Notes from the Dead Letter Office. Sunday, April 09, 2006

Wake up and join the race that has already been run. Catch up to what has already been finished. Or pull the covers back over your head and suffocate. Dilute yourself in the flow of a raging technological overload. Become a product not a person. A cold number on an unforgiving door.
Buy houses, toilet paper, oscillating sexual aids. Consume at a rate that can only be measured by the rate of the universe expanding inward on itself. Buy love, and sell death on every street corner. Worship false gods and bits of colored plastic. Simple men become heroes to weak-minded animals of a functionless mass for using coupons.

Tell the world you are sorry, and that it won’t happen again. Be the lowest bidder of the lowest common denominator. Function, yet have no worth. It does not help to put yourself into anything because it will only be crushed under the blind foot. Dysfunction is now the new functional, every day madness.

Don’t leave you dwelling, and sickness might not catch up with you. Cheat death. Be used by the system you abuse. Want more and never be happy. Happiness is for the week and the unproductive, and we all don’t want that. Do we? Nature lies outside our windows, but we only see that on smoke breaks and on our rides home form jobs and malls we don’t much like. Forever safe in our expensive cars. Killing small animals in rush hour frustration.

The duration of life is what we make of it. The ability to go on, do the wrong thing, and get paid for it. Run up bills that we have no intention of ever paying. Going to jail and getting married. Have ugly kids, for the tax right off purposes only. The sex was good, and oh, the check is on the nightstand. There is no room for love the second we are born. We all need to get something done that can never be accomplished. The price of gas is killing the little guy, and somewhere pockets are getting bigger.

I can’t help it, it’s all McDonalds fault I’m fat. The excuses keep coming. Verbal sewage flowing like drunken angry vomit. The coping or the lack thereof ebbs from each and every one of us. Art does not pay. The bleeding heart only dries out, eventually. Not to mention the stains are a bitch to get out. Chemical additives in our food are used to genetically alter us into better consumers. Face it. Work longer hours. Get something done for the other guy. Nothing will get done in the long run. You will die unfulfilled.

Have a heart and give. Like leftover fish, this smells funny. Understand the unexplainable. Wash behind your ears, or you will die alone in a dumpster. Eat your peas because if you don’t some one  will be out of a job, Its one less person that going to need peas. No market in it anymore, so why do it?

Defecate where you live. I know I do. I can’t go take a shit at my neighbor’s house. Cut out your tongue and send it to Tipper Gorre. Play Dungeons and Dragons; worship the Devil. Watch Saturday morning cartoons with a head full of acid just to remember what it is like to be a kid. Sell drugs to nuns. Lay down concrete to keep the soil from getting dirty.

Imitate everything. Be different. Wake up and never know what’s going on, or how long a furlong is. Populate the world full of nonsense just to make sense make more “sense”. Sell real estate in insanity. It’s a summer home. It’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there. How long it this to last? How much is too much? Well, I guess when your brain explodes and your heart stops. Two seconds ago, when you were alive was the limit to be set. By who though?

Walk in my shoes they won’t fit, and they don’t go with those pants, but what the hell rebel. Against what though? It’s getting old to rebel against your parents. How about friction? Defy both friction and heat, I’m sure you have nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. Show the world that there is no chance in anything we do. It is all planed in the script. We are the greatest joke. Understand that you have to go to work, you have to buy, and you have to sell. There is no choice. You must be the poster child for the working class asshole. With your nuclear family on the road to happiness. Eating the family dog because at least you know where it has been. Forget what they told you, but remember what you found out for yourself. Imagination ran off with the vital parts of existence. For instance the prices of gas once again are going to cause the average Joe to sell crack just so he can drive little Timmy to soccer practice. Oh, by the way it all ends here.