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Wassa Rant? by Ray Printer Friendly

Reverse meditation. Red everything, and feelings of unease:

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Levitate your laundry, it doesnít matter. You see it floating there, and it doesnít look any better. I seem to have seen this entire scene beforeóit didnít interest me then, either. I watch a broken-hearted fool wander through sinister nightscapes, wondering where his place is, what those frightening noises are.

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Staring at a cup of left-over tomato juice, wondering what lurks beneath the surface; how much health can they really get in there? Iíve dropped my more important marbles, and they rolled somewhere, but I forgot to pay attention. Hopefully the next owner wonít be so careless.

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What if weíre all someone elseís shadow? We go through the world, stumbling when we stumble, falling when we fall, and standing upright when we arenít doing something else. And then to discover that we are nothing more than an odd spot in the world where the sun never shines, what would that be like?

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Canít sleep for fear of dreaming,

Where are the nightmares when you really need them?

I refuse to fall silently, but I wonít scream uselessness:

Iím aiming for profanity.

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Why are you all looking at me? Iím not crazy, and your feelings of discomfort wonít change that. I just like to yell, man, I just like to laugh when thereís no reason to laugh, and I just like to believe in things that scare you. That doesnít make me crazy. According to the man who works in the lighthouse, what makes me crazy is that I donít like to eat fish.

An old man, plucking bones from a creature that I never knew existed, and he smiles in silhouetteóhis mind glimmers like broken glass in the parking lot. He wants to hurt, he wants to live in pain, but his life has become too easy, and that depresses him.

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I lick a self-stick stamp and collapse onto the floor, nothing but pain and agony, along with a shit-pile of drama. Nobody cares. They just want to mail their stuff and get out of hereóthis place looks like where you would put convicts if you got serious and decided that they REALLY needed to suffer, like if butt-rape and solitary just isnít good enough. A screaming child runs by and spits on my leg, and I wonder for just a second if this kid is a postal employee. Too young, though, too full of life. Maybe heís in the training program.

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Man, I need to get a kitten or something.


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