Just a poet without a pen
Ben Bonkoske
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Kid, Hollywood is a Dreamsicle
The veins on my hand are much more pronounced. They are beautiful hands. I never noticed, although I would have bragged, that I have scars on my knuckles. They are from a day I couldn’t make sense of it all. Couldn’t tell you what went wrong, but I know what it was.
Tonight’s main conception is about marginal improvement. I would say that my life is 100% better than it was two years ago. However, there is only a 2% difference in my quality of life. The 100% improvement is related to my diet, exercise, and living situation. The 2% difference is the way I respond, accept or deny my life. I don’t see myself punching a brick wall tonight, or tomorrow. I may cry this month, but I know I will laugh. That 2% difference is, although very subtle, paramount.
Perhaps it is just getting older. Perhaps it is the routine of life becoming more common. Having gone to the same store, and bought the same food, and been with the same people long enough to know yourself. Perhaps it is. I tell my twenty-two year old friends that life gets easier only because it becomes much more familiar to us. The more days we’ve had, the more days in class we have fucked off.
Enough classes to learn something.
I wonder what my next depression bout will look (or sound like). Perhaps I will get to the point where I will no longer wonder. I will know every emotion I will ever feel. But today, I didn’t wallow when I was discomfortable. I didn’t blow the day off because life is terrible. I didn’t do what I do 98% of the time. And that 2%, is more than a marginal improvement.
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I must til’ dust
Alright, I swore, i’d be off to bed, but to be honest, all I’ve thought about since Saturday is what I need to say. The truth is, when it comes time to reflect, I am often struck silent. Men of few words are the best men. They have the most to say but know to keep their lips closed.
First things first, they say that when you see someone in your dreams, it means they are thinking about you. Someone has been visiting my dreams, and it has been very nice to see them, no matter how much it saddens me to awaken.
It is known that weakness is an unattractive trait. And this blog, for as therapeutic as it is, and as much of a failure as I tend to be referred to as, ought to delineate something beyond my woes, weeping, self-pity, yearning, lust, sadness, and then wrap it up with some exuberant exclamation of the affinity for all things love and poetry. Personally, I enjoy the small anecdotes and theories that I come up with occasionally.
Today’s was yet another failure. And boy, was I sad about this one. I have concluded that I am Michael Jordan. Because he has his quote, “I’ve failed over and over in my life, and that is why I succeeded.” I mean I genuinely have lost count, and someone who loses count of how many times they have failed, might as well be referred to as a loser.
I believe in me. Ain’t nobody seem to want to be there for me. I think about one of my reflections that love is conditional. We’re not going down this road right now, but love is when you care to think about him, or her. My original point was that I believe in me. I know what I need to do. I will be the one writing from here to say I did do it. I did get the job, I did get the car, I did write the book and get published, and I did get the girl. I do believe.
It’s not magic. It’s not belief alone. It is just a faith that here is not the end. I’m a poor test taker. I knew that today, and my last, last, last credential before I am a licensed teacher still hangs over me. Afterhoo, I knew where to go, who to talk to, and what to do so I could sit here, and still believe. The first chapter of Infinite Jest is about a guy who tests poorly so I’m not alone when it comes to a book. And sure, I worked on my hara-kiri letter. And maybe I mention that last anecdote so that you do listen. Because I am sad as a stray cat that sees winter coming. And I can believe all I want alone, but it is people who care, and my hope that they understand.
Ben Bonkoske is the author of two novels, Spoon in the Road, and Carolina, Colorado, California. He is also the author of two collections of short stories, Ten Zen by Ben, and Eleven Stories for 11:11. He wrote his own major at the University of North Carolina, Asheville focusing on Racial Tension in America. He attended Northeastern, Illinois University where he earned a Masters of Arts in Secondary Education. He lives in Chicago, where he likes to take walks.
B. A, M.A.T.
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Ben Bonkoske 