Another Hole In The Wall

Another Hole In The Wall

(Editors note: this is the final part of an unofficial series as old as the blog itself. Read Part I , Part II, Part III and Part IV.)

There’s another hole in the wall.

How did that happen?

Isn’t that how we began?

Maybe it’s the same hole, and the house I built to cover it up, was a waste.

Maybe the heat of the fireplace was too hot, burst into flames, and tore my house down.

Have I been playing at theater? Is there no escaping my hole?

Don’t touch it, don’t come near it, don’t talk about it.

It hurts too much.

How much paint? How much spackle? How many houses?

What’s a house but a building that convinces you there are no unprotected holes? When the whole thing is just one big hole?

Maybe it’s time to stop running away from this hole? 

Time to live in it. Time to be it.

There’s no more escaping.

The house, the house I built, I burned it down – on accident. The fire, the fire was to keep warm. But it scorched me, and everyone inside, spared no one. Nobody.

There’s another hole in the wall now, bigger than the last, but maybe the old hole never went away, it just took a break from sight.

Perhaps we’re looking at it all wrong?

Maybe wounds don’t need covering, maybe they just need claiming.

Maybe we moved on to quickly to the building of houses, and never discussed the merit of holes in walls.

Maybe a hole in the wall–not a good thing–is not really a bad thing either.

Maybe, wait a minute–maybe it’s a way out.

Maybe it’s a way out of having to build houses.

Maybe we need to run away from housebuilding. Maybe the hole is a doorway, to another way.

I’m done with painting, building, and architecture.

It’s time I place my arm into that break in the wall, my shoulder, my whole head, my entire body. Dissapear inside the hole in the wall, and never look behind me.

Yup. That’s it.

It’s a doorway, it’s always been a doorway.

The way to freedom.

I will be a free man.

Another Hole In The Wall

This burnt house is empty now. There used to me a man who lived here, he painted over the hole in his wall; then he built more walls, and then, finally, he made a home.

But he never was supposed to struggle or sacrifice or suffer in the process.

He was supposed to walk through the hole in the wall at the outset, because that was god’s doorway.

One day he understood, and after so much toil and trouble, he sighed and vanished in the hole, dissapeared completely.

Don’t be sad. He’s still alive (in fact he’s more alive now than he ever was).

The burnt house is just an artifact now, for a time when he tried.

On the other side of that wall, through the tunnel, through the break, he found paradise.


He invites you to join him. The way is there, through the hole in your wall.

Through the wound. Not away from it.

You’ll make it. We all do.


“Don’t give up on me, ’cause I’m just in a rut

I’m climbing but the walls keep stacking up

Can’t keep my mind off of every little wrong

I see the mouths are open but I can’t hear the song

I’ve done my best to fill ’em, but the cracks are starting to spread

Hey, I won’t blame you baby, go on, turn your head

But don’t give up on me, ’cause I’m just in a rut

I’m climbing but the walls keep stacking up

I can’t keep pretending this next stop isn’t mine

The truth is on the table, and someone’s gotta sign

I’ve done my best defending, but the punches are starting to land

I’m sliding into something you won’t understand.”

From “Rut” by The Killers

Categories: Writer's Journal