On Sewanee

April 2007

There are things we believe we might forget, hoping in a sense for our own sympathy. We have resided the last four years, secluded upon a pedestal towering above all we take no regard for. These times are ones we each pray to never loose, an utopia with all the hoopla of being adults and the ignorance of adolescents. In these times we feel secure, regardless of the goings of the world beyond us. We are safe here; a haven for endless possibilities, taking each and every day what we desire, promoting what we hope for. But when will we have what we desire? Will we arrive at knowledge or the capacity for what is enough? In these days we muck about, extending any and every inquisition to our soul's delight. We reside uninhibited, free of those shackles we believe hang beyond our convenient bubble.

What will that realization be? Growling in our midst, gauging and grinding, ready to break that mold. It's strange this place we name complacent. A beer and a bowl. Maybe a cig' and a shit, if there's time. "Ah fuck," he says, the garbage man blasting his thumb again. It seems you can'
t win with oil on your hands, or grit in your teeth, shirt without sleeves. "You ain't one of them, " he says. "Not those that found it. Them boys have it all down. Yeh that's right. Been reelin' in it for years."

And so the good guy squeals, he can't take the heat. And this guy's a sweatin', I mean churnin' in his belly, inwards pretzeled every which way. I tell ya, I thought the guy was a warrior till they broke 'em.