Roads

Sitting in a little café, waiting for the coffee to kick in I wonder. I ponder and think, I consider and weigh, debate and relate about everything that plays a role. A gigantic ticking machine of swinging parts, brass tubes and venting steam that ultimately does nothing more than go round and round. What does it do, the little man asked, but the purpose has been forgotten. It doesn’t matter, the old man answers, just as long as it does it.

The master debater ejaculated, spouting white noise and seeds of contention, staining thought and ruining innocent minds.

“No,” she yelled, “It is me you must worship!” not realising that we already did. The jail of our dogma making repression essential. Depression through repression, I explained, will make the world a darker place. Then we can all play in the shadows of our own reflections.

Do not, I repeat, do not press this button again. If you do the consequences will be disastrous. Press this button, press this button, press this button. Scream your displeasure! Scream your anger! Scream the rage that builds up in your chest at the fairness of it all! Why did this happen to me? Why did they throw me in this hole to rot? All I did was destroy lives.

They were barely alive. At least, as they died, they finally realised what they were losing. They were losing what they had never had.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway, even in here I can reach out and snuff out a life. Open my mouth and taste of my own flesh, as God demands that we eat of his.

What is wrong with this picture? Ah, I see, man has no shadow. Staining the painting, I prepare to propose that all our problems in life will be resolved by the simple process of death. The pain will fizzle out as our empty shells deflate, devoid of life and soul.

As I die, the world turns two dimensional. My eyes, it seems, have lost their depth.