Miss Misery.
Retribution.
It's what god wants from us. For what crime? Our overwhelming stupidity of course. And he intends to make us pay. The pain of tomorrow begins today. No hope for delay. No time for dismay. Just act natural. This cosmic form of justice lasts only as long as it takes for your useless body to break and decay.
This is the greatest country in the world and don't you fucking forget it. It won't take much longer now. Here in America we don’t fix our problems, we make movies about them. As I write, a potentially earth shattering event called Global Warming has become the plot line behind a multimillion dollar Hollywood blockbuster. We've cast ourselves as the unsuspecting casualties without even realizing it. It’s a fucking show of tragic proportions. Better get there early or you'll lose your seat. Popcorn and Coke. Dim the lights. A low hush. Now sit back and comfortably watch the death toll rise.
The future is falling all around you in Surround Sound hysteria. Now tell me something I don't know: When did life cease being this inexplicably tangible sense of feelings and become just another cheap recreation of something that used to be original? We recreate everything. Nothing is experienced first hand anymore. We see the world through the eyes of a television screen. Hi Fi pixilated reality makes for good sociopaths. Not a problem. Supermodels and serial killers will get equal air time. The other day I saw a commercial in which a woman looked directly into the camera and said with a deadly smile, "Life was getting in the way of my watching TV, but since I've bought product X, I never have to be interrupted again!" True Fucking Story. I'm not a religious person, but if I were, I honestly would have dropped to my knees and begun fervently praying for all of our souls right then and there.
I'm feeling more and more like a brain without a body. Systematic and Symptomatic. I'm completely detached and loving it. Why are we all so fucking attached to these THINGS? Meaningless shit. Little scraps of colored paper. Shiny rocks. Imaginary lines drawn into a land that wasn't even ours to claim in the first place. Stop the fucking insanity. Surrender. The fight is over. Lay down your possessions, and discover the true meaning of life: Sex and Violence. I have a vision of bringing my own unique brand of dysfunction to middle America and reaching the masses. I want to see dirty syringes and AIDS infected lepers plastered across every cereal box, on every shelf, carried in every fucking grocery store in the country. They'll have some catchy brand name like "Junkie-O's", and every third box is guaranteed to contain a bio hazardous prize. The kids are stuffing themselves so full of fucking junk as it is, I don't see what difference it will make if they start shooting it as well.
I'm thinking about my veins all the time now. These tiny blue rivers running beneath a transparent sky of skin. They're going to be the death of me you know. I've developed a growing preoccupation with blood and all the things that go with it. Knives meeting arteries. Needles to martyr me. Flowing Fast. Straight to the heart of me. Strategically. Evilly. Directly effecting the sounding and pounding inside my chest. It sings to me. Like a beautifully rhythmic Arrhythmia. Thump Thump Beat. Loud and Sweet. The soul is a Soldier. Soldiering on in the face of grave misfortune...
We live here in a single painful moment, drawn out and stretched through all eternity. What do you have holding you here? A menial job? Overdue car payments? Delusions of grandeur? Take note: Napoleon fell from such great heights only because he chose to climb so high. Which is better... being alone and indifferent to the rest of the world, or to be tragically, unknowingly trapped inside it? I guess the real question is: Would you rather live the rest of your life wandering the streets as a stray animal, or be put to fucking sleep?
Contrary to popular opinion I have never been, what I consider, even close to becoming a body bag. The closest thing to a near death experience I've ever encountered was when I worked at the local mall over Christmas break. Why do you fucking pieces of shit need any more excuses to declare a holiday for yourselves? Your whole fucking lives are a holiday. Now you're just rubbing it in to be cruel.
Death is not cruel. I've decided that I want to die with salt on my tongue and a handful of sugar sprinkled across my grave. Why? Life tastes like shit, and death will be ever so sweet.
Tease.