Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The Wall

Forget the past. Toss the tinfoil hat in the toybox with the legos and lincoln logs where it belongs... lock it up, swallow the key, and choke on naievity. Show those conspiracy theories and plastic building blocks who's really boss. Unless those skeletons in the closet or monsters under the bed pick the lock and then I'm really screwed. Best to speak softly and carry a big stick to beat the fuckers to bloody submission. They know they have it comin so I can forget about shock and awe, just like I know I have it coming...that's what the big stick is for.

Fester in the open wound that is ironic existence and walk the goose step to the tyranical oppression of one's self. Beat myself with the stick for a moment or two only to turn around and deny self-infliction. If anyone asks it was anyone but me. Plausable deniability so transparent the hollow eye sockets peer through the cracked closet door and see right through. Can one really discern pitty in the empty orafices where the windows to the soul used to reside?

Sure...why not?

Keep the masses at arms length, build the brick wall piece by piece against my will but in line with my better judgement. Skeletons can't get to you when you have no closet. Let's hear it for loop holes.

Yeah right. Like I wanna confine myself in a one room brick shanty of which was self-constructed. I got too much livin to do.

I wanna be the subject of a power ballad circa 1989 and keep it a secret. I wanna open up a 454 on a secluded Montana highway in the middle of July topless. I wanna drink cheap alcohol for a month straight on an expensive resort island in the tropics. I wanna paint every clock I encounter black and forget time even exists...and not have reprocutions. I wanna climb a tree, smoke a joint, and watch the sun set...and then watch it rise completely baked feeling alittle bit more free and a whole lot of gravitational pull. I wanna ride a train across country, pretend I have multiple personality disorder, and chat up unsuspecting passengers in horribly executed accents while sipping on malibu and coke and periodically arguing with one or all of the other 9 personalities I create.

I wanna find a remote field of flowers and frolic through it like in the movies...while on an eighth of shrooms. I wanna have sex in the grass on a rainy summer night. I wanna spend a week in Vegas and not remember. I wanna be loved so deeply and love so deeply in return that it actually makes me cry.

Now where in the hell is that door in the wall...I know I built one just in case.

No comments: