Would I give up my torment for a better life? Trade my constricted words for laughter at restaurants with jovial sorts with funny handshakes and antidotes about country life. I could chemically alter the color of my walls and meet a charming girl with a big smile and hearty laugh who will take down all my art, replace it with funny phrases painted on plaques made out of driftwood. She could lead my around by my thumb, put me in pastel shirts and feed me to a congregation of hungry Mexican food eating Presbyterians with good intentions. Maybe I could work up to being a people person and start watching the weather, get a favorite sports team and have heated arguments with co-workers over draft picks.
Could I sacrifice my darkness for happiness? I could let my doctor have his way, cleanse my mind, lose Thomas Wolfe, the eternal quest for home, the desire to walk among the downtrodden, handing in my bona fides for junk food culture and political identification which leads to more arguments. Maybe I could just catch my breath, become acquainted with the recliner, let my troubles wash away, turn from the wicked, press my face against institutional carpet, let God’s mercy pour over me as I bask in the glow of chemically manifested nothing. They are circling me with lab coats, wanting to squeeze all the labored thought out of me, but what will I have left? I stand with darkness!