From the Editor’s Perch

“I can’t go on. I must go on.”

A Samuel Beckett Kind of Place

“The reality is embarrassing.  Being me just doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.” 

  – John, incarcerated sex offender

You needn’t be a sex offender to feel like this at times.  Tell a joke that doesn’t fly.  Make an observation which falls flat.  Voice a comment which brings down a storm of contempt, and it’s easy to feel like you’d best shuck your skin – like you’ve joined the wrong group, or are walking around in a dystopia with a sign saying, “Kick me!” stuck to your back.

But these are small quibbles next too looking into the mirror fifty or sixties years running and realizing that what you see was never in the running.  You’re authentic alright.  And what you see is just what you’ve got.  Where’s the medal?  Where are the rewards and approbation?  Where is the approving God, Who has accomplished just what He intended, through you?

I relish the essay which digs a hole that just grows darker and darker until there is no light whatsoever and no foreseeable exit, right down to bedrock: a Samuel Beckett kind place where you “can’t go on…” but you “must go on…”  I find these sorts of essays hilarious, enjoyable and above all, relaxing.  Because only people who don’t mind losers, who dwell on losers, who think losing is just fine, emblematic of the human condition, in fact! and just one of those things which most often happens  – are real.

Okay.  Throw up now.  Return to the top of essay, and repeat until you feel better.

Photo in the back of a Ballard Bar by Carl Nelson