My own Private Graveyard

I’ve always been drawn to difference. What makes you different? For me it’s my graveyard. You see, I have my own private graveyard, but I can never remember where it is that I’ve buried myself. This amnesia always pushes me to the edge of existence, where there’s nothing to do but smoke cigarettes. When the cigarettes are gone I get down on my hands and knees and crawl back to the centre, feeling my way in the darkness for the bones that broke the surface.

William Shakespeare and Samuel Beckett helped me fill my graveyard. There are other writers that I could have mentioned, like Duke Miller, but Shakespeare and Beckett are the names that came to mind. Fame has its virtue, I suppose.

There I was, attending another one of my own burials. Shakespeare presided. He looked at me and said, “When beggars die, there are no comets seen.” Beckett held the shovel. I coughed and walked away, a writer.



6 thoughts on “My own Private Graveyard

  1. I think no matter what your name is, kids will try to make fun of it. I had a fairly “normal” last name but it got man-handled every which way. (PS – my German teacher in HS was named Herr Assmus and he was a dead-ringer for Ichabod Crane.)

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Rereading this and seeing more. I think you have changed as a writer. Have you thought about rewriting some of your stuff and making it darker? Of course, that is my preference, no light, no laughter, except from the gallows.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s