From the archives…

“But that’s how it is, right? There are no happy endings here. By the very nature of this thing, there can’t be. I mean, even if you were struck by lightning at the exact height of the happiest moment of your life—like while you were cumming with that one girl you loved more than yourself, or humming your favorite song—most would still probably call that a great ball of tragic irony. Maybe that’s why we feel so cheated by books and movies, all of us who fall in love with pictures and words and impossible thoughts and love.

We only have our happy moments, waiting to be unlocked, given to us to cuddle and hold while we still can cuddle and hold things. If we write them down, they happen to stay a little longer. If we take a picture, they might decide to stay a little longer, too. If we don’t, they either slip or they just come with us to wherever it is we go when we die. Unless, of course, one of you happens to be an important President, or fascist dictator, or famous serial killer worth being remembered in history books for a little while longer than us average regulars. In either case, on a long enough timeline, all of us with all of our happy moments, end up in the same effing place.

Maybe Happy Memory Land. Maybe Detroit, Michigan. Who knows.

So they signed the papers and ate their cake and danced to bad love songs and fucked in Hawaii, the place of their honeymoon. And soon, a little later, Jimmy was a pot head. And then Heather was a receptionist. And then Jimmy was an insurance salesman. Then he dabbled in meth, but got out before it stuck. Then he was a security guard at the mall. And then Heather was a mother. And Jimmy was a father. Still they fucked like rabid bunnies. And then they bought a mini-van. Then a house fit for our white trash king and queen. And then they were a mother and father all over again. Still they fucked like violent criminals in the midst of an epic killing spree. Then Jimmy was a terrible father. And then they were older, and things started slipping. And then they learned some lessons the hard way. And then, later, Jimmy was an amazing father. And then Heather got sick. And then she got better. Still, they kissed a lot. And then Jimmy fell in love with someone else for a short while, though not long enough for Heather to notice. Then, soon after, he fell in love with Heather all over again and never fell back out until the day his memory was finally wiped clean and his body stopped ticking and tocking and doing all the boring things bodies do while we’re all too busy to notice. The tiny neurons, holding all that love and pain and heartache and joy, slowly broke apart; nature so callously oblivious as it always is to the enormity of the moment. And then, later, Heather died, too; still madly in love. Still madly falling apart.”

-jca, 2009