Once more
Once more
Once more
Once more
Once more
Once more
And then
Twice more
A different more
A different once
Something new
A goal
An idea
An expectation
An inclining
Of potential
Never satisfied
Always moving the goal post
Once more
Again and again
The work is never truly done
It’s a perpetual state of growth
Of
Adaption
Life
And the work
Just goes
On and on
And then a song
Comes on
And it builds
The lyrics
Are angry
Frustrated
Oppressed
And something builds in me with it
A pulsing of the soul
A surge of energy
I feel as if
The next once more I’ll encounter
I’ll smash through it
And continue
Dear Camus,
What if Sisyphus had the power
To smash that boulder
With just a single punch?
What if he could just leap over it?
What if Sisyphus ran through it?
What then, Mr. Camus?
Did you kill yourself in that car?
Was life too absurd for you?
Or was it just an accident?
Were you ‘The Stranger’, Mr. Camus?
Were you detached from everything?
Was that you, Albert Camus?
Why do so many intellectuals kill themselves?
I’m not saying that was you, Mr. Camus,
Because we don’t know, do we?
Once more, Mr. Camus?
Forever, once more?
Yes?
Then here we go.
Jumping into a once more
Because it is
What life
Asks of me
A new song comes on
And I imagine Albert sitting next to me
Sipping tea
With his legs crossed
And a lady sitting next to him
His hair is slicked back
Like usual
And his posture
Is relaxed
Too relaxed
The type of relaxed that gets mistaken for arrogance
I imagine walking up to him
And asking him
If he really did
Give up
I think he’d laugh at me
And tell me that I’ll never know
And then he’d whisper something in the ladies ear
She’d laugh
And I’d kick the tea out of his hands
And sock him right in his soft nose.
The lady would scream
He’d hold his nose
Catching the blood in his hands
And he’d try to yell profanities at me
Through his hands full of blood
I’d scream at him that he can’t give up
He has to be the example
He has to live his philosophy
They’d kick me out of the coffee shop
And he’d follow
His lady
Still in hysteria
“It was just an accident, Chester. It was just an accident . . . We lost control of the car - it’s true! You believe me, don’t you?”
I would see a sad man - covered in his own blood - about ready to give up on life.
And I’d say,
“Fuck you, Albert Camus.”
Then I’d punch him again.
“Fuck you, Albert Camus.”
Then I’d head out to face another once more.
-C.H.