We will sit here, overlooking the ruins of Chernobyl, until we die from radiation poisoning or turn into mutants. Because it's beautiful to us, this cityscape empty of people, and drunk on vodka we imagine the whole world thus, saved at last from the likes of us, who will finally and at long last have obliterated ourselves out of sheer incompetence. It is enough to say we never should have been here in the first place. No, our place is elsewhere, but where? Some Hell made in our own image. Let's just leave it at that.
« We Cannot Hear a Politician Speak | Main | We've Invented »
May 30, 2016
Comments
The comments to this entry are closed.
Man, I'm a gonna buy you some sweet-ass flowers and a John Coltrane hologram and have him honk & follow you rom room to room. There's a bomb crater, and there's Sun Ra (fill in the blank) Me, I'm going to focus on Sun Ra, but with the knowledge that the bomb crater is always there, and that it's horrible, but the music will show me the possibility, at least, of so much more. I don't know what that makes me, but it's mine.
Posted by: Jeffers | May 30, 2016 at 04:37 PM
Music, writing, these are the only things that show me a way out. Plus family and friends, of course. Still, when I suffer, I go into a frenzy of hatred towards mankind. It's a fault. I'm trying to free myself of it.
Posted by: Mike | May 31, 2016 at 10:47 AM
Free your ass, and your mind will follow. Or the other way around? Whichever way P-Funk said it. I'd trust them first.
Posted by: Jeffers | May 31, 2016 at 11:01 AM