Sep 13, 2018, 05:56AM

Ridiculous Rapture

Hell is the idea of other people.

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On a recent and rare sunny afternoon, I was relaxing, enjoying the bright glow of summer’s end. A shockwave of inner peace swept over me. It suddenly felt like I was floating in the immediate surroundings of my natural landscape. The trees waving, shedding early fall leaves in thick air. Cows mooing from across fields. Birds chirping and insect noise, the silent sounds of atmosphere. I've never felt so in tune with all. It wasn't an epiphany in the spiritual sense yet it felt like my quiet soul was amped up and magnified, lifted skyward toward the warm sunlight and giant blue emptiness filled with simple animal shapes and faces of whitish silver clouds. My body was electric and tingling. Then it was gone.

Vanished to the dull reality of life and death flashbacks. I’ve never resembled anything remotely American or patriotic. Banish to self-imposed exile. My tweets go unnoticed. The songs and music go unheard. Words written in invisible ink. I joined Twitter hoping to gain more eyes. I am a twit scrolling through Fakebook posts like rolling toilet paper to wipe my hard-drive ass mind clean. My virus has no name. Greasy microchips and soupy sonic reducers. My conductors are decomposing. A non-musical salad of vibrations and refracted light. A miracle or abomination. A hallelujah jubilation or transgressions against the tart house dressing of nothing in particular.

It’s the fuzzy truth where fact and fiction blur. Spinning good angels vs. evil demons, loving gods with no real power. Dead or alive I’m wanted without reward for existing in my mind’s eye. Dreaming while awake in a slumber party for all to see and sleepwalk around in life's big boy pants. Bar-hopping the days away and pub-crawling the night’s oblivion. Filled with 100 proof spirits of ignorant ghost bliss. A drunken career of avoiding my reflections. Psychic vampires have no need for mirrors except to chop souls with a razor and snort them through a rolled up dollar. That's modern-day survival in the chump-beat-chump, dog-eat-dog, cat-and-mouse world. Haunted ghosts on the hunt, hell hounds nipping at your butt. A stiff drink to loosen a stiff corpse. Prop ‘em up against the wall on public display. Don't let this happen to you. There’s no excuse for bad behavior.

So damn sorry for the trials and tribulations of some other-worldly world. My own simple sadness consumes a dark skull eating away at brains only a zombie could love. All that I survey is all there is. I make it up as I go along. Reinventing the me I was before you stepped in. I don't really know for sure if I exist on this physical plane or on the bus. Driving a two-ton hunk of steel down the highway of make believe. Crash and burn, crawling from the wreckage of time, but time is the pain of knowing less and feeling more.

Suffering succotash of the here and now to even later ever after. I think therefore you are. I think therefore I drink. You’re a figment of my twisted imagination. I’m not really here to hear myself think. I know you probably think I’m insane. Me as myself playing a caricature of you. The best form of imitation flattering you playing as myself. Fool that I am to believe in you in the first place. I told myself not to trust anybody including me. No exceptions.

I let myself down gently and try to roll with the punches. Those slings and arrows of feces from bulls and horses. Stars shining in the cosmos of our earthly reality shows with no audience. What makes greatness if you're not there to witness it? If you have no knowledge of me how can I know so much about you? Sorry, but you must die before you can get your reward in heaven. You'll be famous when you're dead. Figure it out with all the answers found in the back of the book. Redeemed in green stamps and coupons as the currency of forgiveness. A cash-only business of redemption. Used soul salesman selling everlasting life. To the believers go the spoils. The highest of the lowliest shot like rockets to the heavens.

Deny your right to believe as long as you deny my right not to. Refuse the right to exist in any world but mine. The ones you see on the way up or down it's still lonely at the top. Looking down at the past. Pray to your god and pray for mine too. My dreams are so real all the time. Difficult to imagine a place without a world being somewhere in it. Uncertain of a power greater than one. Spare none. Equal in the eyes of the dead, so go the living. Saved from yourself. Born again and again for good measure. Hear the sound of afterlife ticking time bombs.

The grand illusion of passing through the monotony of time to another place. Just taking up space. A particular set of molecules. Still waiting there for us to arrive. Which is nowhere to be found and no place to go. Where the mighty great, all-seeing, all-powerful you jerks the strings, pushes the buttons and switches, pulling the levers of eternal life. It's all in my head. Somewhere between the ears, behind the eyes hides the possibility of you beginning and me ending. Hell is the idea of other people.


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