reality hits

then came in the trumpets. "trumpets!" i thought. they sounded like the beginning of a bright smile— oh, wait. they're synthesized trumpets. hee hee. how funny. keyboardists.

next my gaze fell upon the doorway, garlanded with flowers, and before i could move through it hit me: the sheer impossibility of it all, the hopelessness for my situation. it was overwhelming*, underscoring how blank the future is.

in my cup are swirls of grey probability, speckled with the black grit of reality. it is a drink most foul.


*the word most appropriate in this sentence is "underwhelming", because the force really came from beneath and pulled me down as the bottom fell out. this was the true original use of the word. unfortunately this word has been bastardized to mean the opposite, as though it means "un-whelmed". it's unfortunate. i'm sure this point is completely moot to you, but it would have been le mot juste.