For Once Something Right
Always I wonder if I'll ever escape from miserable life. Brought up without regard or care for my body, brought up as a mind only, an 'idea' of God, immersed totally in the mental life that disdains physical atoneness. Brought up in the damn unbalance that is so typical of modern man: life run from the head. Brought up like this, a choiceless child, spurred on by the desire for love, I became chained in the cycle. Eyes gone rotten and half-blind, soul blind as well. And no chance for decent life save by more exploitation of my own mind: for that is the only legal way to earn a living now. I am already a creature down, vitally hurt, and the natural pettyness and snappyness of this world only eats away at my health more and more—won't let up, or let me up. I damn damn damn cities. I damn damn damn suburbs. I damn damn damn small towns. All're the same: petty people snapping about with their minds. Damn, I am injured. I hate it, all about me everywhere, like a disease. I want franticly to shake it off my hands. It eats at me. I am sick. My eyes are very sick. My mind is worn to a worried nub. And I am trapped. Nowhere to go. Always you need money for food to eat. Always laws eating away at you more. No place to harbor but is infested. A shitass civilization that is absolutely repulsive, vulgar, nitpicking. It won't let you be.
I only ask to be something other than a victim: to be free of all the bother of men and their things, women and all their things. I just want to live simply, like I was born to.
But they hold you by the tail for money and tribute. They hold everything belonging to life for a ransom. You can't have land, or merely live on it, first you must buy it with money, then you must return tax-tribute. You can't even marry without sanction from the rest of men and women, which is the final insult. Roads are splayed everywhere and fences, and poison-cloud making factories. And always the ransom of money is held over your head. And the constant mental chatter of men everywhere, women everywhere you go. Sold so easily into betrayal and damn pointless living. Absolutely commercialized lives.
Anyway, it doesn't matter. My life is so far miserable and wasted, soul in me betrayed to death, and I grow high-strung for escape. But I don't know how or where. I only know I hate my life so far, hate myself for having no blood and no sanctity.
I'm damn well fed up with words. I want touch. Not to die. Just a chance to live, and so be a man. For once something right.
