Flushed

Its probably one of the greatest ironies of nature that what feels like a warm,scented pool in which you go swimming occasionally can become a shitpot suddenly leaving you gaping at the knob of flush. And one pull of that knob flushes you down into immeasurable depths--depths where everything that's visible is black; depths that rip apart your clothes, your skin and make a mockery of your skeleton; depths that make you believe that afterall life is just the absence of death.

Why would life choose such absurd ways to define herself is beyond my understanding. But what I do understand is that THIS is the bottom. And down here I find all my bones fragile and brittle. Silverlining is that there's never noone around to twitch your bones into pieces--except yourself. However, bluelining is that if you stay too long down in there, the darkness dissolves your bones and then comes a time when you can never stand again.

When I look around, I realize I've been here before. The darkness is strangly familiar. I've no clue how I had managed to float back to the surface on previous occasions. So I sit down and think...and write...and realize one must 'do'--HANG ON.

And guess what the enlightenment is--you might not see anything in the dark around you--but you are not alone, there's everyone down at that depth with you--someone's skeleton wandering about in the dark, others' ghosts pulling their skeletons down. And if you try real real hard, you can hear R.E.M. singing somewhere in the same darkness--Everybody hurts and everybody cries...sometimes.

I still don't know how to get out of here, but I know I will survive.