This world is working it's way to destroy me. I don't know where, when, how, or why, but I do know for sure, I will be devoured by this universe. To be shat out; what a beautiful creation.
How rare it is to have someone that just gets you so well; they have infiltrated you to your core. All they have to do is push one pillar over. One crudely constructed pillar. You collapse. This is creation by destruction. Count it down. Anxiety turns to excitement. It's not self-destruction if it's beckoned, is it?
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This crap is where our truth lies. What we decide to not carry with us says more about us than what you we carry. I let it all go. I carry nothing but this mantra now. "It's shit." I can't believe how long one can carry on like this. Things are so easy. Nobody gives... well, shit. It's so easy to float through life. Just waiting for the big flush. I can't wait, it's so exciting. Wait, don't carry that. Drop it. "It's shit" I whisper.
I remember a time when people would walk up and ask me to help them with something. The looks you get when you stare them dead in the eye and say, "It's shit." They tend to walk away so I don't have to. You watch them transform. Here I go, transforming and saving everyone one "It's shit" at a time.
Fielding phone call after endless phone call from co-workers, clients, bosses, etc. Spreading my mantra across the land. I'm surprised I wasn't fired sooner. I drop that just as quickly. "It's shit." I repeat to myself as I gather up my things.
While placing all my useless desk toys in a one-size-too-small office box I realize I don't need this shit anymore. I threw it all into the one-size-too-small waste basket.
I thought for a moment, Jessie has some smokes he keeps in the break room. Bingo. Matches. Bonus. I clumsily light a cigarette. Clumsily only because I don't smoke, yet. The match goes into the basket and I feel like a Vietnam War Shit-Burner as I choke down my first puff. Vietnam Shit-Burners were voluntold to dispose of fecal waste by burning it. This act required a precise mixture of gasoline, diesel and semi-liquid "waste." I am the master of the mixture.
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I'm freeing everyone. I finally saved the office. I think it's time to liberate my apartment complex.
Nobody locks the doors in this little yuppie prissy neighborhood. I could walk in, and kick it with the bros next door. But that's not very liberating, is it?
I wait until they go to work. Or to the bar. Or to the gym. Wherever meat-heads go. Once they're gone the revolution begins.
Everything they have ever cared about. The TV, the signed team jersey, the other signed team jersey, the football, the posters of half-naked women, the posters of naked women, all of it.
I'm not worried about the fire reaching my apartment. I'm ready for it all to go away. No more hindrances. I am the master of the mixture.
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Everyone is outside. Crying. Oh no, my apartment. Somebody screams, "All my shit!"
He doesn't even realize how much he just disrespected his own things he valued so highly. All. My. Shit.
Some people cry when they're baptized. Others scream. This guy screams, "All my shit."
All of this commotion I see it. THE ONE TRUTH. I don't know what happened but I felt I could drop anything. I could let it all go. "It's shit." I repeat over and over to myself. It's shit. It's shit. It's
shitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshitIt'sshit.
Nothing works. It's got it's hold and I know it. THE ONE TRUTH started it's work that day.
I tried to push it back. Make it into shit. Digest it. Oh it's just this. Oh, it's just that. But no. It's THE ONE TRUTH. It's like being constipated on a spiritual level. Why can't you just digest! Can I die from constipation? Maybe, I may have read that somewhere. I think it festers and you slowly become a bacteria farm and IT digests YOU. How fitting. Now, I am shit.
I didn't sleep well that night.
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That night, THE ONE TRUTH had really worked me over. Digesting me from inside out. I can feel the change. The one pillar.
The one shaky poorly made pillar I had hot-glued in place had finally begun to sway. I'm digesting being digested. Maybe I'll feed a flower that will feed the butterfly that will feed the wasp as she lays her eggs inside of her that will feed some bats. I think bats eat wasps. I don't know. I'll feed the universe.
I don’t know if this is comforting or not. We just get recycled.
THE ONE TRUTH, we are all food for the universe. I am the mixture.
