I am stumbling into late night convictions that lead me to dead rats in plastic bags, distinegrating into the basic building blocks of their genetic make-up, behind the rusted aluminum trash cans on the side of the main thoroughfare. Now, I duck down in the kaleidoscope of red, green, and yellow lights, flicking a blue bag under an advertisement of a family of four happily raking leaves in designer jeans. And none of this feels right (out-of-focus and spinning), which why I'm throwing up partially digested fast food tacos onto the lap of the businessman sitting in the $50,000 convertible next to me in traffic.
The defintion of a haphazard hustle because the goal was to try to be amiable, instead of profit. But a change occured, and now the goal is to injure as many people as possible, in the most violent ways imaginable. Because I'm a short-sighted narcissist, a motherfucking egotist with a dribble of shit staining my own conciousness. A cult leader of numerous fringe religions with no recognizable identity besides a missing aorta which was the result of an all-american diet consisting of beer, benjamins, SSRIs, and fried chicken.
The only common thread in the population's whiney narrative about good guys and bad guys. Cops and robbers. Heros and villians. Lust and abstinence. Piss and shit.
It all depends on the context and the perspective, but our only option was to keep plugging our sect, even though we all lost our sanity 24 years ago.
Amen. 2012. Amen.
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