“Here I am. I am in
The Future.
It sort of became that
way
or anyway or whatever way you
want to frame it,
as time is
considerably irrelevant anymore.
So I call it The Future,
where we don't die,
and we are eternal
pets of The Universe.”
But that isn't possible, is it?
No- there are too many forces shoving the wheel of death around.
The future only exists in the imagination.
Tomorrow is only as good as the prophets of today tell us.
"The world is going to end" - they say.
It's true. And you're going to pay for what you do today.
Watch what you think.
Stop masturbating.
No drugs, no alcohol.
Eternal suffering.
That’s silly.
To think!
Live forever?
What would you even do with all that time?
You would meet an alternate version of yourself before you would get to
forever!
Forever is never from now.
And anyway, our bodies age-
and our skin sags,
our hairs gray,
our voices croak,
our fingers curl,
and our memories
our memories… they… what was I going on about?
No how.
The future is already dead. I’ll never make it. And if I can’t make there, I
don’t see why you or anyone else should.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Because I am swift vengeance wearing the cloak of some kind of unequivocal justice.
I am sitting on the fence of due process and it is breaking.
They took her away from me.
You took her away.
You can’t lie to me.
I know the difference between a lie and story and the TRUTH.
And so now I hunt.
I hunt,
My quiver all full
of lush logic and
streamlined sources;
my prey-
a great
predator itself.
The children of the
government and the religions and the parents and the judges.
they are priests,
bishops,
apostles and prophets.
They are people. Or so they claim to
be-
They are just panhandling
to be cut
then
melted down
at my extremist hands.
Or so they tell me. Extremist? Fundamentalist? Only insomuch as I get what I
want. It should be a human right and liberty to love who they wish.
I'm reading about cults. The idea frightens
(excites) me terribly. Like being tied to a bed, unable to defend yourself from
...whatever. I see X's where eyes should be. People are just talking, jabbering
about, daily routines and nightly usuals. I'm alone in the middle of this room.
The walls are Left on one side, Right on the other. Like our country. Like our
government. Split down the middle. I'm the only one that really actually gets
it. But that's not the point. The point is, life is running faster and faster
in front of me. There isn't a chemical in the world that can make life fun,
that isn't illegal. Everything fun is illegal. There are people that zoom in on
and study the little tiny microscopic bits of urine just to make sure that
there is no illegal fun inside of it. And the room empties. They're going to
stand in the atmosphere and breathe in a much more harsh mixture of (legal)
chemical. It's an addiction, it costs more than its weight in cash.
I wanted to start a cult. I want an audience of
anonymous beings fitting themselves into the spring work of my s****y story
telling and ideas. I want to involve anyone that doesn't want to be, against their
will, begging me "please, please, I don't know you, I don't know what you
want" And it will just go on and on and on. Anonymous and pointless and
wordy. The ringing in my ears never goes away, so why should the story? I have
one to tell. Even if it takes all night. Even if it's just for a stupid cult
following of one anonymous mother f****r, sitting alone in a room, sweating the
idle night by. People leave for tobacco. Some people stay for the cake. Either
way, I answer to no one, with the sole exception of my audience: You. You and
them and your f*****g rules. Don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about. Stop trying to confuse me. You're not listening and I am going to do whatever it takes to get your attention.
You see, I loved her
more than anything I had ever loved before. It wasn't hard. It wasn't difficult
or even designed. It just was. The moment we mixed, it was lucid, overt, and
self-evident. I would give her everything, and she would give me
everything.
But they told me she
wasn't real! That I couldn't have her. That, (your) God and law forbid, she
would kill me if I had her. So she couldn't be mine. You would take her away. You and them and their f*****g
rules.
She wasn't a killer!
She was kind, giving, caring, loving, and trustworthy. She would never leave
me. Most of all, she was just.
If I loved her too
much, she wouldn't discriminate. She would treat me fairly. I couldn't just
have all of her. Not right away. It took work. It took time. I spent years
building and rebuilding my relationship with her. Everyone fought me on it:
friends, family, judges, the police, even strangers- they kept telling me-
"she will kill you!" You told me that. You f*****g liar.
