Early Morning – Scriptural Press

by dschapman

I can read, sure – but look what I wrote. Would you write that? Can you even read it? What’s it worth anyway? If I don’t believe in God I don’t need to believe in books. It’s superfluous now. In the modern world we be minimalistic to survive. It will be a way of life for the citizen of the future.

Am I being masturbatory again? What am I supposed to write? I suppose I won’t ever get out of this crisis. This is it, I’m pneumatic. Ka-poot. I might as well throw it all in and go work in the office. At least there they might get some work out of me. I mean – look at me! I’m over-indulgent. This is over-indulgence. ! Time! And time again! What’s someone like me to do with it, then?

I miss the old barn, I can tell you that much! But if I had it, I would hate it, and I would not step foot in it. They say choking the chicken is when you hold a chicken by the beak and have sex with its throat. They say it doesn’t hurt the chicken. It’s hard for me to even imagine it. I am too afraid to even try to touch a chicken, let alone – ! Nevermind!

And the squirrels in the hay – horrible!

I have nothing to say about these things.

I’m surrounded by childish things.

Blood rushes to my head, I become furious.

I throw all the childish things in the trash.

Everything!

I destroy my computer.

Mercy – look at the stock market! I’m a disgrace! I’m a disgrace! Underperformer!

I look at my parents’ stocks; they are doing worse than me. I feel so bad for them I can barely stand it. And now I feel bad for myself. I squirm in my bed at four in the morning and then get up in a sweat. I turn the heat off and open the window, letting the cold wet air blow in. Cars pass into and out of the ghetto right outside my open window. I watch them from the dark. I am holding a gun in my pocket.

Standing there naked – what a strange looking body – like a girl, he’s little – but – how! -and so it went on between birds on the powerlines…

Men back then used to have experience. What was the name of that little bastard who talked about suicide as the only true question of philosophy? What a little cunt he was. But he had experience, at least he has some goddamn experience. I should have gone to war with the rest of them. But who would fight? I’m not a weak European. I’m red-blooded. I remain a true Westerner. Inside a modern, made-up world – molecular heavens, dispersed in a sprawl across endless the plains of the empire – and a scientist, at that!

Logician – kill him quickly.

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