Non-BS Perspiring

on

In response to Daily Post’s daily prompt: borrowed, I wrote a found poem where every word is borrowed from David Foster Wallace, mostly his speech This is Water.

I learned this the hard way.

The deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe

What the hell is water?

I learned this the hard way.

 

Go to the supermarket. Drive your car.

Then maneuver the junky cart through soul-killing

Muzak or Corporate Pop. Get told to “Have

A nice day” in a voice that is the absolute voice of

Death. Creepy, flimsy plastic bags of grocery, of

Your default setting, of traffic jam.

This is the rat race, the setting

Of being a slave to your head. Dead long before death.

Atheism, not of religion, but of life.

 

Now, the bandana: a recognition of a weakness, which is that I’m just kind of worried that my head’s gonna

explode, on fire with the same force that lit the stars: love,

Fellowship, and the mystical oneness of all things deep down.

 

This is water.

If anybody feels like perspiring, go ahead, because

The capital-T truth is about life before death.

 

 

 

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