Friday, December 28, 2012 at the Eaton Centre
Rookie Year Book One
Edited by Tavi Gevinson
Somewhere above me, a sky sings. It’s the Lord’s prayer. The Lord of prayers that I don’t believe in anymore. It still sings. It sings for other people, not for me. I asked it to stop but you can’t control the whole world. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Someone else asks for it, and thy will be done, etc. etc. I’m just another number to them. The church, the people who pray, the believing ones. I’m the number 666 to most of them because they don’t see my logic or my rational. They like to pretend that I’m still a number worth saving. Worth turning into something holy, like 3, or 333, or some multiple of the aforementioned numbers that keeps me in the good books.
The good book is something I’d like to avoid if I can…
It kept me from nightmares when I was 6 (interesting) because I’d put it under my pillow to warn the underworld that I was armed and I wasn’t kidding. It kept me from ending up with a guy who would have ruined me when I was 16 (6 again. Curious.). And it kept me from falling off the edge when I was only hoping to land feet first when I was 18 (nobody’s perfect). Somewhere below me, a man in a red suit dances around, laughing, at every inappropriate thing I’ve ever said or done, and he’s taking credit for it as if it were his idea or initiative. The sky above me sings, the man below me dances. What song does he hear, I wonder sometimes. The one that plays from my youth, or the one that I’ve crafted since then?