I live inside my head. Come on in. There's plenty of room for all the fleeting thoughts and some old-fashioned stinking thinking too. My thoughts are mixed up with excellent ideas and alarming bad news. It all bangs around and rolls like billiard balls on the snooker table of my 8 Ball dream. Like a shark at an all-you-can-eat buffet feeding frenzy. Viewing my myopic view of the world with awe, wonder and a mild state of shock. Bouncing topics playing off my bank shots into corner pockets of every day deep-fried fear. Most of the time I have difficulty concentrating, distracted by the smell of barbequed noise echoing in my burning ears.
Thoughts in an-off kilter jumble, jumping around like fleas on a dog. I believe fleas move faster together as a cohesive unit without thinking at all. Old flea-bit dogs just dream about fresh bones. Most of the time I contemplate my own bones click-clacking away. Dancing a boneyard jig in my standard run of the mill cartoon fantasy. I'm uncomfortable in this cluttered head. The dead leave me ill at ease but entertain in all their mockery of the living and the finality of death’s morbid glory. Excuse me waiter, could I have the reality check please? There’s a dead fly floating in my consommé. No room for dessert.
My wife says I don't listen. Partial deafness from decades of blaring rock ‘n’ roll but mostly because I'm lost inside this skull of mine. Of course she’s right. I try to hear her because what she says is usually important. Reality slips through my fingers and pokes out the eye in my pineal gland. I'm always preoccupied with thoughts on topics that flood my unconscious. My rowboat of logic and twisted ideas are funny paper caption balloons that usually fill in the blanks. I don't even know what they're about. What the hell was I thinking? This self-absorbed introspection is exhausting. The nonsense that sieves through my silly-putty brain makes for a ball of confusion. Millions of ideas mingled with vague regrets for yesterday’s missteps. Mixed emotions and second thoughts. Taking everything into account for my shortcomings under misguided consideration. The mind’s a terrible thing to misplace.
The scatterbrained approach to understanding. There’s a reason for it all. Maybe not. Or to simply make it up. Merrily rolling along solving problems and remembering important stuff as if it’s an overactive priority. Discombobulated by my own inept disability to deal with everyday issues when duty calls. Where simple problems compound into unbearable excuses for exact science. Searching for answers to some reflection of another reality. The equation of one plus one minus one equals one. Take a stab or a jab at it; poke it with a stick to see if it's still alive, real or dead.
Someone once quipped that reality is for those who can’t handle drugs. Maybe that’s true, but when looking back, even as a kid I couldn’t handle or accept what those who were in the “authority” said. Shoving it down our throats, one falsehood away from choking. Whitewashing everything into brilliant whiteness and brainwashing everyone who falls for the party line and the word of god. The history of a country gone soft, disguised as truth. From ripe to rotten. Phony and tasteless as sliced white bread. And now a word from our overlord sponsors. It’s oleo poly unsaturated genetically modified carbon copies. Bringing you only the finest top quality gentler, kinder new world order. Fresh from the internment camp trailers south of the border wall. All the little suffering children and the great evil looming just out of sight. Old demented billionaire xenophobe white men jockey for position to win over the party people. Chosen by and for the handful of inbred morons who own the world. Mouth-to-ass human daisy chain suckling each other’s shit as milk and honey flows from the country’s monstrous tit.
Where super moons shine on the earth’s unhealthy pallid glow. A FTW pandemic of gaunt victims grimace in unison to the multi-media WTF broadcasts. Up-to-the-minute news reports. Weather on the eights. Something different every second. The worst city, the most dangerous place on the planet, the best places to find toilet paper. Stockpiles of unused hand sanitizer. Recycled surgical masks. In search of the last bidet. The epidemic rages on. Lockdown shut-ins hiding out and drinking heavily. Riding it out to the bittersweet conclusion. Flu shots and mystery vaccines for nasty germ big pharma futures. Anti-social distancing. An elaborate hoax concocted by desperate cowards. In the final analysis there are no winners. Everything’s closed. Assholes fighting over the last scrap, the body count mounts. May god have mercy on our holes. In the end the cleanest butt shall prevail.