An old rant, A magic carpet ride

When it rains it pours and when it pours it rains. There was a time in which words meant something but then they all became tiny swords jabbing at my heart until my heart was minced meat. How's minced meat supposed to beat? Beating minced meat. And these words ramble on and on without anything behind them, with in fact nothing behind them. Some clever some denver some the same as sum.

“There's nothing here” he said to the fox.

“Who am I?” the fox replied.

You're trying too hard. You're trying to get somewhere. There's nowhere to get to. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No one to do it. And yet these words write themselves as if coming from nowhere onto this computer screen. But is this screen somewhere? Or does it just look like somewhere. Is this screen more real than the invisible source of these words? Don't think too much the monkeys will get you.

This is not divinely inspired. That thunder outside was. Who decided one was and one wasn't?

There's a pain. Here. There's a need. Here. There's an airy sense here. There's a sense to abandon all sensibility. The pain is fear? No. The pain is stifled. The fear stifles the pain like a dam until over the years the pain builds up and builds up until it can't help but to explode, break the concrete dam and flow free as it always wanted to be. I WANT TO BURN.

My anal sphincter is tight. It wants to be free. My stomach is tight. It wants to be free. What's the impediment? What's the blockage? What is it all? There's nothing to say here. These words. Nothing. These words don't know. These words don't know. These are words of confusion mixed with fear mixed with longing mixed with sorrow mixed with a stomach full of meat and watermelon. So this is a journey they say? Can't run away.

Too scattered.

Not scattered enough.

Too much confusion.

Not confused enough.

Where are we going?

What are we doing?

What?

The fuck

You know that place? You know that place where the sun's shining on the high grass but only on one side so it looks like each string of grass is a diverse contrast of color? And the wind's blowing so the strings are dancing to the tune of silence punctuated by a few sparrows sing songing? You know that place where each square centimeter of the ocean wave screams a silent infiniti? You know that place that goes from anger to confusion to sorrow to desperation to liberation?

 Do you know that place? Do you? Have you? I'm looking for directions. They say it's right here. I thought I was right here. Don't see no wind. Don't see no double rainbow. Wait, yeah, I feel a tiny taste somewhere in my hip. It wants to melt into the bed. Empty.

And there's a thought that says, all ridiculous, ridiculousness.

The rain's pouring outside. “God's crying” she said. Good to know I'm not alone.

This is supposed to tell a story. But what story is there to tell?

There's nothing to say. My hands disolve into the air, my anal sphincter pushes my head up and out of its socket.

Let's cut the shit. Let's travel the world on a magic carpet, runnin on nothin but magic.