Beckett on the curb

They said it, sure they did. Actually, they’d warned me long ago, I could’ve avoided it in many many ways, but as has been blatantly established, beyond doubt and for all that counts, it has been blatantly established that lives flow amidst tides and storms and all our efforts to convince ourselves we decide anything account for as much as some eighty, perhaps ninety percent of the time, and that kind of statistical control is in itself subject to all sorts of tides and storms, and I myself have been subject to tides and storms for Jack Sparrows and Captain Hooks to wonder and behold, and those statistics would most certainly fall flat on some thirty percent, something of that sort, perhaps even less. Well, that’s not even the point, all I meant to say regarded that terrible misunderstanding, the one that brought me, tide-in-tide-out, to this very despicable and disgraceful position, sitting most awkwardly in the curb, days and days of dirt and piss and shit and fumes gaining on the last vanishing traces of my face, face, do I still have a face, who should say?, folks mostly don’t look and I don’t blame them for I myself wouldn’t look at such pitiful leftover of a man, obviously my very own perspective and account may turn it into my favour and I might still consider that very leftover as a man on its own right, well I sure hope so, and it is, I believe it is, no more than a terrible misunderstanding, one sick move I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t sort of oversteered. Be that as it may, life being harsh as it may not seem for those keeping themselves on calm or shallow or still waters, as for myself life has been a most cruel one and I find myself years or decades older than I should be by now, having swallowed huge and endless gulps of water, trying to bear sight of the light, holding still when some fractions of time organised themselves to mimic chronological time, not that I be particularly fond of it but having to acknowledge it being more likely to keep myself alive until some sort of white luminescent angels brings it on and lights me on crack or opium and fumes me out of all or most of it. I meant to explain something at the very beginning, did I not?, oh it must have been some sort of ice-breaker, sure it was, may I be excused, Your Honor, may I be excused, oh I appreciate, hell I do.

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