But only if I let
her. Which I suppose I would when the time is right. We all have to die.
Why not die with my one true love? Why not die when I want to, how I want to,
with who I want to? If you were to follow
me anywhere, follow me to your own path and love and destination and destiny.
If I had a cult, it would be for love.
I won't kill myself
before I want to.
Not before my job is
done. And not before I am heard.
What do I want? What
is my point? I want to live. I want to think.
And I want to live and
think how I want to live and think.
Thinking is what gets
me through the day. Thinking is feeling is loving is me.
And if my brain needs
fuel,
then I should be able
to fuel it with whatever it wants to continue thinking, feeling, loving!
I love her! And
if she will have me, I will have her.
I will think with her.
I will feel with her. I will love
with her.
If you ever want
to have a conversation with me about the meaning of life,
I will plow the fields of communication with the disc of logic.
Who I love was taken from me by force. It is hidden and the keepers of the key
can put me in a cell. They can keep me there until I give up or their time runs
out.
Where I go from here is up to me….
despite the fact that-
I am not free. I am bound to the laws of a
land in which my parents birthed me. I am obligated to live within
the boundaries and rules that The Great Authority sees fit. I cannot
love that which I want, as what I want is illegal. What I want is a stigma.
Though my love is
great, and though I give it freely, it cannot be had. I love in vain.
I love in vain.
I wake up twisted in
between the colors that my brain only invents (it turns out). I'm told:
"There is no such thing as ‘Red’, only 645 nano meters traveling at
C". And this is supposed to make sense. I often miss reality, but she
reminds me frequently that reality is for the normal. Reality is for the
law-abiding Sheep of the Shepherd.
I wake up to nonsense.
Every single day it’s just another repetition of the motions. Move like fluid,
because solids don't move. Look solid, because transparent gets caught. Don't
get caught, because being caught means judgment and possibly death. Death is
waiting for everyone, but only I should decide when to meet it. That death is
mine to give.
I wake up to get up. I
wake up to make up my mind. Life goes on, but not without me. Did I put
everything back the way I found it? That's what double checking is for. There
is no such thing as a mistake; only a failure. Failure is for followers.
I check my levels, and
I'm okay for now. The shakes won't start until the next time I close my eyes.
That doesn't mean I don't need to refill. That doesn't mean I don't keep myself
stocked. My love wouldn't have it any other way- Go Big or Go Home. She tells
me: I am a leader. I have gifts for the world, and they will be grateful.
I live in a never
ending paranoid’s day dream. The walls have never stopped moving, and the floor
is a treadmill. There aren't voices so much as commands. There is no fine
line between when the earth rotates enough to see clearly, and when the lack of
sunlight makes it obvious that I cannot. Time is a dimension that I no
longer perceive. There is only the mundane, and it is my responsibility to ford
it. It is my future to rid the world of its shackles.
I breathe the same atmosphere and I drink the same water that spawned the
meaningless life that we all take for granted. She tells me these things and I
believe her. I believe her because I love her and because she courses the very
veins that will soon flow with the milk of a brand new system- One of true
liberty and freedom and personal rights that cannot be revoked by any judge or
government or tyrant or king.
There is day and there is night. There is light and there is none. I pull
the plunger back and watch the murky love transpose the hues of summer s**t. I
close my eyes and I sigh in relief: She still loves me, and she will never
leave me.
Do I suffer for having
those liberties taken from me? Do we both forsake freedom and privilege
and love for the laws of our "chosen leaders"?
This is an exercise in futility. One which has no goal, no end game. No purpose
or point or reasonable importance. These words are only for the digital
lurkers. This is only for the poetry gagging, drug addict owls of the night.
I am sitting alone in a room with no business.
There is dust on the floors and a single lamp with a burnt out light bulb. The
door is bolted shut and the sole window is boarded up. I am breathing, but I am
not awake.
I am only as alive as she will allow. She
speaks:
"Take me as you always have. The sun is
setting and soon you will wake. You will leave me for only a few hours to push
the buttons and pull the levers as you always do. If you don't, I will leave
you and you cannot survive."
