Ideaetta Was Done Little Justice By My Fatigue

I was sitting in a field as my brain put together the image of an emerald field with an azure skyscape while my eyes were directed at dirt and litter in large expanses stretching across the area behind several fast food restaurants and I began to think about something rather strange.

A window pane rose from the ground and was opened by the beast born of greed and immaturity. It's shape was that of a beautiful woman and the lines of her body rose and fell perfectly pressing against time and space in a manner that drove me wild. She sat beside me and asked if I would very much enjoy devoting my life to pursuing gadgets, knick knacks and greenback funded respect. I told her I might and she wrapped her arms around me and whispered tangy somethings in my ear.

The path would be easy she said, I'd just have to break my mind in to the idea, push aside non material notions and assassinate beauty and build a game plan over the grave. Sounds like a good way to live I supposed, but when I reclined I saw smoke rising from tender too precious to surrender. When I turned I saw the future and knew then and there that sexy little lady greed and I wouldn't have a long term relationship.

She cried and felt empty. Poor thing, she didn't know how to cope. She should have gotten mad, but she's been around the block and went straight into the end result of pursuing that way of living. As she sobbed I noticed on the nape of her neck were the words "Made in America" pressing up through the skin. She never had a chance. She wasn't some beast like I had assumed, she was a bad idea born of an irrational and primitive mind, the same mind that runs all manner of human things.

What to do... what to do...

Weird thoughts came to me, some inappropriate for the time and the place but I let them make room in my mind and fed them attention. It was dark now, and so quiet and still I could feel the Earth's chest press against the flesh of the night. The little idea lady sat cold and sullen with swollen eyes red which told of loss and confusion. She doesn't want, doesn't wish, just sits there like a train out of track.

In the sky a plane had wrote a message with nuclear smoke: "What is it about man that makes him want to worship things he can't see instead of the ground that grows and the sun that bleeds life. Ra and Gaia have more right to our nonsensical devotion than ghosts and distortions."

I looked over at the idea and her eyes shined with new hope. She stretched out her arms and arched her back, smiling and arranging thoughts for an rebuttal to my previous stance.

She rose to her feet and and with lips so sweet laid savagely into my defense of immaterial things being a reason not to pursue her. Ideas want to be loved and held and wanted. They want to exist, and technically they do, but they want to be physical manifestations, alive in the ultra world, so badly that they'll let man change and abuse them unmercifully. She thought she had a chance to convince me to chase her and take her. She wanted to be breathed in, absorbed, or eaten.

I told her of my ways, of my thoughts, and she fell again into sorrow because she could never be a part of them. What a painful thing it must be. I thought about how to bring about happiness to the little idea's heart. Then it came to me. I stood her up and beheld her naked form. Raw greed, relentless pursuit, beautiful but irrational and empty inside. I opened her chest and she fell limp. This is a dangerous thing to do if you haven't the experience, but luckily I am an ordained minister and practicing medicine man, I was prepared. I held her up and whispered sweet somethings into her chest cavity. I filled it with altruism and then closed her back up.

And Then Have To Dig It Up, Cause I Need To Cut Things Later

Today I thought a great deal about how humans would die out. There are so many potential ways, but certainly the way it will actually happen will be much funnier than any of us realize.

I can imagine myself waking up in the aether and looking down at our planet from on high. In a matter of seconds I can see the birth and death of everything human. The birth and development was very interesting but without a doubt the demise was the star of the show. I would say, "wow, that came out of fuckin' nowhere," when I learn how it ended. Well... I'd like to think anyhow. It is always a good thing to end on a joke or a rim shot.

It's lonely outside. No wind, no clouds, and no sounds. Though I hate it, I wouldn't mind listening to the frog that seeks to piss me off right now. I wonder why this is. Most likely it is a coincidence, but it is not that far of a stretch to say that nature may be conspiring to get me low so I cant see the tree branch assassin the next time I'm cruising through the woods in a convertible. Ah yes, I would love to do that right now, convertible cruising in the woods despite the threat of wood-be assassins. Life is too short to worry about the tree's murder thoughts.

I've got sand in my eyes earlier than usual. I'm going to go bury the hatchet.

Repression

the picture is smaller than I thought

Well, that's alright isn't it? Why, if that was my biggest worry of the night then I do declare my night hasn't been half bad.

...Unfortunately there are horrible things going on, RIGHT NOW, on this very night.

I am an ordained minister and keeper of the Great Magnet's divine light, but I cannot see all. While I know tragic things are occurring at this moment in time I cannot know the nature or specifics of these evils. I must look backward and remember things I've tried to forget because now I know how important it is to do so.

I recall a horrible thing, long forgotten, until I decided to look for it again. I cannot regret the decision. It must be done. Done... here I am somewhere in North Texas waiting with hateful people for a man to come out of a trailer. I can hear Chopin, but not at this moment in time, the music is a gift from the Great Magnet... it wants to make it easier to recall.

After waiting a while the man came out of his trailer with St. Whiskey's divine aura keeping him safe from rational thought. He was confident and angry. He looked towards me and the young hateful men and tried to speak in garish language. I didn't understand but he kept talking. We were there for a reason but now the drunk man's mentally crippled son is at the door of the trailer. He is afraid and speaks as carefully as can. The drunk man turns to his son who lets his terror show across his face. His father pulls him away from the door and forces him into the yard. The son begins to sob.

In the world many of us think we live in this would have been the moment that a hero appears and saves the poor son from the drunken father. How ever it would happen, in a perfect world the son wouldn't have to endure such overwhelming dread and he would know eventually come to feel secure, and maybe even loved, by someone... anyone.

Back in the realm of things that have passed, the drunken man starts destroying his retarded son before an audience of hateful beasts, just as monstrous as the drunk. The son is alone in his fear, alone in his suffering and alone in a world he cannot understand. There is so much pain here that he cannot even muster the strength or will to ask why it has to happen. The drunk man is savage and spiteful. He beats his son as if the poor boy was the everything he ever hated in the world. The lame son's jaw is unhinged, his nose is shattered, his teeth are lost and his forearms are black from the strikes he tried to deflect.

I stand with the hateful people and feel across my body every single blow. My mind has left. I stand and watch with nothing but my heart inhaling nightmare essence while my conscience screams for vengeance. I almost make a move on the drunk, but my mind leaped from the darkness and stopped me just as the drunk man stops long enough to regain any measure of sanity or mercy he once had. He stands over his son who isn't moving... the poor soul is broken in ways you couldn't understand. For him there is no light, no relief and no hope on such an immeasurable scale that it would endanger a good soul to attempt to contemplate the horror. The hateful people say some words and the drunk responds quietly. He reaches into his pocket and hands one of us a baggy full of white chaos and an envelope. Then we turn to go.

On the way back to wherever it was we went, the oldest of us told me to forget everything I've just seen. Just do it he says, and offers something to take our minds off of what we saw.

Right now, before, during and after these words have entered and left you, cruelty and the vile nature of man are inflicting sorrow and hurt on man and nature. Things that can feel pain are being dealt more than you will ever have to endure in your life. I am fortunate to be here, in an enclosed room with air conditioning and a connection to the rest of the world and if you are reading this then you are fortunate too.