untitled journal entry Afe589

it ended with no formal ending; no curtain call to the cast of brief memories; no rolled spool after final exposure. i just wish i had had a voice like that which the bostonians and their tea parties willed. taxation without representation has taken its toll as was evident in my reaction–mature tears and childish fucks being sung over bethoven’s pathetique. the potential left never to be realized pained me more than the present yet less than the violent misrepresentations of the past. but i adore that life is not perfect–like you. i will learn to stop trying to change it and correct it all the time and learn rather to accept its uncertainties and billowing mysteries. i will learn to love it with even greater sincerity.