Monday, November 1, 2010

Abandoned Barn

We were crossing a dark field like Indian upstarts on private property when I felt the hair on my neck stand up.
"Is it hunting season?" I whispered.
All I could see was a silhouette of a person limping nearby. Far off behind the leafless branches of an old apple tree was the shape of a hulking abandoned barn, dark and silent and deadly. No wonder we were so spooked that every hint of a sound caused us to get on our knees and crawl.
"Because you look just like an injured deer."
"I think Arctic Wolves are in season. One pelt could buy enough wood for the winter."
"I should cut your throat with my machete for saying that."
And I did have a machete for some reason on my belt. That is what happens when two scorpion bowls are followed by Crab Rangoon and a drink called "The Scorned Bastard: Make you forget your problems." You end up in an abandoned barn on Halloween night at midnight with a machete waiting to defend yourself against bow hunt attacks.

All emotion has been drained from my body at this point and it will take a solid experience in Labrador to replace it. I see life as a continual struggle to maintain equilibrium in the face of fuel costs and emotional drains such as ion implantation components. It must be nice to casually benefit from the efforts of slave workers but this is not in my blood. I will barter straight up from now on. I will ask of you nothing that I would not do myself and I will provide nothing I wouldn't expect from you. This will prevent me from sucking the life blood of the Chinese factory worker WHO IS NOT ANY MORE OR LESS IMPORTANT THAN STEVE JOBS. I can't emphasize that enough. There is no justification for one's being pampered like A FUCKING PHARAOH and the other being strapped to an electrostatic discharge wire because he doesn't want to fry the IC of the Wii wireless cheerleading baton. BULLSHIT! I reject this paradigm and can not take part in the grotesque abuse of exploited nations. I start to wonder if smallpox is better or worse than a lifetime of microsoft enslavement. I wonder if the price of a small pox vaccine is a lifetime spent dismantling the computer systems that the Pharaohs used to implement their plan of destruction. These thoughts can not be pondered or solved without complete silence and peace. OR else the struggles and dangers must be so acute (such as an arrow to the neck) that my brain will not address both at the same time. My brain is slowly burning itself out trying to understand the insane path humanity is on. Yet I press on because I am the Steve Jobs of mental masturbation. I definitely see America as an elite nation of vampires feeding on the thin blood of the starving Haitian. But go ahead and reuse your plastic bag! You should get a fucking medal.

Here is the last resting place of the faceless gangster who pillaged the farm stands of New England. His ghost haunts the pits and quarries of Nottingham. Take note all pirates:

No comments:

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.