Maybe humanity will actually bend at the waist,
Stoop down to the yellow bud and sniff deeply
When the asteroid is barreling down through the atmosphere,
A red orange yellow fireball the size of Texas,
The metaphorical grim reaper grabbing
His very real dick, all giant and veiny,
Ready to fuck the world just as we do each other.
You’re damn right I’m pissed off.
Depression cascading like sleets of water flowing over from a poured cauldron,
Bubbling hot oil coating everything, melting all it touches,
Setting fire to the very air it passes through
It hurts my twitching eyes to walk the streets,
It hurts my soul bathing in the advertisements;
The throttling, strangling noogie you can’t help but slowly choke from.
Morning latte’s with extra foam, ready to worship our strip mall religion
Stampeding opening gates for a $15 microwave; that sure is a good deal, honey.
Blue filtered smartphones enabling mobile masturbation, perhaps in the back of a cab?
Only if your buddy is streaming it live, can’t miss all those little white thumbs.
You’re goddamn fucking right I’m pissed.
Caring more about buzzwords urging action; nonsensical musings and arguing,
Logicality thrown asunder in flooding wake.
Red and Blue, both blinded by Green; I vomit over it all.
If you listen closely, you can hear the laughing.
And see the shaking hands holding video cameras for a good one.
Laugh, that is. On and on, and on and on.
The comedy documentary of shitting and eating while we watch it all burn.
No amount of washing could ever clear the stink;
Revving engine black smoke big tires big lifted truck.
One hand white knuckle steering wheel grip.
Trying really hard to be so cool.
Maybe one day, if I try hard enough, I could be.
I could be that fucking cool.
No amount of mullet would ever allow that possibility.
Sucked past the flat horizon, I’m sorry, I meant flat earth horizon.
It’s all a joke. Just like the Comedian.
Little boys with magnifying lenses, withered and scorched husks lying in the sun
Ruling the playground with the biggest dicks – err, sorry, I meant missiles.
Phallic nonentities juggling bulls eye straight down the throat; the money shot.
Maniacal shrill diabolical moustache twisting rise to a bitter end
White mushrooms puckering faces; no one cares.
Those that do are lost in the endless waves caressing our flat earth out to the edge,
Falling past Atlas’s outstretched hands, held just for you.
And the biggest kick in the balls?
Nothing, not one little bit of it…any of it, matters.
Tiny specks on a tiny speck, literally amongst infinite specks.
Nothing you say will ever matter. Nothing you do will ever matter.
We’re not special. We’re not clever. We’re not even an aberration.
Our God, created in our image after he created us.
Time will outlast everything, keeps marching on and on.
It kills every thing.
And when I tell everyone I see, when I grab them by their shoulders and shake them violently,
When I scream so hard spittle splashes their nose and eyes and mouth,
When they finally understand the words I’m saying,
They hear me tell them; they hear me say,
“Nothing changes until it changes.”
Slack jawed limp armed bewilderment
Cards on the table?
I really hadn’t expected anything less.