if you are strong it will set you free
Vacant, blank, these are his eyes. There's a hollowness that resonates from somewhere deep within, but when you truly lose yourself in them you can see! You can see there is nothing behind them but more flat empty nothingness. He sits. Uncomfortable but nothing to do about that but call the army of tiny white soldiers with their tiny little identification numbers and letters printed on their blue and white and yellow fronts. Fight! Fight for he who commands you, he who is prescribed you, or occasionally he who has purchased you. Mercenaries! They are warriors all. Sometimes he goes out. The bars are noisy and full of stupid people, and he orders whiskeys and smokes cigarettes and watches as the world fucks and snorts and drinks and smokes its way into oblivion with a big fat Cheshire smile. He thinks about how he is better then all these, these people. Yet he knows the truth, its clear and bright and he knows it but he says to himself that its just bullshit. There is no point to any of it, so to hell with it all right? Throw open the windows and cast out your belongings into the street! Get rid of everything you own! Its all over someday, why not now! As he thinks these things, he imagines himself on a rooftop, standing on the ledge, arms thrown dramatically outward, dressed to the nines, screaming it like some psychotic nihilist mantra. He grins at his own vainglorious idiocy, and only at this point does he notice the people standing in front of him, staring at him, those looks, so curious. Like the sound you hear when you are standing in the ocean, and a wave crashes! Crashes! Crashes over your head and submerges you. That instant silence followed by the dull roar that quickly grows into a loud, noisy, and very jolting reality. This is also a visual from inside his head, playing out even as it happens for real, here, now. He realizes that they've been talking, probably to him at some point, but he can't seem to find the motivation to care. Or even to find motivation. At some point soon, he will go home. Maybe to sleep, maybe to fuck, maybe to sit again. He thinks of a line he heard on tv once, something memorable, but ask him and he wouldn't be able to remember. There is silence, but only sometimes.