go out and come in again (the same old story)

a hideous piece of human trash, you are - but this allows you your humanity

a vile piece of human scum, here you lie - but it acknowledges your origins

we remind ourselves, again: no one is coming, no one is coming

no one is coming because we deserve it; because our detracting has far outweighed our capacity to serve

but why, they ask, the nobody that are here, why would you cry, why would you say that?

because unhappiness is far, or even only just, more powerful than happiness. because i live it, and it rules me.

(why are you here? why are you here? feed yourself. why are you here?)

i want people to help me. i want people to help me. but then they do it, and then i don't. and why is that? why might that be?

there's the part about nonrepayment. there's the unbelievable gift, nonrefundable. because there's quite a lot you'd have to do, over quite a long time, to make up for it. to make out with it. to show it, followed through.

it's inappropriate. highly. wildly. mildly. it shows a blatant lack of self-awareness among the agents, the actors, the powers that be, well despite the carefully, infinitesimally constructed impassioned soliloquy monologue.

no audience. no one is here. no one is coming. nobody is here.

and i don't know how not to be a bad kid. i don't know how not to be virtuous, ever on the verge of tears.

tears will tell you: silver or gold? tears will divide your shivers from snottiness, your abruption from disruption, your quiet from disquietude. tears will take you from walking it off and paying no mind to going all in on worry and strife. and from the moment you walked in that door...

you thought you'd flash the quirky attractiveness of wit. you thought you were in on the joke - if only by default, at least. eventually you came to calling it out, the annoyance over the shame, but still the impotence had you beat. still something sicker lurched and loomed.

do it to yourself so they can't do it to you. oh my god, we've heard it, we've said it, we've seen and heard it done! we know it for its ineffectiveness and its triteness in one. we know it for its faux appearance of shoddy armor. we know underbelly for its puffy cheeks that appear beneath all frustration, even now.

i don't know how to be different, positively inevitable, instead of a forever negative baby maybe. nobody's baby. thursday's bitter child.

we try to game intractable levels of happiness by making the best heuristic choice, among others. we try to say what is best expected to be said, with all of our context and our non-psychological experience. we try to elevate ourselves beyond our quick-predictive impulses.

and how can this possibly feel like unreality, when i've seen it coming all along? don't tell me you're surprised?

but they're not surprised. nobody is not surprised. nobody is effortless, to reprise their own crowdsourced myth.

a village. a village. you want to live in a village. of course, but even in the village, you live in an attic all alone.