Cold shower

My friends here assembled tonight:

I propose a toast. A toast

to the thousandth life I haven't lived.

Another I couldn't possibly live

for it only exists in my mind, alas,

and will never come to pass.

I am sure each and every one of you present

has at one point dreamt of a better existence,

of a better prospect, of a better dream.

I am also sure that you have dreamt

for every or no reason at all,

just for the sake of dreaming a good dream,

even if it were just a five-minute daydream,

or to escape a sanity-shattering moment.

To be honest, a short daydream in the shower

is worth more to me than any of the dumb hours

I spend doing something I hate

or talking to people with whom I can't relate.

Today was my thousandth of these fantasies.

I won't tell you what happened but let's say

that apocalypse always had for me

more modelling power than the finest landscape.

More appeal to me had my own mindscapes

where I would lay the first stone to my empire,

defying all the laws we have here on earth.

Today made me realise

I am the Crowhurst of literature –

even if my death did serve

no other purpose

than to make me feel more alive –

accepting this as my very nature.

Nothing I wrote will ever be put in quote,

yet it's all good, all good, for once I stood

on a pulpit and received a Nobel gloat,

which made me stop knocking on wood.

Now my dear friends, whose realness

must be questioned against facts,

regard daydream as dismissing with tact

all that smarts and defines and brings,

for one can bear too much of real things.

So I am left with the one stunt to do today:

go take a shower and put the water so hot

that my skin will flake and peel and clot

and in the most painful way will pass away

ridiculously curled up at the bottom of the tub.

And good luck to the one who will have to scrub.

Last daydream of mine, but the only one

which will obey enough laws of physics,

social determinism and thermodynamics

to be able to come to be a home run.

Eventually, though beaten

and exiled and spurned,

do what you will to quieten,

reality always has the last word.

Toast!