A Kingdom of Fools

There are places in this world from which there can be no rest from the encroaching forces of entropy. Find yourself there and pray for an early death, because once you are stuck in that directional motion, that lateral slide, it was pretty much nice knowing you.

Maybe you escaped your youth with just enough callousness to pad the nerves from giving out their messages of pain, and maybe in the process of establishing your foothold on the promontory of adulthood you also cashed in that pact you made with the dark and handed over any future chance you may have previously had for redemption.

And it just might be totally overlooked by almost the entire balance of mankind, but then again there are those who walk beyond the warning signs and hunt for scraps in the sordid minefield of your own making. Revel in that, cherish the sheen of pathetic disastrous unhinged stupidity as it rolls from your distorted grimace, as the spoils of naked terror insulated from the outside with a cleverly sewn mask of control bide their time and flush with anticipation at the coming glory of release.

There are no actual vacuums in the world of men, no hiding places that play out their enveloping protection from the tidal wave of truth. And it is almost a little comical to think about the way with which one goes about preening, on full display, shaking shiny treasures before the menagerie in hopes of padding nests with fragrant emulsifiers, with the perfumes of ultimately imaginary security. It is a sophomoric thing of beauty to imagine the invariable outcome of this particular brand of arrogance, because in the end the fall from the great Babylonian ziggurat so carefully constructed stone by stone will be that much farther down and that much harder.

Fortunately for you, however, there is pity out there for you. There are minions of salvation that soil every corner with the pointless optimism of a lapdog when you first get home from work. There are those souls who have made pacts of their own with the powers of observation and have declared a truce with reality. These are the ones to whom you will undoubtedly run when suddenly you lose your footing on a once familiar path.

To think of the way in which some utilize the trappings of environment in order to impose a rotten and most foul template of diseased stench is enough to nearly convince me that bags will be packed and miles shed all in order to deliver a very personal message at the ends of arms driven by rage.

The prophesied condemnations of historical ignorance will roost, and roost, and roost again in the ragged temple of your own design. This is the payoff that fulfills its promise almost in spite of the Herculean efforts you have undertaken in order to reshape that that makes a jester out of you in a kingdom of fools. You have worn the garish plumage plucked from the birds in the garden as a talisman against the encroaching pain of self-realization. But the thing that you insist on walking around, the one thing that will be the very downfall of your folly is a simple and truly unavoidable fact.

You are simple, and you are weak.

There is nothing to do in order to put off the truth of the above statement. Not a fucking thing.

There has never been an ounce of give in that mule that shadows your every move. That foul, withered beast has stubbornly refused to allow anyone to sit at the table, and now, with coffee being served, not a single soul will pour the cream.

Carriers have burned the midnight oil just to insure the arrival of the mail. Synapses have sizzled away in the chaotic haze of newly grafted skin. Your weight has ballooned to a critical mass, and you are throwing it around like a ravenous bear. You have taken the pinpoint of true experience, turned it on its head, defiled its purpose and led it through the streets, genitals shaved and exposed, while the townspeople gather from their huts and point and laugh and throw stones as you pass.

You can say you weren’t warned, because it’s true, you weren’t, but having to be told of your sepulchral stench when it has to be obvious to you as much as the rest of us that you are burning the air with ugliness begs the image of unfettered ego.

Enjoy the spoils of meaningless existence. You’ve earned them.

Motherfucker.