2:12 a.m. The world is not ending quickly enough. In the past few weeks -- trust me, diary, for I had been paying special attention -- there were moments in the manic waltzing of all this busy living, a moment of pause or a rest between measures, when it would've been utterly perfect to shriek Stop, Time Out, Hold On Car Coming! and put an end to all this merry-go-rounding and travel and birth and death and all that intolerable in-between. The world however did not oblige me, intent as it was on its obsessive recitation of the calendar. Since all of my fellow dying seem caught up in all their dramas and relationship, and since after all I'm not Jesus Christ and therefore not actually required to save anyone, I decided to hell with it and I would abandon spaceship without a regard to all the rest of the preoccupied passengers, just make my way alone out the path of stars towards the sea of light and swim alone into the outer dark. I completed the checklist necessary for travel--

-- a lethal dose of Substance D;

-- an array of fine-edged scalpels;

-- a singular 60-watt light bulb;

-- a syringe;

-- a belt;

-- an orange;

-- a note to housecleaning informing them of my destination, requesting them to forward my mail if possible;

-- Arab Strap's "Red Thread" in the CD player, repeating "Haunt Me," since it seemed to me that Tindersticks would just come off recherch�;

-- a pen, in case I wanted to write something, like HELP.

(The note to housecleaning, by the way, was merely a last bit of sarcasm, since I doubted anyone would discover me in time to effect any true kind of domestic engineering; and I don't receive any mail, so there'd be no need to forward it! Q.E.D.)

The day was drowning into evening, I think it was evening, at the least, and the clouds outside had assumed a welcoming Dante Gabriel Rossetti demeanour. I think there was an eclipse taking place without; within my room, definitely, there was some kind of darkness obstructing the sun.

I took the orange in my mouth and I took the Substance D in my blood and I took the scalpels in my heart and I took the belt tight round my throat and I took the light deep in my throat and I took the pen and wrote on my arm FUCK.

There's more, of course there's more, but it's silly and besides you know the ending: nothing ended, I was caught by this huge black angel that was hovering behind the ceiling light bulb and he asked me for the password, I didn't know it, so the angel fucked me up the ass so savagely that I threw up, I threw up the Substance D, I threw up the bit of orange, I threw up the light, and here I am again, la la la.

the Funny Show

agriculture poem

my life in the ghost of Bush

time-lapsed (part 1)

unreconciled

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Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.

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