I know of no more dreadful waste of time, than the so-called ‘funnies’ in my mind, the clatter and tattered here and now, the people and shakers that sweat by the brow, but my movies that despair me which call upon me to call upon my long-winded fanatic friends who dabble in this thing called ‘living’. But I awoke with this awakened mind, to the sublime inner forces that cry out to the lasting fiends of tomorrow and I am still compelled by this thing called ‘belonging’ which is an uncertain beast at best. Being small as we are and I am in this turned hot breathing elements of gigantic proportions like Jupiter in a starry sky but set ablaze eight minutes behind. She tells no stories of humanity; no stories of wit, but oh so commercially good and sweet to the last drop! Just like for Dummies, the funnies now the only engine for the humanities, for a lust and appetite with no brute in sight. We’ve come to that conclusion, friends, in cold affirmation mind you, to soothe our conscience and release our inner tribulations into our fight or flight frenzy of hope. I am engaged in spiralling down down downloading. I am responsible that our kin should embrace the taste test, so that we could embrace, no, bely our fantasies of the living fiends! But lest we be crazed and alone – I am so dreadfully alone – so sorry sorrow righteousness, I would seem to wallow in the jungle of hate where there is no wind without fruit so that now I frown my good byes instead of saying them. I am the lion’s paw to slash thee into pieces, best before your time and date of apparitions. That I wish was not important, my existence and yours simplified, for heaven’s sake, You shortened the days so that we may live, for we sunder under construction under this existential trip called ‘life’. Should this enrage me? To know my end, with futile thinking of great edifices so grand and so wondrous that I would scream my pulses from my heart into your blunderous, smooth purpose into the wind; only wind makes me remember my old names of the past, only the wind that makes me stand still like yesteryears of good graces and fallen supports. I am forgotten. I have died again, and am still born again. Do you still hope in me God? Around and around and around again. Until I find my purpose. Until I find my ego trapped in my own devices, trapped like an alligator with useless teeth, to finally let go of the fruit of Your womb, the light of Your eyes and the dreadful touch of Your insanity to mine. God. If You are not insane, then You are not God. So dreadful waste of time, called these funnies, now known as movies, the engine of our humanities, which consume the mind and litter it with ugly details of boredom and frustration and emptiness so that the angel of death and doom laughs no more but with me more oft, a best friend and compatriot with a maniacal streak in me like berries, the sweetness of them and the bleeding dry of them onto the ground not blood, at all, nothing becries honesty in the bedrooms anymore. And no more prayers.
I am fine, God. I am fine. I was just singing again. I am fine.