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In the beginning, one of my favorite pastimes

was scratching my name across the park.

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I liked giving the place secret scars.

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I’m not sure why I did this.

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Maybe it was my little way of offering proof to the world that I’m still here?

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If you look really hard, you’ll find CODA carved into the side of a roller coaster here, or some split piece of metal there, twisted up into a double helix in an instant by the blast.

 

Check the underside of a railing or find me scrawled across an old flimsy mobile cart where they once kept cold the cartoon popsicles and overpriced bottles of water. Even etched it into the giant memorial bell bearing Mathison Mauswick Jr himself’s portrait, having safely unhooked and hidden away the ringer inside.

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Over 500 times you’ll find this, there abouts, graffitied across the park.

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You should always scratch out your name, though.

 

If you don't, the world surely will. 

    

I remember reading once that negation is a form of—

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