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he said,"i can't stand it anymore."
|
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and banged his head against the wall
|
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screamed, "it's not real."
|
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|
spread his arms as if crucified
|
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and began to bounce from wall to wall around the empty room
|
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|
we called his
|
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in which he had never lived.
|
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we had moved while he was at school
|
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and he never came home
|
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until after our parents divorced
|
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|
and left the house for him to rent his room.
|
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|
screaming, "i want something real
|
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|
i want something you can touch and feel
|
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|
something you can hold in your hand.
|
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|
it's not real it's theory
|
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|
it's all just fucking theory
|
|
|
they make something up and then try to test it
|
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|
but it's space
|
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|
they can't really test it
|
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|
it's all too far away, millions of miles away
|
|
|
they're all just guessing they don't really know
|
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|
they may think they're right but they don't know
|
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|
it might as well be fucking star trek
|
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|
and i'm tired of it, i can't stand it anymore."
|
|
|
he slouched exhausted, and began to weep.
|
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|
i tried to comfort him for a while, until he crawled away
|
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|
off into the bathroom to be sick
|
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|
and fell asleep in the bathtub
|
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|
snoring
|
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|
loud all night.
|
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|
and the next day
|
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|
he asked me what had happened
|
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|
what he had said.
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