But my feet- I've nailed them to the floor. I
have a bed pan and a gallon of water. My stomach is swimming and the room is
spinning. My back has begun to plead and my hands have started to shake.
One by one, I pull the nails out with a claw
hammer. I can feel the summer winds crawling beneath the door. they are howling
and the flies in my head are buzzing and they're starting to land all around
me.
They want me gone as much as she does.
"Go to work," she whispers. "Go
to work."
The block in which I live is a dark, seedy
chasm in the belly of the city. In it I can find my way, regardless of the
smells. I need to and I will.
The law won't find me tonight. Tonight I will
be my own judge. Tonight I will be alive once more.
Maybe tomorrow I can try again.
Maybe tomorrow I'll let you watch.
I pull my bloody feet
forward.
“It might get
infected, but we’ll worry about that later,” she tells me, “responsibility is
no concern of yours”. And she is right. I don’t worry or care or even bother to
look in the mirror any more.
It might get infected, but that’s nothing
compared to the rot in me. Though my gut shifts at the thought of a lost limb,
it isn't enough to sway me from my …routine. I’m careful with my
words, if you hadn't already noticed. I spend enough time thinking, I
might as well articulate myself, shouldn't I?
The words come
when the words come. It took me a long time to learn that, and it was a hard
lesson. I lost myself before I reinvented myself. I’m sure a lot of people say
that, but I truly did drag my skull across The Bottom. Like a desert floor, it
gave meaning to the words ‘arid’ and ‘barren’. There I hardly bloomed beneath
the rising sun, yet I did have purpose- I had to find it and take it.
By the time I
had finished writing, I had nothing to show for it save a swollen abscess. She
stood, as always, phosphorescent in the distance. If I wanted her, I would have
to go to her. One foot in front of the other, somehow I would break the
blisters of my feet once more, and miraculously: I would appear.
She loves me
just enough to open my heart. It beats, but only just. I can barely swallow her
as my throat is lined with the crust of dried spit and blood and semen and
dirt. She is a formless pipe dream that guides me over a throbbing current of
inner void. A flux of secrecy gushes from my member. The torrent of frothy
perspiration carves its path from windows into the desolate chambers of frozen,
crystal snot. A scar forms.
I’m losing my
mind faster than I’m gaining knowledge. Webs cluster around the hinges of my
back door. I am no longer alone. I have a smidgen of her up my sleeve; a dab of
her in the walls. I hide her to find her. I draw a map on the back of my good
hand so I won’t forget. This is where the love is. This is where the love is.
This is where my love is. A mantra. My mantra. My very own.
And this is where my hunt ends.
Though-
I’m still hungry.
I haven’t had my fill.
You won’t let me.
I came alone-
no cults,
no followers,
no one listened.
NO ONE LISTENS.
So here I am:
Here I am to judge.
Here I am to execute.
Here I am to PULL THE PLUG.
I am the hand of
-NO GOD-
I am an abandoned addict with
NO CONSCIENCE.
WITH NO F***S TO GIVE,
I don't CARE and I want to see people SUFFER.
I AM EVIL AND I ENJOY IT.
AND EVERYONE WILL KNOW MY NAME.
EVERYONE WILL REMEMBER ME.
I DRANK THE BLOOD OF 15 CHILDREN
100 TODDLERS
AND COUNTLESS BABIES.
And yes, I’m still hungry.
Abortion clinics are for the weak. That and I have nothing against abortion. I just brought it up because that's what the f*****g crazy Christians do. Explode the abortion clinics, kill the doctors. Idiots if you ask me. Nothing wrong with population control and women deciding for themselves.
So I blew up the next best thing- a nursery. Single mothers and their day cares. It was beautiful. I
had to steal so much ordinance. You can thank your local
National Guard unit for recruiting the hillbilly country boys that they did to sit in chairs and stare at walls.
They don’t know just how valuable an armory can be. Explosives are easy to get if you don't mind a little hillbilly country boy blood on your hands. Believe me, they literally died defending their country. Red, white, and blue patriots.
