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Trainwrecks

2010-04-11 - 7:27 p.m.

I am sitting on a rolling hill of verdant green, newly flush with shoots of yellow-gold flowers and ladies of the valley springing up. A beer rests on a brown-black rock. It is late evening and the moon is high. The trains come by in the night. Headed for each other. The explosion rapes the air like knives into eyes. It is fire-choked pageantry as metals howl.

I am seeing the same event replay itself. I am seeing two people spent on one another taken to an inexorable conclusion, like Montell Williams and gay biker midgets addicted to anthropomorphic soapboxes that abuse their terriers. The night air is warmed by failure. It is saturated with brilliant beautiful colors painted by the hand of chaos.

It is a perpetual perpetuating clusterfuck.

I take a sip and wonder how it could come to this. Of all the people, the dozens of friendships and hundreds of hours in useless consoling over frantic minutiae like bacteria eating away at a Colossus of decay, this. It makes me sad. It fills me with grief because they are like me: intelligent, hopelessly inept at the machinations of cultural fornication, geeky. They could stand the test of time, I thought. They would not limp off with a bang into that godless dark bastion of halcyon fuckery, and hang their hangs, bang their breasts. It could be different. And therefore I might stand a chance when given a similar circumstance. But it was the same.

There is a cold beauty in this.

Despite a lack of any stability achievable through professional competence, marriage, excelling at a hobby, achieving through deaf luck, or even having children, we are an eyeblink from having none of it work and being taken back to a table for one. We cannot take these things for granted. Even our own children will eventually disown us if we are assholes.

These horrific fireplaces happen for good reason. We are out of touch with ourselves, or so hopeful to have pegs fit in square holes. I spent 3 years in a relationship that I more or less knew would never lead to marriage by the first 6 months. I enjoyed it immensely, however. I would not sacrifice a second of it despite many short-comings. I realized that as much as it disturbs me to be single and getting older and still be a student, that my own burning pillar of lurching off-track warmth could guide me toward a better, friendlier place. A vista where by circumstance or design there was no giant explosion, no finger-pointing, no years of bitterness and angered scorn, not even a note of sadness played for several months over Carmenere in velvet blue mini-skirts.

I would be alone again. I would know how to set myself aright and all the better know how to find something or someone that would make me happy.

Many people treat these mangled body part symphonies like the plague. Get away as fast as possible. I stare at the bodies and sip my beer. I am captivated by the idea that we are building toward a better order through chaos. So even though it saddens me to see this happen to them, and see that reflected in my own loss, I am comforted by it. Because I know they'll be okay.

I just wish other people appreciated trainwrecks more. We might then have fewer of them.

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