From a Notebook Lost: The Same and The Other 30
As I trodded alone along the path set before me. By the riverside, shores of lakes, forests, files full of sweet smelling flowers, and many other types of living things. That lived and breathed as I do. But there was a log, a single log, that marked itself on my memory. Just this single long. It was stagnant and stale and moved not but festered in itself. A smell of death and no life rose from the bowels of the deep. Putrid and rancid it enters my nostrils and into my lungs. I cough and hack and try not to breathe to much. It reminded me of yet another breed. The lukewarm not wanting to make a choice or decide anything. This breed be despicable and wretched and lowly. I wish to spew them out of my mouth and trample them under foot to mix them below the sand and dirt. They need not be remembered or even looked upon or heard or allowed to speak. Even existence is too good for this type of breed. They look upon, hear upon, speak upon, but say nothing of any import for it is all mired in grayness and amorality. They speak but say nothing. They hear but have heard nothing. They see but have seen nothing. How worthless this breed be? Why oh why do they exist if they be so worthless? I know not. Can they not become what they are? Fleas and gnats parasites of the minute kind. Persistent and annoying and worthy of nothing. They bite and bite until we fall and falter and we become one of them. Or they will consume us. So I shout and yell, “Fall not or the breed will overtake you. Fall not!? They will have their reward; these fleas and gnats. Continually buzzing speaking their nothing. Persistent biting and speaking nothing. Go and see, hear, speak nothing, you vile vermin, you gnats and fleas, go to your nothing. Receive your reward, step right up and receive your reward. For it be here and now. Let them become what they are and not what they think they are. Let that be their reward.