The Corner

The corner isn’t just for drug pushers, prostitutes, or winos. Everyone needs to spend some time on the corner. That corner of your mind carved from the rest of your preoccupations with a big sign that reads, ME ONLY. Everyone needs one of these corners. It has to be carved in a way where only you could possibly fit through the door, only you have the key, and only you know where it is. Think of it as your sanctuary, you know like the church in medieval Europe where one running from the king, goons, or any other enemy could go to as a refuge, where they would be safe from “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Only this sanctuary would do best outfitted with padding, soundproof, and like a bomb shelter able to withstand a nuclear holocaust, and a surround sound system, with a lot of bass, and queued with your favorite tunes, some deep shit, some shit that makes you slip into a sort of coma, a blissful one, and you may want to have some marijawana there if that’s your thing. Yeah everyone needs such a corner. You can’t go to this corner all the time, you have to go there sparingly, otherwise it becomes the refuge of a coward. Even superman needed a fortress of solitude. Surly we lowly humans need at least a corner. A corner to live when the world seeks your death. Give it a name if you want, get a tattoo with its name on your shoulder, make it your imaginary friend and give it a kiss once in a while. Whatever the hell you do, just make sure you get one.