[the Writing of Kuypers][JanetKuypers.com][Bio][Poems][Prose]


killing the tired 2005

started 08/30/98, converted to prose 09/25/05

I know I should be able to do much better than this. I know that people should be leaving me free money, but I don’t know what to do with myself. I should have people showering me with attention all the time, since everyone has nothing better to do with their time.

Why do I think everyone has it harder than me?
I’ll come to the answer to that sooner or later, trust me, but for now I will always be the one who is busy doing something wrong.

I had a headache for over 6 hours, and no medication helped in the past 6 hours. Nothing gets better for me. I should have known that would have happened — I should have known that in advance.
It seems that sometomes I just get all the bad breaks. It makes me feel sorry for myself, when I have nothing to think about except my own sorry feelings.
My fingers are freezing in this stpid house. The air conditioning has been on all summer, and the air is on now, and I’m wearing a sweater and slippers right now with my freezing fingers and theere’s no one to complain to, because no one is around here that can answer the simplest of questions around here. That’s the rule of the day, I suppose. Maybe I should start doing that, too. when everyone realizes there’s no one left to ask, maybe then people will start trying to answer their own useless questions.

It’s almost two in the afternoon and there’s nothing to eat for lunch in the fridge.
My mother has bad paintings here that match anything in here, and she also has pieces of artwork that don’t relate to anything, either. I guess that’s just me venting.

I wish my soul makes an ounce of sense, I hate it when people don’t make any sense, so apparently their ideas are well, the lord and master. I wish more things in the world made sense. Then I’d be able to make more sense out of things. That’s what I’d say.

Sometimes I wish it would just be easier if someone just killed me and got the whole process overwith, or if I could be forced to live into old age. I don’t know if either option would ever be anything to me.
This is what happens in my mind when I’ve got nothing better to do with time or other pointless questions. That’s just my theory. Am I really that sad? Do I really have nothing better to do? I don’t know.

Everyone else has control over my decisions, my choices, and my life. That’s it. That seems natural.

Sometimes I think that all people are just out to get me. Sometimes I think people just want me to be unhappy all the time. That would seem natural. I think I want to be unsappy all the time, anyway. That would be fitting. So to speak.

I know I am better than all the fake paintings and all the fake meanings that means nothing to anyone, I know I am better than so much around here, and now I don’t have a job, and now I don’t have any money, and now I can’t even have a good argument with someone about religion, or philosophy, or something I might have learned in school once. This is how it gets when you get older. When you wait for age to tear you apart. That’s what life is all about. Get ready for it.

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Chicago poet Janet Kuypers
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