Murphy

The First & Last Seventeen Hours & Five Minutes of My Life

For seventeen hours and five minutes (roughly, that is),

I've been sitting, standing, walking, talking, breathing, and bathing confusion.

For seventeen hours and five minutes I was lost in an

unrealistic world of torment, anger, and depression. Confusion.

For seventeen hours and five minutes I was the Jewish

War Prisoner about to be nuked in the Holocaust (well ...

they didn't have microwave technology back then, but you get the picture).

Confusion: the act of confusing of state of being confused.

For two minutes I admit I almost felt content. Then

I said what I had to say and I was flattened to a puddle

of cold blood.

Cold.

For seventeen hours and five minutes I was cold, afraid of the possibilities

("the possibilities are endless")

and the future.

But out of these seventeen hours and five minutes,

I was only afraid for two minutes.

For two minutes (out of seventeen hours and five minutes) I was

dead.

Shattered like the windows of perception, and confusion.

Confusion.

My confusion is now gone, and I will fight it forever;

for this confusion was like a plague (not black, but --

oh, I don't know -- navy blue -- yeah, that's good).

A plague that you have to fight once you overcome it.

I overcame my fear; now, I'm slowly melting it

away, like candle wax. Soon,

all that's left is the wick.

The core.

The heart.

The soul.