Existential Crisis VI

While all these people tear one another to pieces to have more poop on their heads there would be another class of people shaking their heads in disbelief and laughing.

Fear not young one.

There is yet another group of people watching the people in feces and the group taking delight in the show — these are watching with cool austerity.

Yet another class watches the feces people and the laughing stock and the cool kids and they gain power from the process of elimination of each of the others.

Finally another class exists beyond these and this class pumps the poop into the cage for profit that the other classes live in.

Yet another class beyond that makes sure that the cage is running well and that the poop pumps are working and everyone is getting enough nourishment.

These are the angels and the other classes do not interact with them but the bosses do see them from time to time.

Yeah but look at this—

I am wrestling with the gnarliest of truths that I know of.

Me not learning to fish is the most recent in a long line of coming to terms with my own construction of self-destruction.

Remember when I wouldn’t get my teeth fixed?

I got over that.

Some things I won’t manage.

Apparently my credit cards.

My haircut.

My laundry.

Reading a good book.

Eating regularly.

Learning to fish.

Interacting with friends.

Going places that make me happy.

Entertaining a woman.

See.

Engaging in my religion.

Going to AA.

Focusing on a career choice.

Even learning to technically and classically write.

Practicing an instrument.

Playing a sport.

Playing tennis with Durand.

Watching the Huskers with or without Durand.

I desire to be needed.

To be someones hero.

When no one NEEDS me, I collapse.

No Bat signal in the sky.

No Jude McCoy.

Of course what the world needs now in this new hour of mine is to find the root of why I won’t fish the upper Missouri.

This is the root of all evil.

The love of money?

Is that a bingo?

The root of all evil is the love of money.

Then get out of my way Upper Missouri and let me be corrupted by the love of money!

Creative Writing II

“Well, you just hold on there partner.”

“Why? Just why the hell should I?”

“I said you hold your britches.”

“For what?”

“You ain’t got no birthright says you can go on over there.”

“Birthright how?”

“I says, you can’t just narry however you swivel. You have to have a passport.”

“A pass of paper to go yonder?”

“That’s right. Nither me Somby’s got no business over in that direction.”

“Hell, I don’t.”

“What you mean? You think you are the caterpillar that would pick its self up by its boot straps and accomplish a thing?”

“I’ll bet I could tie you up real nice and fine and tape that pretty little mouth of yours shut and walk my ass right across yonder.”

“Well I’ll be damned. You do have some cahoots. Go ahead. Shove me to the side. Don’t bother me none.”

“I told you to come on ahead with me damnit.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t see the point.”

“What in the good god damned do you not see a point in?”

“Going over there. If you want to do it go ahead but I don’t see the point.”

“The point? Trapping a monkeys ass I can’t make no sense of you. You don’t have any morals. A complete lack of sensibilities. Don’t you lack to take some care and compassion for your fellow man?”

“I won’t do it. I think it is foolish for you to nary about an over yonder and that’s that.”

“Well I’m going.”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

As the character moves into the dirt beside the car door and takes a step towards jail and courthouse rock the other character unloads a pistol into his back side. After discharging the weapon he regards to himself that his companion should not have gone over yonder and muses what life could have been if he had not.