Do you ever feel like you aren’t alone when nobody else is in the room? I feel that way a lot. Not in a “two sets of footprints” way or anything, but more of an ominous, “hunted” sort of way. Like if I open the closet I’ll find a man in there who didn’t want to be found just yet. Like what happened earlier.
No, no, in my experience there’s only ever been one set of footprints. I don’t believe in a God that likes long walks on the beach. If I believe in one at all then he’s probably the sort with a blackened sense of humor. Did I ever tell you that God’s trying to kill me? This is a theory that I have, anyway. I think that God’s wanted me dead for a while. Everything I’ve read in the bible suggests this. So it’s my job to call him on his joke. That’s how I stay alive, I think. I see the ironic and telling ways that god might want to kill me (to make a point or teach a fucking lesson or something) and I call it ahead of time. That way his punch line goes limp. You can’t have a three-panel strip without a strong third panel, so i can steal that strength out from under the whole plot-arc. I told that to my therapist once and his questions changed after that day, back when I still had a therapist. There’s probably something very wrong with my outlook. That’s what people say. I look in their eyes and I see some pretty hefty planks.
I like that song “Desperado”. I like it when Linda Ronstadt sings it the best. Ya know, “That’s just some people talkin’” or whatever? I like that. If you think about it long enough, it’s sort of true of everything, right? I guess if you think about anything for long enough it either gets truer or turns into bullshit. That’s one of those things that just gets truer. Maybe not to you, but to me.
Where’s the soul hang out? At this question your mind may think about those Hostess “where’s the cream filling” commercials, or the Wendy’s one that says “Where’s the beef”. And from there your mind might weave that thought into one about that Notorious B.I.G song “What’s Beef?”. This line of thinking never really got anybody anyplace special. Anyway, the soul must be… under the bones. Or something. I’m not a fuckin’ doctor, I dunno.
The human body has 206 bones. My jacket has six buttons. My feet have five toes each. There’s a number for everything. 6 billion, going on 7. When a government destabilizes, does it make a noise? Is it a roar, or a shriek? A rattle? What about when a heart breaks? Some cliché shattering of glass? A bull horn?
When a person hits a low, I think they think about elementary school. That’s what I do. I wonder what it would look like if it burned to the ground. My old school, I mean. I went to a lot of schools. I made friends each time.
What’s all this bullshit gonna look like when it’s over? I mean, like, when the world ends? Is it going to be fine, white ash? It is going to be pock-marked with craters? Blackened by wars? Red with blood? Or is it going to be beyond reckoning? Is it going to be blinked out of existence? Will God just hit an off-button? Considering that we can conquer a nation with the press of a button it wouldn’t be that surprising if God stitched an off-button into the world somewhere. I wonder where it is. The bottom of the Marianas Trench? Up in the clouds somewhere? God probably went wireless with it, all he’s gotta do is finger the remote control and we’re gone.
I’m not trying to be all “sinners in the hands of an angry god”, I’m just thinking about the end. What’s it going to matter then? There won’t be a church, won’t be a Buddha, won’t be a Democratic Party. There won’t be fascists, girls who don’t call, crazy sisters or shitty beer. I know for a fact that there won’t be a “me” anymore. There won’t be a “you” either coming up soon. But that’s a different story altogether.
No, you see, this gun in my hand, why does anybody get one of these? And this chair you’re strapped to, why are you, of all people, stuck in it? I wish I had an answer. And I guess, in a funny way, that’s my point, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t think people should have guns. You shouldn’t be here in this basement, listening to me ramble, reflecting on all the stuff that’s been important to you, all the people who did well by you and everything. You should be home with your family. You got a family? Oh. Well, it’s not for everybody. Certainly wasn’t for me. Well, you’re still young. I really hate to do this, but you understand right?
If you have anything to say, I’ve got the tape recorder going. It’ll be heard, I can promise you that. Go ahead. I’ll shut up and give you the floor for a few minutes. I guess I owe you that much, but we’ve gotta get this show on the road here pretty soon.
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