I was alone in the desert. I was hot. I was sweaty. It was dry. The sun was beating down. I was beating down. There was no bush to beat around.
How did I get here? This was not typical. Normal, some would voice. Abnormal, I knew. Certainly against nature. Nevertheless, here I was and maybe it was Abby Normal after all.
But it was summer and it was cool. The sort of summer that drove me to write like this. Like Hemingway? But there was no white entry parlor. No white staircase. No shotgun in my hand, muzzle stuck in my mouth. And no reason to pull the trigger. There was no need. The image of brain matter slung like a bloody rice against the wall...no. Not for me.
I am in the city. I am surrounded by people. I find my worth to them measured by my embrace (or lack thereof) of consumerism. How much do I contribute to the system created by white male capitalists? I am shunned.
There is a far away place that is close by. Security. It seems. A place which to create. To share with a group who have come to see, a life, lives, their fleeting being, created by me, by us. There is laughter. There is sadness. Goodness of character. Shadings of bad. Comfort. Relax.
These are the random thoughts by a random guy from a random place up in the sky. For in the city, confusion lurks, fear abounds and power trips are at work. They come into the place of peace where people gathered to share a lease, from their reality, into our illusion. These people, greedy bastards, they had learned to be and abused the illusion as a power.
Of all the injustices perpetuated on this pale blue planet, none can compare to the squander of trust. This is the story of Normal.
How did I get here? This was not typical. Normal, some would voice. Abnormal, I knew. Certainly against nature. Nevertheless, here I was and maybe it was Abby Normal after all.
But it was summer and it was cool. The sort of summer that drove me to write like this. Like Hemingway? But there was no white entry parlor. No white staircase. No shotgun in my hand, muzzle stuck in my mouth. And no reason to pull the trigger. There was no need. The image of brain matter slung like a bloody rice against the wall...no. Not for me.
I am in the city. I am surrounded by people. I find my worth to them measured by my embrace (or lack thereof) of consumerism. How much do I contribute to the system created by white male capitalists? I am shunned.
There is a far away place that is close by. Security. It seems. A place which to create. To share with a group who have come to see, a life, lives, their fleeting being, created by me, by us. There is laughter. There is sadness. Goodness of character. Shadings of bad. Comfort. Relax.
These are the random thoughts by a random guy from a random place up in the sky. For in the city, confusion lurks, fear abounds and power trips are at work. They come into the place of peace where people gathered to share a lease, from their reality, into our illusion. These people, greedy bastards, they had learned to be and abused the illusion as a power.
Of all the injustices perpetuated on this pale blue planet, none can compare to the squander of trust. This is the story of Normal.
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