the convenience store gentleman, a aged fellow of some indoasian bloodline, a noble ilk to be sure, wants to kill himself because he plays the station that not even his customers like. he told me this. no doubt, he doesn’t either. it must be good for business. “well,” i said, “this is the way the world works. to live, something has to die. to have pleasure, someone has to suffer. - satyr we’re a strange breed you and i.” and sometimes, you gamble and lose. the bible reads “we will have prosperity by the blood of our brother.” - ezekiel 11:12. no doubt, he would have been familiar with that passage. we are, after all, religious. we’re not about to forego a big car so some arab might sleep easier, christ jesus. nobody knows what it means. we’ll sit at the barroom table and drink tall glasses of wheatbeer, try to talk, try to say something, try to talk. this is the way the world works, we can’t even shit. in france they drink grapewine, in russia they drink hard hard liquor, in conneticut they drink iced tea, in chinaasia they drink saki saki, but its all posion the same. alaska in winter is a place where everyone is drunk like in ontario but for different reasons. 17 year old girls want 28 year old boyfriends and those degenerates are happy to oblige when they’re not running for office. this is the way the world works, “all energy flows according to the whims of the great magnet” -hunter thompson.
BUT HERE:
“Thoughts have their Sunday too, come to think of it. We’re even more dazed than usual. Here we sit, empty, bewildered, contented. We have nothing to talk about, because nothing happens to us anymore, we’re too poor, maybe life is sick of us.” - celine. we die, long before life leaves us. sometime, at the turn of the end of grade 3 for most of us. when we stop staring at a majestic world with wonder and amazement… and start reckoning how will be when we grow up. that means, what we want to be - a crushing blow every time the question is asked. we fill our stomachs and shit toxic green. there is hope for us because nobody lives with celine’s outlook, not even celine. to stare at things with awe in their magnificence, that is the holy grail of philosophy. this trecherous path is strewn through pitfalls at every step. bob dylan is the king, “nobody knows what any of it is worth… business men drink our wine” …but you and i, we’ve been through that, and so on… we can still have nice gardens and not appologize for khaki shorts. we don’t need each other’s inside story, we’ll stick our dicks in cunts and thrust ourselves into the new millenium like a dick in a cunt, with all the joy gasoline and alcohol it takes. credence clearwater will play guitar and allen ginsberg will howl. jack will jump and jill will roll. robert frost will keep spitting out that garbage everyone likes and thinks is sentimental. pop poetry for the weaker minded. fine with us.
well, whatever.