Originally Posted: 4/22/08
Get a little sing-song goin', we're in the final stretch and this is getting restless. If you've got anything left to say, then say it now. Because before too long, your stop will come, and it'll be time to say goodbye. There's never any easy way to leave these things behind, so just tell me your sorry and we'll sit still for a time. We'll listen to the sounds the world makes as this train plows through it, mindless and unwaveringly on course. We're a bit behind schedule, so if you please make your departures quickly. We've a few hours to make up before dawn.
There are wilted flowers on either side of me, crawling with spiders. The sun shines overhead in a clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Again. The sea rolls and pitches and churns in my stomach and all I can think of is how I'm surrounded by the things I hate. Even here, surrounded by thin walls of concrete and paint I can barely register what I'm doing. I guess its time to be moving on, the nightmares have caught up with me and this place doesn't feel so much like home anymore. Then again...
Then again, maybe its time for one last hurrah. One final, valiant stand against the cobwebs and the damned. A single charge, like this train, mindlessly into the horde. Maybe its time to turn the tide on those nightmares and take what I want. Maybe its time to put them to bed for good. Run the risk of being swallowed, slaughtered, prey to the things that have hunted me for decades. Fuck it. We've all got to rebel sometime. You run the risk and then, if the gods are with you, you reap the rewards.
On the other hand, maybe I'll just put it off. Like everything else. Just one more thing I never got around to doing. Yeah, it's getting late and the sun's going down. There's always time tomorrow. I'll fend off my nightmares then. I'll reclaim my home tomorrow. Tonight, I'll sleep beneath the stars and wonder why you miss me.
You can ring my bell. But I won't promise I'll answer. I'm not in the mood for visitors today. I'm busy clearing all the clutter from my corners, wondering if this place will ever be clean enough. Call it a compulsion, but I think the scrubbing's finally begun to wear away the rust and grit of all the time I've left this place. It seems familiar, but for the most part its entirely alien. So many loves. So many...
Let's spend our days swilling whiskey and our nights drinking bleach in hopes the two will somehow counteract and we'll be clean. Then in the early morning light, beneath the sky, I'll take you to a meadow, and show you paradise (alright). Don't be too loud, baby. The birds might hear you cry, and then the world will know what's happening beneath these sheets.
Remember when we fell in love? I'm not so sure I do these days. Its easy to forget things. I wish I could recall the little smiles like you can. The kisses and the nights and all the silly little things. But, oh well. It lends me room for more memories. I've forgotten more than most of you will ever know.
And just so you don't think I'm getting soft in my old age. How about an angry rant to fill another page?
I'm seated on a pedestal, upon a marble dais, and all you fucking peasants must obey, must pay me praise. I'm the greatest thing that's ever walked this stinking cesspool and if you think I'm lying then be sure I'll fucking show you. I'm not in the mood for games, for laughter or for tears and if you want to come and test me then I'll scream it in your ears. I'm inside you, everywhere, and I can kill you with a look. So please don't try my patience, bitch. I wrote the fucking book.
I'm seated on a high horse, because I'm Master and Commander. My horse sits on a mountain top, far above your sight. What I'm saying is that you're beneath me. Its obvious, is it not? You must forgive the sarcasm, my humor tends to rot beneath the caustic glare of constant counterproductive comments cast at me from somewhere north of here. Well I'm not laughing anymore, darlings. I'm in no mood to be jovial.
If I'm offensive, go on the defensive and show me whose the boss. All I've got that makes me strong is granite in my lungs. Although its been a struggle some people seem to think that everything I have has been handed to me. Well fuck you. Everything I've got has been the product of these hands and if you've got some suggestion for how to do it better I encourage you to swallow it. Let it seep into your colon and then blow it out your ass. I've done the best I can and if that's not enough then, by all means, seek out something better.
Maybe this is personal, or maybe its general. I don't know. For fuck's sake, I don't care. Give me envy, give me malice, give me your attention. I'm on the warpath, and you put me there. You can try to quell the rising anger or get the fuck out of my way, but I'm not really that concerned. I'll vent and crash and kill some things but each of those things will be part of me. No one gets hurt, no one gets sad. Everybody's happy. I'm just going mad.
To the rest of you slime-ridden sons of bitches, I am not a joke. I'll sit and bide my time until you start to choke and then from in the rafters I'll descend like Gabriel and cut your fucking balls off. Then I'll see you all in Hell.
I'll see you all in Hell.
Its been such a long time since I felt this kind of malevolence and I'm not about to waste it just on words. Welcome back, my friends, to the rage that doesn't end. I'm so close to snapping I can taste it. Never you mind what you might have done to cause it. Just sit back, enjoy the ride, cause we've only got a minute. The track ends up ahead and when it does, well, we're not stopping. Not until you're all so close to dead you beg for Heaven. "Father, please forgive me." But you know that I won't listen. Burn you fucking parasites. You are not forgiven.
A plague on both your houses,
-God As Himself
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