The Would-Be Hemingway
12 March 2016
I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of watching this shit happen over and over again. I’m tired of waking up and finding out people have died. I’m tired of watching the coverage. I’m tired of waiting for somebody to say it. To say something stupid. To turn what is already a fresh tragedy into a political shpeal.
I’m tired of twitter. Not just because of Presidential candidates. I’m just tired of condensing tragedy into symbols and pathos hoping for likes or sad faces. I’m tired of Facebook. I’m tired of watching people get sad. I’m tired of watching people leap at the chance to push agenda. People aren’t even cold and we’re already calling for change, or else calling for no change. We’re putting up memes to prove that gun violence doesn’t exist. We’re calling up memes to show that it does exist. We’re calling for political action. We’re saying political action already exists. We “like” pages that promise change and watch Game of Thrones or the Walking Dead. We “react” and “like” and write sentences devoid of meaning or substance because that’s the sane response.
Action is put aside for reaction. I’m tired of watching this circus over and over again. It’s full of clowns and bad magic tricks.
I’m tired of the escalation of rhetoric. I’m tired of Nazis. They won in the end. We fought and died and bled to destroy their Third Reich and yet they dominate the minds and consciousness of political pundits and uncles and aunts and grandparents. We talk about Hitler and Stalin and guns to get people to shut the fuck up or else listen to us because we’re scared. We’re scared and terrified. Everybody else is.
I’m just tired. I’ve cried too many times. I’ve cried over and over again. Cuddled underneath my desk hoping, wishing I could pray. I don’t believe in god. This tragedy just is. I hate the asshole that killed all those people, and I wish, really wish there was a hell. We all want so badly for there to be a hell, to make sense of the awful people in this world. We damn the evil men to hell hoping, praying, that that will make some meaning out of this. Hell is the hole we throw our nightmares to hoping that it will wash us clean of bullshit. But there isn’t. Tragedy happens. It happens without reason. It happens for bullshit reasons.
Bullshit bothers us and we won’t accept it. He didn’t act alone. There were others. Some giant force or agency or organization or political chapter or secret society or religion, but bullshit is self-perpetuating.
It acts for its own effort and existence and because of this it’s contagious.
I’m tired of liking things. I’m tired of hating people. I’m tired of listening to people who like me are tired themselves. I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of playing this character over and over again.
50 people I might have known and loved or hated or liked are dead. 53 people are alive, but they have to live that shit. They have to live because some asshole didn’t like himself.
I don’t like memes. I don’t like long hours listening to bad rhetoric. Because that’s what’s going to come in the next few weeks and that’s what terrifies me and exhausts me. 50 people, who never knew the people who are going to talk, are going to become part of this circus. And while the clowns are shouting and screaming and crying and peddling bad memes about gun control or more gun control or how gun control doesn’t work or how it does work or how this was religion or it wasn’t religion and while we’re all trying to overcome just being scared and angry 50 people are never going to be able to speak again. They’re never going to be again.
No more trips to the grocery store.
No more Friday nights dancing.
No more wine and bad movies.
No more thinking about books you’ll write one day.
No more quickies with their partners before they go to work or school.
No more little moments of watching the ocean or birds in their backyards.
No more ice cream cones during a diet.
No more reading good or shitty books.
No more listening to their mother on the phone talk about their dads.
No more sitting on the couch petting the dog or the cat.
No more…no more words.
Words are supposed to make people real. To make their lives real. To make…to make sense of any of this shit.
I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired, of this shit.
Wherever you are, whoever you are who stumbles upon my words. Know me in this moment, and know my pain. I’m tired, like you’re tired. And I know it won’t stop. That’s where it’s fucked. And we’ll have to watch this circus again.
Until then know that 50 people you never met, or perhaps you did, aren’t here anymore. And while everybody’s crying and screaming and looking desperately for meaning that doesn’t exist, I know your heart because you know mine. The fight will go on, life will go on, people will go on, and so the asshole lost.
Assholes always lose because they forget that once people are done with the screaming and crying and bullshit circus, they get back to their lives and forget the asshole even existed.
50 people were here. They’re gone now.
I’m tired. Thanks for listening.
I love you.