How noble in reason, How infinite in faculty…In apprehension, how like a god, The paragon of animals. As much as Hamlet’s self reflection glows at the outset, it slumps in the end. What is this quintessence of dust? No, man delights me not; no, nor woman neither.

Everyone, each and every one of us, disappoints in the end, not just our government lying and hoarding, but our family and friends not there, our nearest and dearest terribly sorry that they forgot, or worst of all, me and you, looking back at each other cow-eyed.

This isn’t so much the big things – the state-sponsored murders and collapse of world order – but more the moments that we hold tight, that made us realize the essential sham, for me, the Mad Hatter themed birthday party I went to when I was ten, the promise of food-fighting madness turning out to be being yelled at as our Redi-Whip sodden plates flopped to the ground, or visiting the CHUM radio station for my contest prize and being directed to pick out an LP from a discard box in the corner. This was victory.

Disappointments continue unabated not because I am a failing writer nor my failures in relationships nor even my success at getting fired but because of what this is, a demanding vortex that surrenders nothing but more days to witness everything go to hell. The good news is that, like the song says, The first cut is the deepest. More of the same is on the way. I would only say that it’s best to keep the curtain closed; if there’s anything back there, it’s a pestilent old man, and he wants to rape you.