Imagine the wine & jazz festival for those with heart, the gregarious under dogs stay under the black light at home, searching for mistakes that are invisible in the daytime, have difficulty waking up happy, the idiotic noise down below sounded like warfare and the self righteous vocal lessons. She can't play scrabble because she is afraid of spelling. Jacob's ladder and the inevitable stupidity. We talk in the shape of an 'x' though we speak with our sad eyes and they talk of awful, contradictory things, speaking from a vocalist perspective, the bitterness overwhelms any chance for sweet salvation, you violent bastard death, laughing at my chairs, the ridiculousness of it all, fine, laugh you moron, the vacuum of space will swallow your soul and bottle openers in the shape of hula girls will fake death and hikes up volcanoes will erupt youthful splendor into the air.
Help me I'm failing. My inspiration to write has been wiped clean by the angry vacuity of those around me. I can't do anything but complain when given time to formulate my thoughts. I can try to discern beautiful moments, there are many, but my first thought mind always goes into the incredulous and painful recollection of unbelievable ignorant opinion. I hear about television shows. I hear about lavish wine festivals. I heard nothing.
Coffee to start my mind. Sleep still clinging to my eyes. Bottles of Corona line up the folding table. The folding red chair for outdoor events. "This is my schema!" you coy beast, unravelling your reactions to us, believing we might be interested. It reveals the absence of critical thinking. We can see through your stiflingly thin veneer. You are an ocean of shallow water. Up to your ankles. No blue whales exist in your grey matter. It is a dead ocean without any tidal motion, aside from the kind that folklore announces happens on full moons, and then again, since you believe in such other thoughtless horseshit, why not believe in astrology or that the earth is flat or in sasquatch with intent to hunt and kill?
"We believe in something invisible."
How about the sun? Let us pray into those rays of light. There is nothing else so life providing on this planet.
If I wrote a nice story with a happy ending, pleasant morals throughout, nice characters, exaggerated out of the realm of realism, into the abstract and blissful ether where the people who believe in god will be taken at the rapture.
If you turned on the tv and saw a mushroom cloud over jerusalem would you see a silver lining? would you be willing to meet your maker?
Wasting the earth because of an archaic ideal of heaven after you die. What about your children? Will you brainwash them into believing in the same story?
