, or show us how we?re going to get killed, and become extinct.

There?s probably already some other race out there, some aliens with bulbous eyes, sinuous movement, who?ll outlast us anyway. We?re pretty insignificant.

Maybe they?re significant. Maybe, we could hook up with these aliens, have some tentacle sex, and get a cross-breeding of our two races, and create an uber-race to rape the entire world.

Or not.

I?m going to bed. First, I?ll think about Laurice, then I?ll wake up tomorrow, and go to my classes.

VI

I sit in my class. There?s some teacher up there, blabbering on forever. Some students, they?ve got their hands on their chin, they?re listening to what?s being heard. Other students, they?re reading from their books. Other students aren?t even here, and in the big assembly hall, there?s empty desks.

This is what you pay for. This is college. You have to go through this **** in order to get a degree, so you can get some job so you can get money so you can stay alive. You have to listen to some lecturer go on and on about some subject which doesn?t mean jack ****, which never will mean jack **** in the long run to you.

Maybe you?ll absorb something that you?ll remember, maybe you?ll learn some interesting fact. Maybe. But when it comes down to it, what matters is experience. It?s when you put what you?ve learned into action, actually do something with it. That?s when you remember it.

More than half the **** you learn in college, you won?t even use at your job. It?s such a waste of time.

For some people, it?s a party. A big party. Get drunk each night, have sex. Get wasted. ?Shitfaced,? as they say.

For some people, it?s working hard as hell. They get some part-time ****** job, then they study and do homework when they?re not in class, and they go to all their classes ? perfect attendance.

There?s people like me, who just ?go through the motions.? People who are doing what they have to do, even if they don?t like it. People who are apathetical monsters. Who really could give a big **** less. Who just want to make it through life, and get the most out of it doing what they like to do, not the stupid **** like college.

The instructor might as well not even be saying anything. You might as well just drop dead right there.

This is the rest of your life.

More and more and more dulling down, more ****, more indoctrination. Brain washing. Soon enough, you?ll lose yourself. Soon enough, you?ll become what you didn?t want to be. You?ll be what you thought you?d told yourself never to become.

You?ll be another passing face in this place. You?ll work most of your life, you?ll get your money. Have your funeral. Get buried. Maybe have kids.

This is it. You?ll be another forgotten name.

Sitting here in class, I just don?t care. But I make myself care. Me, the crazy bastard, I just think of Laurice. I just think about how I?d like to be sleeping, forever. How I?d like to not even exist.

The instructor?s writing some useless, humdrum **** on the board. Some formula, which is pointless. I?d just like to close my eyes. I?d just like to give up. But I can?t, I?m ******. I?ve got to listen, retain this information.

I do it because I have to. I do it because there?s no other way.

You?ve just got to push yourself again and remind yourself, this is the rest of your life. More slaving away. More useless garbage, with a few good, more bad moments. This is your upheaval. This is it. Your life.

The bell rings, people get up. I view all the beautiful women, the organic machines, built by cells, by tissues, by genes, by DNA. Each moment, they?re aging. Each moment, their beauty they?ve got, it?s fading. Right now they?re at their prime. They?re ready to have their brains ****** out

Get to work. Got to make the next generation, so we can keep this going.