Hey man, you want to know how my day went? I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you good. I hacked into this man’s head. He was white as a church candlestick. I shoved my purple power source into his eardrums and played solo with his band of graybeard sorry–ass views, which went all in the same direction: all he cared about was attention. He didn’t care who gave him attention, attention was his needle, his addiction. He’d have sold the muscle of his heart for fame. He’d sold out to the daredevil of distinction, the owl of renown owned him. She’s Athena’s bird, almost not a bird but an institution, an eminence of the air, foul fowl. The goddess herself claims to do all for knowledge but in truth she is a slut. Anyhow, there I was, enjoying myself madly inside this jock’s mind. I was piloting around, screwing him up. I even told him what to say, and when I said to his girlfriend “fuck off, bitch”, out of nowhere, her mouth fell open like the draw bridge to the enemy’s castle, and I felt I’d said something that he’d wished to say for a long time, and even though I didn’t know why it was so satisfying to him that these words finally came out of his cake hole, the pleasure it gave him was fully visceral and depleted him daintily. What a dork! When I left, I left my candy wrappers and my riot robbers behind. I knew he was going to have a hard time being good and successful again, but he’d be hard in no time, and he’d take no shit for shit. On his next day in the office, he’d slobber mouth his boss, he’d put the blonde receptionist’s hand with its silver painted sharp three inch nails on his hip, he’d snicker like a goat, and then he’d throw his beautifully honed corporate body off the building, thinking unique, marvelous, solemn thoughts all the way down to the cinnamon cement. Man, I reckon it’s bitter to feel better than anyone else around you. There’s only one door left in the end, with no light on the other side.
Published in Metazen.