eat my ology
Cutting quicksand with laser beams like Moses parting the Red Sea. Digging for the lost soul of an Egyptian mummy. A lost soldier of fate and philosophy roaming schools of thought with my invisible army following behind me on transparently sturdy deep chestnut horses, my battalion of strength fails and falls to its knees sucking up clear dust through pretend dry nostrils.
Automatic genius. Automatic rifle. No wonder the world is insane. What is arty about artillery warfare, is it the same arty art in the arterial network of capillaries giving me life? Is that an oxymoron in a random way, or are life and death intrinsic to art itself? It’s rhetorical, don’t try to answer. You must be a moron to physically want to kill another human life for a bit of soil, a bit of land, that you can’t take with you into the afterlife anyway. Make sure you haven’t got spots though, Oxy 10 is not as effective as the commercials slay.
Machines have automated me to a point where silence is no longer permitted which is amusing, to me, as the machinations of my mind(s): my thoughts, are never drowned out by white noise. Why is it white noise? Not black noise or brown noise. Latent noise. Red, green or magenta noise? Is a noisette whirl noisy because it’s not exactly nice tasting, or maybe that’s why it is noisy? Or am I being too nosy? Why does the rest of the world drown out conscience, and what is good in god? It’s only a matter of an o, it’s a nice letter, all vowels are lovely.
I wonder what happened to that girl with the teddy bear who sat so nicely against those colours in that weird psychedelic circle of electronic rainbow life, end of transmission, good night. Now (now is a funny concept in itself, fleeting, flitting, never held down, different to the millisecond before and after but still the same) I am transmitting all the time. I am always on. But the switch is just there, try it, it’s not hard. You will realise what you have been missing. Personal solace and you wonder, No wonder I keep losing my trails of thought, no wonder I am wandering who I am because you’re w – a – o – ndering and you don’t even know it.
Oh, I thought I was sitting down but I find myself looking out of the window into the sun behind the clouds. Except, I, am, sitting, down. Why do you not wonder about getting up? Oh but I do, I just don’t know if my feet will take me where I want to go. But your mind will speak. I don’t know if my mind can utter words of wisdom. Hush already, this is confusing enough. Just imagine then. That’s latin, that. But don’t you find everything is? Just a variable cipher. Still living the same way, except there’s exponential freedom to kill at will. Thou shalt not kill. Murder / Kill – what’s the difference, taking a life, that’s the same too. Expunging breath, it breathes dirty on your soul for all time as you struggle for a way to make it bad right. Remember that movie, The Good, the Bad and The Ugly – who was who was what anyway?
Back to that wily serpent, love: the origin of change. She was not afraid to re-arrange yet she is apportioned all the blame for all the rest of history. Another irony (maybe God invented it and not the British after all), she was formed of his rib but was ultimately, the thorn in his side which made him fall.
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