Untitled

Look, as far as I am concerned, I only exist in the present. Screw the past, and screw the future. The both of them can go and rot in Hell.

I don't scrapbook. Or take pictures. Or videotape. Or keep a journal. Or flip through year books or reminisce.

I don't keep a calendar. I don't plan ahead. I don't write down my homework assignments.

I just do what I do I do and I do it now.

And I guess that is how I'm considered impatient.

So, when you ask me, "How was your year?", I really have no damn clue.

What the Hell am I supposed to say? Good? Bad? In between? Formative? Worthwhile? An experience I'd never want to lose?

Hell, I ain't gonna say any of that. Because what the Hell is the point? I'm one egotistical, narcissistic jerk, but even I don't see the purpose in just talking about the way my past year has been. Because no matter what I say, I'm not changing what happened. Nor am I changing what will happen. No, I'm just wasting time, making what happened what could've happened. So it wasn't good. Or bad. Or everything or nothing.

Because it was much more than any of that. It was highs and lows. And just agonously boring at parts. It is even part of the present. And I am a part of everything I have ever experienced. So, in endeavoring to characterize the last year is in part characterizing a bit of myself (which would in effect make the last year be awesome). Which is impossible. I can't define what I am. I am me. Philip Barrett Block. I'm every word I've said. I'm every curse and compliment, lie and truth I have ever uttered. I'm every smile I've given someone, just as much as I am every tear I've made shed.

So, if I am indeed the present, and the present is part of the past, then I am the past. And I am typing away, doing homework, stressing, drowning in work, developing stomach ulcers, slowly dying and slowly living, drinking tea, and not moving and checking grades, and rambling, and waiting and savoring and suffering from exhaustion but nonetheless happy healthy and blessed in a home where everyone loves me with every thing I could ever want for ever and ever for several eternities and full of miserable contentment and a desperate hope that the morning will not come that these seconds and minutes and other periodic measures of time will just stop to pass by so that I am here forever and for no time at all left to move and play in this space that is mine for I never want to grow up as I am slowing growing up and it is frightening and exciting like a bloody lip with that metallic taste on your tongue and that stinging in your throat and those vibrations in your gut like you're hungry and tasting your meal before it gets into your mouth and there you are and here I am and we have successfully evade reason and thought for there is no time except this one so let us not reflect so that this moment may last forever and never die as does a bird or a fish or a deer when it flies or swims or skips out of the way of your view so that it is untitled as was this year of heaven and Hell for I know it could not have happened any other way nor will life happen any other way than it will if you don't believe than allow this to illustrate I dare you I implore you to look at a word and reflect on it and analyze and think and think and think but no matter what you thing or feel or infer or hypothesize you ain't gonna change a damn thing keep telling yourself that you will but you're not it'll never happen because no matter what it happens you can quit now or quit later and I'm never gonna quit I'm just gonna wait till my time in the present vanishes like the sun on the horizon and I have but no other choice than to make that horrible and irrevocable realization that every damn thing has come to some unknowable end.