In solitude I have found knowledge I sought,
Why should I, when I hold papyrus from my Lord?
Let heart guide our pens.
By Mory Keita
I hate happy people and their happy lives, for they wear happy glasses-- Lens that makes them smile while the neighbor's house burn. When you're dying of hunger in the street, these mockingbirds fly by you without a glance. They fly, jump, sing,“Hooray life's beautiful!” They read their magazines in the subway while a mother begs for silver coins to feed the tiny, innocent creature in her arms. They fucking drive hummers aware that earth's slowly dying of pollution. Happy glasses are awesome! with them life's mellow and rosy, Illusions and reality blend and all you see is happiness, while sorrow gnaw your soul. Oh sister, I am not happy and will not be happy, for these happy people, I have learned, are but sad clowns wearing happy masks. Damn be them happy people, fuck them all. How can you be indifferent to the human condition when there's too much pain and suffering in this world? Oh Mr. Happy man, what will you do when your happy glasses break? When the weight of reality befall upon you? When you find yourself in Mr Sadman's shoes?
he was 65, his wife was 66, had Alzheimer's disease. he had cancer of the mouth. there were operations, radiation treatments which decayed the bones in his jaw which then had to be wired. daily he put his wife in rubber diapers like a baby. unable to drive in his condition he had to take a taxi to the medical center, had difficulty speaking, had to write the directions down. on his last visit they informed him there would be another operation: a bit more left cheek and a bit more tounge. when he returned he changed his wife's diapers put on the tv dinners, watched the evening news then went to the bedroom, got the gun, put it to her temple, fired. she fell to the left, he sat upon the couch put the gun into his mouth, pulled the trigger. the shots didn't arouse the neighbors. later the burning tv dinners did. somebody arrived, pushed the door open, saw it. soon the police arrived and went through their routine, found some items: a closed savings account and a checkbook with a balance of $1.14 suicide, they deduced. in three weeks there were two new tenants: a computer engineer named Ross and his wife Anatana who studied ballet. they looked like another upwardly mobile pair.