Super ['sʊpɚ] Sad True Love Story
By Gary ['ɡæri] Shteyngart
DO NOT GO GENTLE ['dʒɛntl]
FROM THE DIARIES ['daɪəri] OF LENNY ABRAMOV
JUNE [dʒun] 1 Rome [rəum]–New York
Dearest ['diərist] Diary ['daɪəri],
Today I’ve made a major ['medʒɚ] decision: I am never going to die. Others [ʌðɚz] will die around me. They will be nullified /'nʌlɪ'fai/. Nothing of their personality will remain. The light switch will be turned off. Their lives [laɪvz], their entirety [ɪn'taɪərəti], will be marked by glossy ['ɡlɑsi] marble /'mɑrbl/ headstones ['hɛdston] bearing false summations [sʌ'meʃən] (“ her star shone [ʃon] brightly ['braɪtlɪ],” “never to be forgotten,” “he liked jazz”), and then these too will be lost in a coastal ['kostl] flood [flʌd] or get hacked [hækt] to pieces ['pisɪz] by some genetically [dʒə'nɛtɪklɪ] modified future-turkey ['tɝki].
Don’t let them tell you life’s a journey /'dʒɝni/ . A journey is when you end up somewhere. When I take the number ['nʌmbɚ] 6 train to see my social worker, that’s a journey. When I beg /bɛɡ/ the pilot /'paɪlət/ of this rickety /'rɪkəti/ UnitedContinental/ˌkɑntɪ'nɛntl/Deltamerican plane currently trembling [‘trɛmblɪŋ] its way across the Atlantic [ət'læntɪk] | to turn around and head straight [stret] back to Rome and into Eunice ['ju:nis] Park’s fickle ['fɪkl] arms [ɑrmz], that’s a journey.
But wait. There’s more, isn’t there? There’s our legacy ['lɛgəsi]. We don’t die because our progeny ['prɑdʒəni] lives on! The ritual ['rɪtʃuəl] passing of the DNA, Mama’s /'mæmə/ corkscrew ['kɔrkskru] curls [kɝls], his granddaddy’s['ɡræn,dædi] lower lip, ah [ɑ] buh-lieve /liːv/ thuh chil’ren ah our future. I’m quoting /kwotɪŋ/ here from “The Greatest Love of All,” by 1980s pop diva [‘divə] Whitney [‘hwɪtni] Houston ['hju:stən], track nine of her eponymous [ɪ'pɑnɪməs] first LP.
Utter /'ʌtɚ/ nonsense ['nɑnsɛns] . The children ['tʃɪldrən] are our future only in the most narrow /'næro/ , transitive ['trænsətɪv] sense /sɛns/. They are our future until they too perish ['pɛrɪʃ]. The song’s next line, “Teach them well and let them lead the way,” encourages an adult’s ['ædʌlt] relinquishing /rɪ'lɪŋkwɪʃ/ of selfhood in favor of future generations. The phrase [frez] “I live for my kids,” for example, is tantamount ['tæntə'maʊnt] to admitting [əd'mɪt] that one will be dead shortly and that one’s life, for all practical ['præktɪkl] purposes, is already over. “I’m gradually ['grædʒʊəli] dying['daɪɪŋ] for my kids” would be more accurate ['ækjərət] .
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