In denial. Of
reality. That’s my friend Julie. She’s an alcoholic. And refuses to
admit it. But I. And everyone. Are we all deniers?
Of the reality. Of life. Pretenders. In the pursuit of happiness. Julie
pretends that wine makes her happy. Momentarily contented. Because the wine
obliterates her mind. Sends her into a stupor. That she thinks. Eases her pain.
Her anguish. Her sadness. Meanwhile, I imagine becoming spirit. To escape my
physical reality. For a happier place. I
claim to be happy. Despite my yearning.
For a better form of happiness. I want it all. Perfection. Even if that means
hypnotizing. My brain. My mind. Into flights of fancy. --Jim Broede
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