Thursday, January 12, 2012

page 56

are done with our games before her husband gets home she always had to do what I told her she kept telling me that she loved me and that someday we would get married I was careful not to leave any fingerprints or bodily fluids I have watched enough dragnet to know that the crime is in the details the world needs tractors more than it needs me or her we are just two pawns in a cosmic charade eventually she could take the theatrics she had intentions of confessing to her husband about her sins I doubt that they ever could catch up with her when she ran away we all waited for her under the hot cracking sun we weathered the storm of accusation of incriminations but nothing could be proved some of the neighbors said that they saw a young man talking to her one of the young men who hang out at the house with the loud music but they could tell which one we all looked the same with our long hair and bellbottoms on certain days I can hear her whispers through the leaves the plants in my garden ask me to tie them up and to pull the weeds from their roots slowly the heat dissolves and I am wet again all my actions are processed through the perceptual filter of my sensory organs how I perceive myself in the act of creating life or creating destructive defines the definition and reception of my actions if my actions are filtered through the lens of love then even my evil actions can be seen as a benefit to one’s soul it is your subjective interpretations that keep me from the gates of hell separating me from the froth and corruption of this imaginary world we are all the idiot children of an insane god it doesn’t matter if you call god tim or AC both are insane and operate on rules that they make up as they go along sometimes I think that tim and AC are the same person only just two personalities that have split off from a tormented individual neither personality is the original personality that personality died long ago now our conception of god is inhabited by a psychopath with a split personality I guess this explains how god can be so contradictory when he both loves us and hates us at the same time and notice that in my demented dream of a fictional godhead that such a creature is masculine instead of feminine it must have something to do with a patriarchal psychosis that haunts me as I lay immobile on the operating table the doctors are removing pieces of my brain maybe they will remove this god thing from my brain I wonder which part of the brain contains this inherited adaptation that was at one time necessary for the survival of the species now god is dead and a phantom of its existence lives on in the feeble forms of tim and AC it is the dead part of life that makes us create such fabrications I am hallucinating on the operating table I can see the children playing in the backyard they are consumed by their brilliance they are chained to the playground the swings need oiling as they creak back and forth they are using magical words that they stole from Mr. Crowley when his back was turned he had written these words in a magical book that he was working on the children sneaked into his room and looked at these words I wondered how they could sleep through all the noise and destruction the playground was sinking into the ground the war machine was hiding underground and had set the earth on fire whole buildings would catch fire and burn and the mothers would send their children outside to play now the children ran off to

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