Today I want to smash the sky into metal. Dripping pearl mercury in
rivulets of gray. It's a gray day with gray eyes and gray skies.
Violence is the answer. We have to find the sun.
I focused on my phone and found synthetic lights only. Superficial icons in iconic flares of symbolic representation. I saw social media squares with authenticity suspiciously absent in there. Only images and avadentities with flat faces were seen, the fabricated size of compact digitized screens. Since when is a square ever normal in nature?
Changing keys. The writers and inspiration of my being dazzle my mind with this nebulous starry-eyed wisdom supplied. Satirical words pop in sizzling
skillets of resistance---unrest and political quests steaming in prose. My friends blog, my
dog blogs---I don't have a dog, but if I did, her paws would leave
ink-trails instead of mud. In an industrial age, the universe is fully
mapped. Is silence the only space left to fill?
It's
all been done. Some things are cooked overdone and many things need
subtle raw undone-ing. The polluted sky rots minds into mechanic fusions
with computerized life programs left as solutions. My life is not a program. There is no
foreword, no organized, formatted table of contents. No rave reviews mark my papery back with
cries of genius or thumbs pointing any which-way-direction from notarized
critics, dead or undead.
Instead,
I attend university to unlearn all I've ever heard about the everyday
human condition. I deprive myself of sleep, then eat too many plates of
weird concoctions I call nachos when I can't cope with a single new idea
injection, like analytical botox, into my unscholarly psyche. Sequestered and robotic, I plug into
classes and textbooks with my Ucard only, our flat and compact replacement-identities. I can't remember what yoga was like. That's
where I breathed real gasping breaths, deep and cleansing. Suffocation is painful and real.
Now what, metal gods? Now that we've killed all life forces, the taxiing taxation of taxes and human taxidermy
leaves emptiness and shell hazards for attorneys and parking enforcement to pick up on their daily endeavors. I bleed in mercury too, but a
smashed eternal sky won't crumple into me seamlessly because the trappings of
responsibility have too firmly a fixed grasp with their intangible devices.
What's left? Nothing I guess. Except maybe music and memories and sunsets and dreams.
I cannot, simply cannot continue at the pace of expectation and remain exceptionally sane.
We have to find the sun.
We have to find the sun.
