Monday, 30 October 2017

# creative writing # ironic kitsch

you bring in the worst in me


These are words inspired by the beatnik adventures of Jack Kerouac, and the brooding nymphet tales of Vladimir Nabokov. An assuming vision of love written in 2015. Heaven knows what went through my mind as a high school freshman, and I would say that there are no such things as coincidences but it's the perfect time for me to believe. To my dearest friend Cathrine (hoping that you will find this and read this) this isn't about you nor is it inspired by you. The name haunts me for different reasons that it would for you. 
He should’ve seen from the look in my eyes what was missing, because the only thing that could set me free was the existence of his madness. His brilliant, burning madness that pushed me straight into a nomadic tipping point and spiraled into a frenzy of unconscious wandering.

If one day he felt that Brooklyn had nothing left for him – unsurprised by the ironic kitsch – he’d flee to Nevada in an instant. I’d follow him. I’d follow him to the farthest horizon reaching Michigan. I’d follow him from Michigan to Iowa and he’d tell me that I had gone too far this time. Too far from home, and too far from reality. Take me home. He’d cry to take me home, but I’d always respond by telling him that there was nothing to look back to because we had nothing much to lose, and maybe he’d respond by telling me that I was right and he was wrong. Elias never admitted he was wrong. Though when he did, I could remember falling in love with everything he had to say faster than reading the memoirs of road dogs and degenerates from the past. The failed, homeless poets, who never made a penny in and out of their existence, who had to forget about fading away into obscurity because there was nothing obscure to fade into in the first place. He was an embodiment of the many romantic souls before him, but he was no forgettable presence like the rest of them. Everything I did was for Elias. Everything I loved was for Elias.

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