I write when I am a tad bit on the anxious side. Does it help? Yeah man. It helps to shed words and darker thoughts.
One day you will run out of paper and pens for those lists you enjoy composing at 5 am, my guy.
Lists filled with pointless tasks. Rugs to make. Ugly ones in dirty orange that bleed into the floor. Recipes littered with wholesome ingredients vetted by a blonde with glassy Asian skin and all the hallmarks of ‘traditional’ beauty. Appliances to fix. People to save and pray for. Taxes to pay and politicians to kill off. I mean….replace. And a world of things to complain about as we bible verse our way to oblivion before bed time.
You want me to care about those lists don’t you? And donate the change rattling in my pocket to a charity when I buy fried chicken from that old dude, serving up diabetes for the last few decades. You want me to care so much I start praying. To a god, the end of a rusted needle. But it is so much more entertaining to watch ….as people…
Pick someone. Anyone. At a bar. The beach. Or work. Take a risk. Have babies. Get married and then spend the rest of eternity convincing themselves they made a good choice. Go on a dating app. Pretend they wanna connect and that blue is indeed their favorite color. Yes, darling…of course I will call…but only after being convinced that the dick is worth returning to. Here’s my number love…089…65378999 I dont give a fuck till next time yeah? Caring is a luxury.
And I really do wish I cared. About you. Your lists. All the distractions that dance deliriously like small pills and powders you carefully consume. On special occassions. In the car before the kids go to school or on a Friday night after the recital of prayers. Just a little something to take the edge off the boredom you feel, the friends you can’t stand, the dull faces on a dancefloor. At a bank or the chemist. Oh my god…why not just click click your red shiny shoes home darling, so reality doesn’t seem so real and you can pretend Fido is a dog and not your boyfriend getting fisted in a three way in next room hmmm?
Have you noticed? It has become terribly fashionable to cling to life of late.
Pop a pill. Any pill. Even if it’s not the fun kind. As long as it comes with a guarantee of some sort. Make sure your nose is clean before you leave the bathroomm eh?Cough. Cough. Wash your hands. Shall we? Shall we all dare to stay alive another year while we huddle around black screens as it devours and grows fat off fears we didnt know we have?
One day you will run out of names to put on the list. Names of those who should be…
Saved. Condemned. Cursed. Poisoned. Allowed entry to the party where all the important fucks hang out with their shiny new girl and boy toys. All popping the same pills so they glimmer like old forgotten gods as Death descends on the snowy white plains.
One day you are gonna run out of paper my guy. Out of pens. Out of reasons. Out of shiny people to help disguise that this is all you will ever be…as you cough. Cough to stay alive.
Do you get it now? Do you see? This is what happens when a pandemic becomes the wet dream of every Alien overlord. Christian. Conspiracy theorists and Hypochondriac…. all of them getting off on borrowed time. One day you will run out of paper my guy and that’s when the fun really begins.