Gun Barrel to the Thought Control Tower Cantata
Down the cruise missile assembly line; I was recently returned from my smoke break feeling healthy. I went about my work, but for my own satisfaction on the job, I’d set a screw loose in the odd warhead. Hoping maybe one day it would ‘accidentally’ go off in some stockpile destroying it and its fat-boy cousins: putting an end to all this madness. If I am really lucky it would also take out all the self important men of war, in the vicinity, on some inspection parade, parading their inspection skills; all brass and tassels. Maybe the three Johns from the Human Resources Department and Ghandi from the Standards Control Bureau would get taken out too. Of course, naturally, I wish that, by some fate, Pluto would spare every last private and the public (although some of them don’t deserve it).My new favourite word is chthonic – the cryptic crossword puzzle told me so.
Pulling out of the parking lot, not wanting to end up a pillar of salt, I don’t look back. Here I am east bound. The few remaining horses in my engine’s stable gallop with the fury of glue factory survivors, it occurs to me that I wish that all the others that have bolted since 1988, by some phantasmic rule of justice, would end up as meat filling in a steak and kidney pie. I’m in no rush, I’m running late. Maybe I should call ahead. Then again I shouldn’t, it would ruin the surprise. Just passed the Denver off-ramp; down that dead stretch of road I’ve been hijacked twice giving hitchhikers lifts, It never really bummed me out because what I know that they don’t is: my car always comes back to me… it is a ghost car… with super powers
“if you understand that fear is THE medium of instruction, kill yourself right now, spare us the trouble of having to do it ourselves”
I never have to use the lavatory at the filling station. I just go to the third stall to see my favourite piece of graffiti. To be honest I’ve never used a lavatory in a garage, for all of my conscious life, I find the places disgusting, however some of the secreted messages I find refreshing. It all started with “I am Delve Syrum AKA Delirium Self xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx simply put I’m synonymous with serious idioms… After reading this please contact your local publisher and tell them to give me an advance, I can’t support my beer habit on my disability grant”. I was confounded. What could it mean? Why was it there? Since then I was hooked (my local publisher didn’t give a shit). I went about scouring shit-holes for the messages people leave behind. Noting quotes, referencing if one thought was original, if one idea was different from the other and on occasion allowing myself the guilty pleasure of calling one of those ‘for a good time call…’ numbers. I don’t do boys
Forgive me father for I have skinned
Today I eat chicken. A whole chicken! Roasted Chicken stuffed with all the meats I can find. No vegetables. My vegetarian girlfriend left me for a salad bar somewhere out in the desert –the Klein Karoo to be more accurate. This is my revenge on myself for thinking it could have been some other way. This is my pound of flesh for seven years; all potatoes and Soya faux meatloaf. I was going somewhere in the butchery – oh yes. “the chuck please.” -- I don’t want to stress him anymore but it looks a lot like lamb. From then on the conversation goes as follows: “Did you see the game last night?... Do you care if I stick three industrial nails in my head?... pass me the yoghurt and a steak and kidney pie… did you see that?...pass me the arsenic” etc, etc, etc
I like my mind like my bottles all over the place
Centimetre-ing my way down Commissioner, because if you think about it what’s inching, to a metric man? It’s obvious I forgot my exit, ran over a stop sign whilst trying not to; but at least I remembered to leave the gas oven burning. I hope the house burns down. There’s no better way to toast to this evening. Is it just me or the radio just said loan sharks have no jaws. I just remembered I have no radio, so it must be me – I am so cool. Pulling over to take a look at the graffiti alongside of the wall; )sigh( sadly it’s not ‘pipi’. It reads ‘ipip’ through my designer reflectors, by reflectors I mean California cop Aviators. DESIGNER! They are for when I look in the rear-view mirror; I see not only me, but the turned out guts of what I’m leaving behind. Now I’m pissing on the back porch of the magistrate’s court along what I still call West. Through my looking glasses, what I just saw, now, is an old mielie lady running to the cops. I should be going back towards Fox. Who needs to zip up in these crucial times? God bless all the beautiful women and maybe the children for not being around. Soon as my door shuts button my fly, fish for a cigarette and try to remember if I oiled the barrel correctly.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I told you so
He welcomes me introducing me as Felix. Must remember I must leave no witnesses. Ease a fictional tension. Some pretty girl with locks like… she says it’s the second time we meet and that means we aren’t strangers anymore and she’s still wants to go home with me even after all I said. I’m tempted. But I tell her FUCK OFF. Hoping she’s gets hurt enough to leave. Second complimentary beer, it does… correction… it will do nothing for me and definitely do nothing against me. Three poets all talking about love in a plastic bag. Is that ambiguous enough for you – I know you are reading my thoughts. I’m on my sixth beer and my quota is running low, but I still remember what I have to do.
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