I’d like to tell you that I am having no fun. Now, anyway.
I stare at thatÂ picture: your exploded hair, your wild eyes, your open, pink mouth, and, with sadness, I realize I am having no fun.
The tracing algorithm indicates you are orbiting a nearby star that I can see in the last moments of dawn as the sun eats up the last of night. Â If I had a telescope. Â If I Â gave a fuck where you pretend to be.
Yes, you are far away on a dim star.
Obviously this is not true because I can see you through the windows covering my compartment. Â In fact, you are waving at me right now. Â I can see you!Â Hello, distraction! Â Hello, pure ruin! Â Hello, my terror! I am waving back! Â Let us pretend tonight! Let us pretend that we ar so far away so you can tear me apart!
You have no idea that I am in on your little joke. Â Your admittedly brilliatÂ jab at my failing body and my wobbly convictions. Â I’ve been watching you with predator-clarity and rapist-cruelty. Â By those terrible terms, I wish you no harm but I wish myself nothing by utmost clarity and unfogged vision. Â Sociopaths have that clarity and now I have both that clarity and the self-hatred to temper the whole mess with gallows humor at my ownÂ ridiculous desire. Â I love blonde skin and open legs but I am not yet a total dog. Â I have empires and legacies to secure before I collapse at youÂ knees. Â Ruin me. Fine. Â That’s what theÂ lawyers are for.
You know what? Â I don’t blame you. Â I have contempt for disease, too.Â I make fun of my thinning hair and mottled face. Â So many days I set my own narrative aside only to watch myself, as a needy suitor, piling contempt upon me as I chase suns and planets. Â Just for fun.
How do I know? Â Because I’ve thought about this. Â I’ve planned it. Â I’ve filled my near-sleep mind with theÂ glorious drug of rage, lust and revenge until I was soothed into sleep like a milk-filled baby. Â I’d split you apart like leftover chicken.
You’re right, as always.
TheÂ computer says my blood is functioning well with the white cells waging a lovely, microscopicÂ war on the lurid pollution of my unexamined life. Â I feel better. Â I will live almost forever, as long as the credits are stable enough to make payments.
So, mostly, I am alone with doctors, drugs and video-images. But the dome-ceiling is still yet decorated with your goggle-eyed, rosy-mouthed image, not intended for anything but self-illumination. Â No matter what, my vagrant heart claws its way past my ribs, gasping, seemingly ready to burn all bridges, seemingly ready to violate every sacred oath I was too dumb to deny.
This is what happened:
is color-paint on your chest
is massiveÂ destruction
is wings that bomb
is wild distraction
is a failed test
Later on, the Army informed me that we had lost the war and the hospital would be overrun by looters. Â Your “star” is nearby. Â We will come get you before all the guns fire. Â I need you and I’m taking you with me.
After all that, Â I am going in to hiding. Â I will surround myself with (images of your pants pulled down) as I expand my influence over the invading enemies. Â They will surrender dreams to me.
Yeah, there are “true believers” that will resist my dark inventory of favors.
I’ve dealt this kind of man before. Â He has his price. Â I know exactly what the priceÂ is and I would be a fool (a hypocrite) not to pay it. Â I’m paying it right now.
Text and Images Â© Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved