Guess who's back, guess who's back.
I worked at a local chicken restaurant for my first job.
No one knew I was sick all throughout the winter, going to school and work. Coming home to my bed ridden night life and staying up all night messing around with the laptop I bought with my own money around Christmas time kept me busy. I never had time to eat at home with my family any more, so every day that year I had work, I ate chicken. I stole chicken, I bought chicken. When I worked hard, I earned chicken, and when I fell down, I bled chicken. I talked and prayed in front of church when I felt the need to, which made me feel like a man of God, but I wouldn’t say the same things at school that I said at church. It wasn’t because there was no need, it was because I was a lazy chicken; a lousy bird that couldn’t fly, that Americans loved to eat and didn’t really care one way or the other if I was going to be the next glorious, dead chicken in my own friends and family’s stomachs.
I could’ve been the dedicated worker that I knew I should have been, but my life got consumed by a glowing screen that at my command did any thing I desired. I was a chicken that got trapped in a box, and if no one was going to save me, I would have eventually torn myself to pieces so the person who was going to execute me wouldn’t have to. I played video games, but the games played me. There was something about having a material possession that cost me $700 that brought me more satisfaction than a man who died on a cross for me. It’s better than drugs.
One night in January, just like all the others, I wished that somebody would happen to stroll in my house at the perfect moment and light up the world because I was sick. It’s not good for a man to be alone, especially when he’s sick. It didn’t matter, though, because I had my money, my purchase, my beaten heart. Buying my own computer was the only thing that mattered to me, and I was the only one that mattered to it. It helped me stay away from everything important to me.
Night after night, I sat gazing at a monitor, trying to build bridges across the gaps in this new life. I didn’t need anyone else to support my bridges, just my money. I realized I can’t jump every gap in life unless I fly over them, or build a bridge. I was too paranoid to fly, not because chickens can’t fly, but because the ones who eventually figure out they have the will power and strength to do it get picked out of the crowd and get shot.
I wasn’t sick because of the paranoia, though. I simply felt as if I were ageing, maybe even melting away with the steam of life I laid my life into when I first started middle school. I had a job. I had school all day, and I got home late. I zombiefied myself to the radiating monitors in my room at night, and always felt the need to do something more with myself. Whatever happened to hanging out with your friends at the movies, Josh? What happened to the time you used for God? Where’d all that extra time go?
I felt old, way too old. A mold old. A fold of mold. I couldn’t change, I could just grow further into the mold and lie down at night and mess around on the computer I bought.
I was too lazy to change clothes after work tonight. I didn’t, and I still don’t want to. Why would I change if there’s no one I wanted to see? Why would I ever want to see anyone outside of school, church and work? There wasn’t a need to explore life’s purposes. My chicken shirt smelled like the ageing mold of the dead chicken I became by the end of the night and I felt content. I was ageing, and Lazy was in me.
So, I talked to lazy. Something had a stronghold in my life that I didn’t appreciate to much and made me upset.
That’s what you get.
Me?
That’s what you’ll always get and you should never expect anymore. You won’t clean or work unless it’s for your own sake, your own money, your life, your game. You see what your deeds do to those who surround you, and are aware of the sin waiting at your door step, because they know it’s a party waiting to happen after you’re done. You’re don’t feel conviction anymore, because the only thing that fills your heart is the emptiness of knowing that you’ve done something wrong. Remember?
What?
No one knew I was sick all throughout the winter, going to school and work. Coming home to my bed ridden night life and staying up all night messing around with the laptop I bought with my own money around Christmas time kept me busy. I never had time to eat at home with my family any more, so every day that year I had work, I ate chicken. I stole chicken, I bought chicken. When I worked hard, I earned chicken, and when I fell down, I bled chicken. I talked and prayed in front of church when I felt the need to, which made me feel like a man of God, but I wouldn’t say the same things at school that I said at church. It wasn’t because there was no need, it was because I was a lazy chicken; a lousy bird that couldn’t fly, that Americans loved to eat and didn’t really care one way or the other if I was going to be the next glorious, dead chicken in my own friends and family’s stomachs.
I could’ve been the dedicated worker that I knew I should have been, but my life got consumed by a glowing screen that at my command did any thing I desired. I was a chicken that got trapped in a box, and if no one was going to save me, I would have eventually torn myself to pieces so the person who was going to execute me wouldn’t have to. I played video games, but the games played me. There was something about having a material possession that cost me $700 that brought me more satisfaction than a man who died on a cross for me. It’s better than drugs.
One night in January, just like all the others, I wished that somebody would happen to stroll in my house at the perfect moment and light up the world because I was sick. It’s not good for a man to be alone, especially when he’s sick. It didn’t matter, though, because I had my money, my purchase, my beaten heart. Buying my own computer was the only thing that mattered to me, and I was the only one that mattered to it. It helped me stay away from everything important to me.
Night after night, I sat gazing at a monitor, trying to build bridges across the gaps in this new life. I didn’t need anyone else to support my bridges, just my money. I realized I can’t jump every gap in life unless I fly over them, or build a bridge. I was too paranoid to fly, not because chickens can’t fly, but because the ones who eventually figure out they have the will power and strength to do it get picked out of the crowd and get shot.
I wasn’t sick because of the paranoia, though. I simply felt as if I were ageing, maybe even melting away with the steam of life I laid my life into when I first started middle school. I had a job. I had school all day, and I got home late. I zombiefied myself to the radiating monitors in my room at night, and always felt the need to do something more with myself. Whatever happened to hanging out with your friends at the movies, Josh? What happened to the time you used for God? Where’d all that extra time go?
I felt old, way too old. A mold old. A fold of mold. I couldn’t change, I could just grow further into the mold and lie down at night and mess around on the computer I bought.
I was too lazy to change clothes after work tonight. I didn’t, and I still don’t want to. Why would I change if there’s no one I wanted to see? Why would I ever want to see anyone outside of school, church and work? There wasn’t a need to explore life’s purposes. My chicken shirt smelled like the ageing mold of the dead chicken I became by the end of the night and I felt content. I was ageing, and Lazy was in me.
So, I talked to lazy. Something had a stronghold in my life that I didn’t appreciate to much and made me upset.
That’s what you get.
Me?
That’s what you’ll always get and you should never expect anymore. You won’t clean or work unless it’s for your own sake, your own money, your life, your game. You see what your deeds do to those who surround you, and are aware of the sin waiting at your door step, because they know it’s a party waiting to happen after you’re done. You’re don’t feel conviction anymore, because the only thing that fills your heart is the emptiness of knowing that you’ve done something wrong. Remember?
What?