Tuesday, June 01, 2010

A Pack of Lies

It began wet, full of struggle, blood and tears. It may very well end the same way, I do not know. Clean, long white hallways leading to others. Carefully one can move and move and move and find him or herself outside in the hot sun. Green leaves sway in the wind, but sweat appears on the brow. There are other people about, and they think a lot like you. But you will be told again and again how different you are from the herd.

Most greetings are met with a smile. I ask a young man, well-dressed with the latest cell phone in his hot hand, what number bus will take me to Copley Square. I'm not sure what is there, but going there provides a necessary illusion. One has to appear intent on a goal, on getting somewhere or doing something. Briefly I think of what it would be like to stab this man in the neck. The blood, the screams, the disruption above all else.

He tells me to take the #89 bus, and it may as well be gospel.

As I wait, I look about the waterfront of Boston and imagine grotesque actions of the past. My mind bends that way today, and I can't stop it. They used to tar and feather people here. One human being, to make a point, would hold another down and coat his delicate body in boiling tar. Physical pain would follow for the victim. By the time the feathers were applied in mockery, he cared not what happened to him. The pain of his seared flesh would insist upon being heard first, before pride. There is no pride when you are in agony.

From the moment you are born, you are forced to listen to the music of chance. Money helps. Money helps a great deal. In fact, life for human beings is all about money. Wealth keeps your toilet clean of specks of your own shit. Wealth allows a million lies, and they are all lies about dignity. "I'm not an animal, I'm of God" you can tell yourself. It's a fiction that allures.

In reality, you are an animal that went down an evolutionary path which led to self awareness and written language. We are all living on the backs of past generations. We don't arc towards justice or goodness or godliness. Ideas like that are mere distractions while we fuck and make little ones. You're a life support system for the machinery between your legs, never forget that. You don't matter one whit.

God loves you? That's nice, spread your legs. We are above all other creations of god? Super. Stick it in. Cum. repeat.

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