Being and not being

It starts light-hearted, photogenic, romantic: crush of marigold petals in broken crock. Light cigar smoke adrift outside dark bar windows (vanilla, clove, cedar). Workers paint and repaint the everdeteriorating facades of Victorians.

Then a turn for the stale and dirty: gang violence in Chicago (Detroit, L.A.)? Bloated corpses in the Ganges? Two-toothed, ratty-capped homeless man’s posturing – a trite and grubby pantomime.

Homeruns across River Styx: parasites with human shapes trademarking the words ‘candy’ and ‘edge’ (henceforth Candy™ and Edge™).

Continuing on to NonsenseLand: in sixty-degree weather tourists skate, Union Square surrounded, on three inches of poured ice while in Minnesota a young gentleman’s outdoor piss evaporates in post-urethra deciseconds.

It is no surprise, can you blame him? He doesn’t understand anything anymore – especially his own mind. It has become an alien thing, pulsing swollenly in the cage of his skull, which is fracturing from the torturous convolutions of its fiendish meat. It’s better not to wait (he thinks). Just get the motherfucker done (and pulls the trigger at his temple).

~ by kingzoko on August 23, 2015.

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