Seek a professional consultation
if you’ve recently become exposed to cynicism,
as effects can be immediate.
Long-term results have yet to be obtained
by our experiment, yet our current level of
research in the subject exceeds anything
we could have possibly expected
at the outset
of this
excruciating six-week journey full of paperwork
and less common sense than a hippo’s molars.
Pull it together, figure out the paint chips for the cabinets later! We have to get the hell outta here if we’re gonna make that game in time. Did you want to wait in line for a half-hour just to get a seven dollar beer?! Why do you always drag your feet on Fridays? You’re a huge pain in the ass. You’re lucky I’d get fired if I beat you the way you deserve to be beaten.
Butter up the skillet, home fry.
You can’t?
Oh, that’s right,
I already cooked you.
Ouch.
You must be feeling salty.
What can we even call valuable these days? Not money, that’s for GOT DANG sure. Something far away and winking at us. It doesn’t want us to know it has a glass eye. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.
Remember the Christmas party back in ’97?
Hysterical.
Find a kindred spirit,
fill it up with gopher planters,
Tell your friend that you’ll go strand ‘er,
Nothing much to fear, it.
What’s your motive, buddy?
Got a bindle on your shoulder,
I saw you sleepin’ on that boulder.
Look a little muddy.
I just want to see right here
what gopher planters do to you.
You might develop love for shoes
or burning in the ears.
The devil’s in the derailing of that train, the baby crying for closure, the military brat skipping along the sidewalk in Atlanta while his father dodges bullets every day. Yeah, there’s plenty of devil all around us, surrounding our waking lives with the idea that we’re not good enough to do what we really want to do. But then the devil jumps into those who believe in themselves and wish to make a positive impact on this planet. The devil plants his slimy fist into their heart and slices a coin slot right at the top. The devil blinds men to the power of fellowship and turns them onto the scent of dirty green paper. The devil is in the television, in your aunt’s glass eye, in alcohol and energy drinks. The devil doesn’t pick and choose what to inhabit, he just throws himself into anything, willy nilly, until he’s gotten his fill of screwing around with us.
The devil. What an easy excuse.
We’re the devil, and we know it.
Why do I want attention? Honestly, I don’t want attention.
My words want attention. I want attention for my words, not my ego. Do I need to develop an overactive, self-indulgent, ridiculously aggressive ego in order to do anything with my life that makes me seem like an important person?
What is importance? There’s no such thing as something being innately more important than anything else. Nature seems to understand this, yet humans decided that they don’t belong to the natural cycle that they step on and choke every day. The soul of a chicken is useless to the soul of a human until that chicken’s energy is converted into food matter and consumed by that human. By that point, the chicken’s soul has already transcended this plane and begun the selection process for another life somewhere in this universe (or perhaps another). That soul will earn an upgrade for its devout service to Earth’s common good.
What’s my problem? I want my words to be read by people, and I want to be able to write these words for my life, undisturbed, peaceful, constantly inventing. That’s what I was brought into this shitty world to do, but I won’t be allowed a comfortable living if I insist on doing it like some sort of maverick poet. How dare I wish to explore the forefront of language to attempt a deeper connection with the cosmos?! I’m a real piece of work.
WHARVED 