We have coke, sprite, dietary supplements, excrement
supplements, enriched white bread and toothpaste
with fluoride. We have fake-baked teenagers
drunk at our bars at 2am with handbags made
from old designer show patters now sold for $300.
We have two party presidential elections and three
party and four, anything we’re told we must have.
Anything we’re told we need. But all these things can be
found in other bars, in other worlds, in other places than here.
Than right now.
Because again and again we choose to immerse ourselves in mutable crap
and shout to the world and others who we compete with to consume:
LOOK HOW FULL I AM.
I am a thousand suns full and every car full and leather seats full
with windshield wipers that turn on for me
immediately at slightest hint of rain on my
bullet proof windshield. I’m super-sized full and
mocha chino full. I am the consumer to end
all consumers you can never have hope to be.
I’ve consumed every hydrogen, every atom,
every quark and gluon of the universe but that
was only the beginning that was Tuesday.
Today I’m told by my PDA, my blackberry, my droid,
my Netflix on my Wii, and the calendar in the sky
that I pay a seventy-six year old war veteran to write
between the clouds with canisters of saran everyday –
Is Thursday.
I even have a paper calendar in the back of my basement
underneath my four bedroom apartment with
three toilets – I live alone – autographed by Donald
Trump set on top of another box of paper calendars.
It may be passed the middle of the week, but
the sales are on the weekend and tomorrow
is Black Friday.
Tomorrow I will buy another chiffon coated crown of
thorns. I will buy every virtual display, every
three-dimensional television and I will shame you
for even thinking of calling yourself a consumer.
I will produce so much debt the country’ll
have to bail me out because that’s what happens
to me and my friends and my relatives’ relatives –
the ones I’ve never even talked to (even ones
that may have gone to public school), but who
by name association know me.
We are the bailable.
We are the ones chosen by that all knowing seeing eye
to survive.
We are the Starbucks down the street and the patience
you don’t have for your kids.
Buy them another distraction.
But them pizza and beer.
Buy them an all access pass 24/7 to a world free from danger,
exploration and everything you’ve never wanted
them to know.
And yes there was another something I could go on about
say my damned button eyes looking back at you,
there are many things I could say which you need to
hear because I could say them but my interest
lies beyond you. It all lies in the gutter where I
found these collar buttons and stuck them
in the cold fat of my skin and today, Thursday,
they’ve sank down low in the heat as the fat has
melted just enough to be able to see you
with great clarity, empty and hollow, sitting there
with your drink and wanting the time back
I’ve taken from you. These words and thoughts of
interpretation are all we have. Don’t let them become
forgotten words that go on and continue not to be.
They exist here in our bar, in our world,
in our hearts filled with love.
Here, we are free.
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