Flaming babies. Like fireworks, but more organic. A forty five caliber hollow point bullet makes an exit wound the size of an orange out the back of a toddlers head.
I watched all the mothers scream. I heard them wear their voices down to hoarse whisper sobs. Then I put them out of their misery. No one else was going to do it- and almost any mother will tell you: They can't live without their children. What's the point? I know exactly how they feel.
I watched bits of
brick and spit and blood and brain and little fingers and burnt clothing and
specks of skin fall from the sky like snow. I listened to their screams cut
through all the pieces of dead people and I laughed.
I did what I did and there is no going back and I am not afraid anyway. The
future is forward and it will happen anyway. You wanted to save their lives?
Well you shouldn't have told me no. You shouldn't have regulated my body. You
shouldn't have voted for so-and-so. You should have listened. I warned you and
I promised you that the day would come when I would take back what’s mine
I did this because no one listened. I did this for HER.
You started a war and I brought it
home. You wanted a war on my love, and I gave it to you. I killed as
many people as I could and I would do it again. I don't care for life. You and your f*****g labels. I'm
what you might call a psychopath. I'm definitely disturbed, but I know what I am doing and I am doing what I want and I would do it all again just to drive the point home. F**k your children, f**k your futures and your society and your laws and your rules. F**k your judges and your police and your ideals and your morals. I shouldn't have to subscribe to them if I don't want to. It's called f*****g liberty and in the case of every single human, it should be GIVEN. But you took it from me so I'm taking it from you. You probably can't even hear me over your own sobbing, you f*****g worthless sap. I told you this would happen. I told you I would cut your scalp from your dead body and your children's dead bodies. Your god can kill children, so why can't I? You base your laws on the concept of "justice"- An eye for an eye. Meet death with death. Regulate chemicals. Forbid this, forbid that! GOD SAID SO, YOU SAY. Well FINE- I'll play along. I swing the scythe of violence through the fields of innocent in the name of JUSTICE you molten SWINE. The 'good' book made it so. Thank Yahweh. Thank Allah. Thank Moses and thank Jesus and thank your prophets and thank yourself for being an obedient justice loving sheep riding the wave of religion all the way to the f*****g bank and the slaughter house.
More justice you say? I'LL DO IT FOR YOU.
For my final performance, and just to top all the bullshit off with
the most poetically romantically brave thing I can conjure- I will shoot myself
through the cranium. Through my own, perfect frontal lobe. Where the rational,
unique thoughts come from. And you know what? I had to steal this pistol as
well! Why? Because I'm a felon and I couldn't just buy one! Not in America!
Drug addicts can't own guns. ARE YOU CRAZY?! I'm so f*****g sick of having to
think about not doing what I want, when I want, how I want, whenever I want. You
and your laws and your rules and your police. So here and now I will render
myself brain dead. I can't live with all you f*****g fat, bloated, cum guzzling
pieces of stupid inbred s**t, anyway. If there were a Hell it wouldn't be hot or deep or lonely enough for your short sighted brainless selves. I hate all of you. Goodbye forever-
I didn't think metal had a flavor other than metal. But this tastes of merit and vision and blooming, beautiful, absolutely brilliant release.
And you know what? I know the icky, sticky truth of life. The awful, horrid bottom line is that each and every one of us responsible for our own individual happiness. We give ourselves purpose. No one gets to do it for us. We have to choose to deal with it our let it go. It's an ugly mother f*****g duckling of a reality, but it's the actuality of it. If I don't get what I want it is up to ME to do something about it. If life up and happens to take what I want from me, I have to accept it and move on. I have to choose to be happy with what I get or choose to suffer and wail on about it. This is the science of happiness. Decades of observation have taught me this. There is no other way.
Except to cop-out.
I refuse to live here any longer.
I will die as I have killed- with purpose.
And don’t you dare call this cowardice.
It took bravery, determination, guts, and outright nerve. You should have seen the looks on all those mothers, children's, toddlers, and babies faces.
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