fie, fie, thy weeping will’o tree

by dschapman

here, snort this chocolate milk powder. you’ll get fucked.

but most people just don’t get it.

i don’t “get it,” they would say.

write your father a letter warning him to stay out of the mine – it’s collapsing.

ive been pushing through to other fields, lately… are you falling out of awe with life, “that which consumes,” and feeling down? find yourself an avocation, darling, and strap in for the ride. the possibilities are immense. avocations are a form of perpetual motion, one in which once entered only expands until the bounds are long out of sight. drink some tea before you leave. i’ll miss you while you’re gone. will you ring me when you’re at the state border? here, take this – but don’t use it. if some scumbag gives you shit, fucking shoot him and take off, and don’t fucking look back. call me down the road and tell me where to wire the money. it’ll be there. all of it. any of it, for you.

don’t be fooled by the game i spit. i’m feeling down, and i’m just trying to get by. don’t think my tastes reflect any greater awareness; our self-esteem is the same. i’m lost and getting more lost. but everything’s looking up, y’hear? i mean, christ, just step outside if you don’t believe me. have you ever seen clouds like that? the birds are singing bach on the powerlines – i could not dream up something more miraculous. we’ll lay in bed and read lolita if you don’t believe me. look at what this is doing to us! it’s sharper than arsinic and it’s bleaching away all the crud and dissonance. if you come seeking harmony you’ll be sorely disappointed, but if you’ve got something more abstract on your mind… have you ever listened to more beautiful words? have you ever been to the supermarket with your walkman? what in the world were you thinking when you dated that boy? what can i say to you to let you know i love you? will you ever understand me like you think you do? would you like to hear my secrets? i have a few. they’re good ones, too. juicy ones. when i’m famous i’ll let them slip and all the public will chitter and twit about it. would you like to be the first to know? how about you? you ever thought a dirty thought? tell me all about them. i’ll keep the helicopters at bay (thank you, though). it’s just you and me out here, in these dunes. somewhere on the far side of the planet the sun is rolling merrily along, and he’ll be back this way before before you can wink and spit, but for now it’s just you and me. if you’re frightened, crawl under my arms. i’ll enfold you in my wings. i’ll keep the demons back with my big fucking guns. i’m a warrior in these parts. i was born in these lonely sands, and, like some fucked-up jumanji roll, i’ve been bound and gagged and forced to survive, and survive i have. it wasn’t always like this. when i was young, there were flowers in these hills. a river ran through them. the demons were young, and playful, and wagged their lolly tails and humped their rosy legs against my own and all was more or less peaceful. but change happens; and if you can’t make it good, then make it in your favor. so i changed the game with it. my secret? i killed the bastard demons before they could even think about harming me. i made the first move. it was i who ushered in the iron age, and the bronze age, and the atomic age, and have left this place in ruins. it is my own personal warzone. but it was the only way… i had to do it; you couldn’t possibly know what was in store, not like i knew, not like i could foresee… i am the prophet of these parts! i am holy! bow! or kill me, make me a martyr. it is time i leave this parts. i’ve brought it to utter nothingness; now you may build anew. kill me, or cower under my wings. there is no other way out. i won’t make a sound either way, and i will part with a kiss and a love letter if you choose to slaughter me like the fold. you are a good thing; i am a weathered titan. i’ve exhausted my resources and in time i might not wake up again. have your way with my corpse.

i have some friends out here. if something happens to me, find them. you’ll know them when you see them. they’ll have nothing good to say about me; don’t mention my name, unless calling it out in passion – and then they’ll understand.