Funeral Monologue

“Everything is more complicated than you think, you only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make, you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you wont know for twenty years and you may never ever trace it to its source and you only get one chance to play it out… just try and figure out your own divorce.

And they say there is no fate; but there is: it is what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second, most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born; but while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look, from someone or something to make it alright… but it never comes, but it seems to but it doesn't really.

So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved; and the truth is: I feel so angry! And the truth is: I feel so fucking sad! And the truth is: I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m ok, just to get along just for… I dont know why.

Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery; because they have their own.

Well: fuck everybody!

Amen.”

“Everything is more complicated than you think, you only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make, you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you wont know for twenty years and you may never ever trace it to its source and you only get one chance to play it out… just try and figure out your own divorce.

And they say there is no fate; but there is: it is what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second, most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born; but while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look, from someone or something to make it alright… but it never comes, but it seems to but it doesn't really.

So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved; and the truth is: I feel so angry! And the truth is: I feel so fucking sad! And the truth is: I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m ok, just to get along just for… I dont know why.

Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery; because they have their own.

Well: fuck everybody!

Amen.”