Living in the Skeleton of a Happy Memory

It is all right. I have been here before, and so have you. I have felt all there is to feel. I have done everything and know everyone. I know all there is to know and have seen all there is to see. There is nothing else for you anywhere. There is nothing left. There has been a procession of all possible experiences, and nothing you have seen has brought you any peace, and nothing you have done has brought you any contentment, and no one you have known has brought you any love, and all that is left is to simply lie down and sleep, and I will help you do that.

“So often I feel this about life. Everything is so heavy. No one seems to notice. They all seem to know some secret; everyone seems to know.

It seems not to bother them, they seem not to be consumed by so much doubt, so much hate for everything that I am and have let myself become, hate for who I am when I sit around and watch TV and do not create or do and do not walk out in the world and do not write letters and do not compose music and do not start a business and do not make up with old friends or call them or do the things my father would have done. Everyone seems to live in a world where those stones are not on their chests, where those people are not shoving, with a long stick, their tongues back inside their mouths, and I feel as if I am the only one on the ground, and if so, then that must mean that everyone else is standing around me, and I am in the center, and they are on the periphery, and the fear begins to set in that

I am suffering alone in the universe

and perhaps there was no one else to begin with.
Perhaps I made it up.

That is their world. That world. That world is the world in which Giles Corey was crushed, and he lies there still. Crushed flat. Undone - our patron saint of sadness forever.“