Nov 03, 2020, 05:55AM

The Big Burn Out

A fireworks display in the middle of the only place to be afraid.

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Claudio Parreira

The end of everything in what’s left of the world. Maybe it hasn’t started. The world’s turning. The last civilization in a nowhere place of repeat never-endings. In the end of the beginning there was nothing and it was good. Stuck in a rattrap without even poison bait to nibble, gnawing off a tail to get free. We’re on a crash course with an asteroid the size of a ‘62 Cadillac with pointy fins called modern desire. Anything is possible from this point forward.

A rogue planet traveling aimless through space. Hurtling through the silent void of the universe in darkness with nary a doubt. Suspended beliefs hanging kudzu covering everything along the roadside. Observe the bending light of perpetual darkness. Watch out for the imperceptible failure of unsuccessful experiments. Dud rocket launches fizzled out countdowns to zero. More rats in a maze with buzzers, bells, whistles, switches and buttons. A little light flashes on and off signaling blinks of reward.

Those rinky-dink machines break easy as an egg-headed humpty dumpty. That dusty collection of the same old tired songs and dances. The complete decline of you and me. The first rodeo of the last roundup. Born yesterday and fell off the turnip wagon. No small feat when compared with big stinky feets walking around the plague, touchy, feely, touch and go. Keep your distance. The unstable currency of shaky boots flop around. The familiar pandering to global investment’s human commodity against purveyors of public interest and sellers in confidence games. Consumers beware. Buyers can’t sell a dream.

Hold no futures In stock markets fluctuations. Money’s make-believe dreamed-up notions. A fiscal fistula stuffed in a fickle pickle. Way too many know the cost of everything’s value in nothing. Equality loses all worth to lesser evils. I’ll take the cheaper one. The less painful choice. Life’s cheap when you have no funny money to burn. In this dream, bodies stack up neat like firewood waiting for autumn. In winter’s gaze a deep freeze of quadruple whammies divide and conquer. Stinging rain soaks through icy fear. The cold intimidating eyes glaze over. We came. We saw. We got the hell out.

It’s true we come from hearty stock a long way from this place but the current situation is over and done. Highly flammable when lit. Left out in the open too long your goose is cooked. Steaming empty husks of leathery skin petrified dry as brittle bone. Another fossil to refine while waiting on better days. A return to some kinda normal is highly unlikely. To begin with, anxiety’s tense stress test leading to an overwhelming constant buzzing in the head. A sense of dread is not the only grief to bear around this dump.

Can’t stand the heat. Get the hell out of the kitchen. Hot stuff coming through, make way and spread out. The slop they dole out served up in any prison chow line or military mess hall is inedible. Ladled lies spoon out bad information. The misinformed Age of Enlightenment. A brand new fiction sweeps the land. They tell us just how fucked up it truly is. What was once accepted as belief, true double false negative independent tests turned into competition. Anything goes. Suddenly nothing matters. Meaningless drivel eats away at the psyche, gnaws the soul. Watch the downfall. Can’t help but laugh at our sorry lot. So tired of the funny noise in my ears.

Total exhaustion from head to toe. Unable to function normally any longer, choose an easy outcome change of scenery. Normal never was. If the simulation limits the simulator then there’s no way to dream up imagination down to somewhere in a completely different world. If the shoe fits cut it off. Trapped inside maraca heads, tambourines and broken heartstrings lay the remnants of the thoughtless.

The certain smell that triggers memories. Shocked, taken aback, return to forever. The stench of life is sweeter than death. A bouquet’s decay, the smell is stupefying. Aroma so strong it leaves a burnt bad taste in the mouth. It may be comforting to cherish a pet monster, to care for it and feed regularly. But they smell up the place. No harm in loving a creature more needy than you. We’re so tired here.

Some little trifle to compare your fears with. I’ll always return back to the outer inner space. It’s high time too. A fireworks display in the middle of the only place to be afraid. Ripping the living daylights out of me. In the thick of it. Right straight away like rockets exploding in midair. Nowhere is gone somewhere near here shooting sparks. Struck like a match. Going up in smoke. Curling through the atmosphere. Burning brighter than a dumbstruck sun. One spark to ignite highly combustible ideas. Burn baby burn!

That Roman candle only crazy people talk about. Shooting stars across the horizon where the mad go to save face. Both ends burning. Shaking nerves and rattling brains. Too much love driven insane. Stars die as suns sputter out giving birth to terrestrial fireballs setting souls ablaze, pyromaniacs playing in the dancing flames. Time to burn. No smoking. Spare change? Head above clouds gasping for air with both feet planted in terra firma. I love you still. Can’t stand it anymore. Got a light?


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