Young Man in the Street at Night
BY JASON GANTENBERG I FEBRUARY 20, 2009

There is no way to truly understand this vast human joke. One can only feel it on paper-thin nights, lit by invisible stars kept safely out of reach in the cold folds of space, on nights where he can feel the crunch of dried-out broken hearts under the soles of his shoes. On nights like this, everything falls into impeccable and serene madness, the realization that no matter the fight, no matter the desire, the universe's counterweights are in flux and cannot be laid down, neither through defiance nor sincerity, unyielding humanity nor will.

And stepping out onto the street, he is pinned down by an unseen hand and made to understand the inexorable nature of things, that there is no hope of confluence, that he has been beaten and will remain so until he is swallowed up. This is where the knife goes in and the joke becomes apparent. Though the earth be stained with his salt, the pain is meaningless. The pain is meaningless, but it is there. There is no reason for it and no escape.

It must pass as all things do and fall into unconsciousness with the rest of his ungranted wishes.

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