To you, the coffin-ready- I bring new knowledge! If you want to live your life as prologue, take orders. I like dogs who respond to my commands by glancing at me over their glasses. Anyone who ignores me is a friend of mine. I am the newest by-product of America's crippling dishonesty and evasion. Someone else warns you to hide blood under thick disguises. I tell you those words that unlock your needless armor: No judgment need be attended to except that which is backed by violence- and this latter proves itself unworthy. A politician doesn't fix what is broken but what should be broken. The incurable illusion of danger. Truth abides in fragile movements, same in big strong stuff. But when I look out at this sea of blank faces, I feel nothing but gratitude. You are each a station on the road to my disengagement. A miricle of gorey corners, heaving around its strange scaffold of bones. An exclaimation has occurred internally, punching my heart, flaring my gills and leaving me happily exhausted. Sometimes dust collects and visits questions upon gold, clogging the shrine. Ignored questions asked. Religion is polite until challenged. That's why I've decided to return, an ambassador from that greatest of majorities, the dead- to tell you that you are all failures. A creepy spirit jangles overhead- not shimmering overlords or the enticing ascended but sky cancers, blonde fish and hammered metal hotels. You glory in a jet- wash of vomit from your sick masters. People don't mature, they just lose interest. Lipstick for dogs, that's the bottom line. I assure you there's nothing very mysterious involved. A cynic is someone who finds out at birth what others find out at death. Your soul will tear open like a peach. They'll raise badly-rendered statues to me in this town and rendering mills for you in the next. The illusory river of names will tide around this stone heart. Health codes baby. The formula dissolves.
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