I don't feel guilty for my indulgences any longer. The secrets that we keep will collect like stones in our guts before we're thrown overboard. There is no burden to bare. There are no excuses to be had. There is only a conditioned state of mind to annhilate. It's becoming very clear that this system is designed to keep us on edge. Anxiety-laden shlubs with no strength to fend off the rubble.
It's Homer's hand stuck in the vending machine because he won't let go of the candy bar.
It's the dangling carrot that rots in front of us as we trudge through the desert dying of dehydration, both spiritual and otherwise.
To live in a modern world and believe in everything is suffocating. Stop caring so much. Pick and choose your realities. Make a buffet out of the opportunities that present themselves and accept some lacking elements every once in awhile. Sometimes caterpillars don't become butterflies and they die. Flying is avoidance. Rising above the rubble is only relaxing in theory. In practice it's damning. It gets boring as hell in the empty sky.
I saw a rainbow over a blue house from two eyes linked to misery. I drove through tears into direct sunlight as overhead rain poured from a singular cloud onto my windshield. Bolts of lightning cut like veins over corn fields from years before. Booms of thunder over hills, alone in my room, like battle fire. I once experienced nirvana. It was an underwater peace followed by a devil in dark sunglasses. The years speak importantly when we're ready to listen.
Receiving messages.
There have been stellar moments and even strings of them. Like when that roommate lunged toward me, her eyes rolled back, and she fell flat on her face like a corpse. The black cat hair on the carpet greeted her, it was Easter, I called the ambulance and then rode an underground train downtown, emerging in a Latino market, binge drinking into the night. I finally crawled beneath a dining room table and passed out on the floor myself. It turns out that she got stitches and I woke up craving a basketball game. I took a train back to Hollywood, found a park, and played with some other lost white adult males. They were so polite. I probably am too. Not that day though. That day it was hot and terrible outside. I took my shirt off and dribble-drived past every guy who challenged me. I poured booze from my pores and launched rainbow-threes that swished through nets with delicious noises like canonball splashes. The ball is shot in an arch, reaches a climax, and falls obediently as the world spins, gravity maintains, and our mechanisms obey our desires. It's such a beautiful thing.
