clear your head. get it out all of it. hear nothing but the pounding of your brain on its prison walls, feel nothing but the steady vibration, the sickening beat as it smashes itself into pulp day after day after day after day, oozing through cracks, out your ears, out of your eyes. take control now. stop it, restrict it, not violently but actively. focus on the front of the inside of your skull, the impact point, worn thin by years of pressure, stained a sickening rust brown, almost lets light in. focus on that spot and keep your brain still, control it, dammit, do not let it slip free.
now imagine you're in Arizona. Or outside Amarillo, it doesn't matter. Route 66, or a few yards away, close enough to feel connected to the comfort you've grown accustomed to, far enough away to forget it. look around you. lie down. don't worry, it's your imagination, no scorpions or beetles or diamondback rattlers will get you unless you want them to. the sand is soft and warm. the sky is enormous, the horizon is inescapable, everything is the horizon, even the tumbleweed drifting past you. doesn't it already look like the bomb went off? doesn't it already seem you're the only person left? what will you do? strike out for LA, find a body still warm with radiation and a home with a confused conception of luxury? Or will this view do as your last?
***
i was educated in a church. the world was not introduced to me by impartial individuals attempting to impart essential sounds for my database, seekers of the next step in evolution they would eventually stumble into. the world was laid out to me by men and women with their genitals firmly clasped in the wrought-iron folds of bibles. at a time when the world was just starting to come into view, at a time when i was just starting to pay attention, at a time when i only had names for a few things in my database, i found myself under the influence of overwhealming idealism and ignorance, i found myself being guided down a path by people who pitched camp at the entrance and never left. and i never went to any holy land because there's no such thing, but i went to tennessee once on a mission trip which makes no damn sense to me now, going to Tennessee as a missionary. those people don't need to be converted, they had it before we did, i bet. they needed money, food, supplies, and some tick cream for their fucking dogs. they got a handful of indoctrinated kids to shift railroad ties, paint their houses, and take their trash away. at night those kids cried their eyes out because they were told to. most of them probably knew what they were doing. most of them understood. most of them believed what they were saying, what they were told they were feeling. i was being told how i felt. i had my inner-workings forced upon me, the idea of right and wrong, the idea of sane and insane, it was not my decision to make, and now i'm calling bullshit because there isn't some big power up there that made you and me except maybe an alien race from a higher dimension, our programmers, our manufacturers, who painstakingly programmed our start-up and shut-down sequences, hard-wired our instruction manuals deep inside our bodies so we'd know how to create more of ourselves without them. they left us here once we started becoming aware, they didn't want their machines rebelling against them, they'd seen that movie. I hope they're happy out there in their dimension, millions of leaps and bounds ahead of us in evolution, so far ahead we cannot even percieve their existance, i hope they're real fucking proud of themselves, and i hope someday they come here and see what they've done. I hope on that day, too, that the universe collapses into nothingnesss and all living matter is wiped clean. it'd serve them fucking right.
***
A large man crying on the train.
Is it wrong to stare?
Would it ease his sorrow at all to turn
and find a withering bag of worthless bones
paying attention to him when no one else will?
***
Raw materials are wealth
Hardened, compressed volcanic heat is worth.
Dust-free is a Good Life.
A Good Life is what we all want.
A Good Life is a crock of shit.
***
All i really want out of life
is one beautiful day,
the promise of a better one to follow,
and to die in my sleep between the two.
***
Our grandparents earned the right to be assholes.
Their grandparents earned the right to be monsters.
Their grandparents earned the right to claim they had rights because their grandparents had to fight to earn anything.
This is a load of crap, isn't it? i think it's time i cheer up.
if a smile is a frown turned upside-down, you're still frowning, you're just standing on your head.
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