"I read the news today, oh boy."
Two fell from the sky asking why:
"What's a black man? What's a Jew?
"What is it your money can do?
"For children under the sun
"Freedom dies when you're numb.
"Remember to feel your own pain
"Every living soul is the same."
"Even after you've destroyed everything you still want to live. Staying after the fire was my biggest mistake."
The sound of summer cicadas filling his ears, Sad Sam looked down the barrel of a gun. He was to be a part of nothing anymore. He got the news today: his wife had remarried. Another man would be feeling his soul mate's body, writhing in nightly passion, traveling the world. Who can Judas ask to be his friend? He'd made his life unimportant. Why? Why? Why burn down the house that held his dreams?
(Irving, TX) A fourteen year old boy commits the ultimate crime: to trust the society in which he lives. He constructs a labor of love, to share and to give. "This is what life is about." But those who labor to destroy take him as the enemy. "We must make the world safe for we who seek to destroy. Otherwise, who will ever love us? Certainly not this brat!"
He brought his love to school that day, oh boy. Those with eyes for love welcomed him. But the destroyers quickly took over. "This is the Age of Death! Death must rule or we die like fools! We are in charge to keep death safe." Laughing, death's defenders handcuffed and perp walked the boy down the school hallways, a stern message to any who might dare live. The Mayor applauded. "Considering what we do to kids nowadays, how can we possibly trust them?"
In the Suicide Society, the killer is held up as prophet and shaman, his words ruling all others. "We must listen to the killers. It is they who know us best. Hear these high priests and learn wisdom!" Feeling the praise to come, the killer awoke before dawn. He put his collar on. He draped himself in judicial robes. He carried a cross and a flag in one hand, a phased plasma rifle in the other. Sunday morning go-to-meeting time.
"Revelation is here!" announced the kept killer. Only he knew who should live and who should die, the never-ending question terrorizing the guild of guilty guardians. Silent sufferers flocked to the bullets in sweet relief, begging the rest to join them. "Salvation at last!" The outcome of many dreams were decided that day.
Sad Sam was alone. The universe went still. What was he waiting for? What was he hoping for? Who can own the sun?
"I had to do it...I had to do it. I couldn't let her see who I was. I couldn't let her see what I'm doing to my life..."
Sam's future had gone up in smoke. He faced a life sentence of meaningless slave labor without parole - monsters of the world would see to that just as they had seen to Jesus. He'd been keeping himself alive with a lie. She is never coming back. Everyone was living life but him. The soul broker selling stocks has a house. The struggling mother with two children from two fathers has a house. Even God has a house without even needing one. Sad Sam stood atop the mountain of fools.
His last thought haunted him into eternity. The one fear greater than the end of the world, however inconceivable, incomprehensible, or impossible: What if he'd never needed to burn down his house in the first place? What if he'd really had a future there he did not see? Maybe he wasn't the bum he thought he was until the day he'd thrown it all away.
The spider web in my head
Shows a graveyard of the dead.
(Irving, TX) When pretty little policemen all in a row heard the news of the boy who brought love to school transgressing against the age of death, they were overjoyed.
"It's a love bomb!"
"A bomb!?! Yippeee! I can't wait to nail that bastard! Haven't I been saying kids are shit for years? Especially mine!"
"We're on the frontline of terror now! We'll be famous! We gets to fight us some real live terrorism!"
The three SWAT members then erupted in a shared moment of mutual masturbation. "This is so exciting! I get be useful and a shithead at the same time!"
The teacher, the principal, the police and the Mayor surrounded the handcuffed and isolated child. "Admit it you little fucker! You want to blow up the world! We'll get you, you fucking piece of shit! I'm protecting my family here, Muslim motherfucker! Do you know what it's like be bullied at school? I sure do!""
"See? I knew anyone different than I was no good and a terrorist. Now we get to terrorize you! HAHAHA! Just like God wants us too. God wants us to piss on you like yesterday's newspaper."
"He's being defiant! He must be punished! We cannot be perceived as wrong or we'll be laughed at by the world. We'll teach you never to do this again. You hear us: NEVER! Not for a minute, not for a second are you ever to trust us again!"
"An artist without an art is a dangerous man."
As lost children looking to be led, all eyes were on the prophet killer sitting in his robes and collar in the interrogation room. Nervous hands twitched awaiting his words. Who would it be this time? Who would he name? What if he names Wall Street and greedy CEO's? We'd be fucked then! He knows we're a bunch frauds. He knows we go through show trial elections that have no meaning. He knows our idea of "help" is to corrupt and control. Please, please, please blame it on somebody easy to hate!
"I did it because..." The killer stopped, his hangman's eyes enjoying the moment, a puppeteer dangling his puppets. "I did it because it's Tuesday."
"Tuesday? Yes, of course! That's awesome! We'll immediately remove Tuesday from every calendar in the land! No more Tuesdays! Teach the children the new enlightened way."
Johnny started ripping out Tuesdays from the wall calendar when he got home from school. "Look, Ma! I'm making the world a better place! I'm making us safe!"
"What makes you say that, Johnny?"
"A wise man told us so."
"What was it he said exactly?"
"He said we had to pretend to do things that make us appear 'caring and moral'. He said if anyone found out how we really are we'd be dead."
Johnny's mother hesitated, then thought it over. "Here, let me rip out the rest of the Tuesdays. Don't want people to think poorly of us, do we?"