The Monsters All

"Everywhere you go
"Everybody knows
"All that you know."
When Nixon resigned, somebody said our "long, national nightmare is over." But really, it was just the beginning. We knew what kind of person Nixon was when we elected him and as that veil was slowly lifted to see his true face - our true face - we afterwards decided never to look into the mirror again. Since we as a society produced the people who shot the Kennedys we then were left with pinning our hopes on monsters like us - like Tricky Dick. And in that, there is no hope.

"We had been given paradise -
"But t'was not to be in our eyes."
Do you know how God kills the homeless? It's a simple thing really: He does it with bathrooms. Every time you use a bathroom that's not your own, a piece of you dies. It's a most shameful and painful predicament. I look around me but who can help?? Who can give me a bathroom of my own? No one. Monsters all. Until mankind can freely and universally pass out pissoirs to all, there is no hope (Revelation 7:11).

God has told me all I need for salvation is to never use a throne that's not my own. Something miniscule to most but monumental to me. This leaves my mind careening with all sorts of crazy trains of thought. "If I could only find a way to never need a bathroom again I'd be fine!" So valiantly I fight to hold off the Inevitable Moment of Death but comes it does. I can't stop the forces of nature though it remains in my rotation of Things To Try.

"I pretend, pretend, pretend
"Until reality I suspend."
Another tact is to pretend the toilet I'm using is my own. Maybe - just maybe - I can fool the toilet gods and they won't come to take a piece of my soul. It's sort of like going to a movie theater and losing yourself. If somehow I could make that my life I'd be saved. If only there were a way to step into that screen then dreams could be made whole once again. Yes, I know it is folly but try I must.


So in the end, my lifelong Dark Nightmare continues. I clutch my stomach in the middle of the night, wanting to scream but there's no human with ears, as I'm slowly sucked into the jaws of death yet again. I have to watch myself die, knowing it's going to happen and yet helpless to prevent it. Down the road is man in a home, flushing his commode, never realizing the heaven he possesses. And that's what I truly don't get: I know why I'm dying - I can have no friends or girlfriends - but you, who live in procelain paradise, why are you people choosing death too?