Theory.

Decisions,Decisions.

Sleepless and addled ( Maybe not?) I ask of you,why be a person when you can retreat and be a theory?…….

Off the grid of flesh and into the otherworld.To be a “non”.A “non” anything.

To think of you raises bile in my shrinking gut. Raises hackles.

Blind with the misery of existing on this hunk of rock with immoral grifters,fuck-sticks of every stripe and caliber,abusive heart-crushers and garden variety imbeciles ,I have decided that I am done.

Finite.

And that is official.

I should try and sleep but what is the point? I shut my eyes and all I see are the people that I want to kill and how I would do it in a loving zapruder-esque frame by frame breakdown.

Francis Ford? Eat your heart out.

Piano wires wound around defenceless genitalia, Knee caps blown apart, digits removed, vices, blowtorches, jumper leads attached to dirty car  batteries sweating acid .Malice. This is the entree. I’m only just getting started. This lasts for hours. I am Charles Darwin’s natural selector. The job that I was born,nay,created to preform.I am the Morningstar’s public servant. I am the cleaner of humanity.The angel Gabriel with tits and a footlocker full of firepower.

Besides hanging out with Elvis and Johnny Cash my fondest fantasy would be not only to be the last thing you see before I flick your switch but to outlive you all together.

Ah,in a perfect world…..

Theories tend to roll on.

You see me sitting alone with a faint smile on my face? Staring dreamily off into the middle distance,note book open before me,lost in thought… it’s vivisection that is on my mind darlin’. What I could do with a sound proof room,you and an ice pick. These are the things that give me my radiance.That put a spring in my step.This is what keeps me alive.

So this being what it is I think that I shall remove myself in the physical sense and become the aformentioned theory.  

No one will miss me anyway.Its not as if I am some manic social doyen. Some Inner city tragic with a twitter account. I am the kudzu of the imagination,I creep,I take over,I appear in dreams and on tortillas.

( A straight razor, hatpins, wire brushes making sweet time with mucus membrane, Drain cleaner, hacksaws. bolt-cutters,rubber mallet meeting with knuckles….)

Lets face it,shall we? Good never gets rewarded and nor does grace although I am desperately trying to hold it together on that front ( How’s my composure? 1-800 7771818)

See? there is no point.I am failing.I don’t like failing. So away I go.

Where was I? Oh. That’s right. Done. In a blinding fit of clarity while I kicking a cab tonight as it attempted to run me over and fucking up my foot in the process,I decided that, for all extensive purposes ( Dinners,social interaction,conversation,human frailty,ect,ect…) that I no longer exist.

I am relieved it has come to this. My Howard Hughes years so to speak. I’m exhausted. Exhausted trying to deal with all the loss that threatens to kill me every day,with trying to make conversation with anyone who is not my therapist….who am I kidding? Trying to make conversation with my therapist….

I have decided to be a theory.

I’m not sure if it was kicking the cab or the daily barrage of abuse that I got from The Lebanese contingent down the road but whatever it was?  It was tangible. I cant even leave my shack without complete strangers giving me a raft of shit.

When I am on top of my game ,I am glad that I provoke such a strong reaction in people. They want to lynch me or buy me diamonds.It’s one extreme to another. Both of which I would not trust as far as I would throw and at this juncture I don’t even want to pick them up,let alone try and get them airborne.

Fuck.You.All.

Here.

This is where I want to be. On the page or in the airwaves.. I don’t want anyone near me. When people try and talk to me now its like the static tuning in at the start of “Rock and roll radio” by the Ramones. Brilliant!  I can no longer understand and what does make it through?  Faint and irrelevant. I have lost the knack of language. Well,when spoken to me by minimum wage pulling monkeys confusing their ambition with their ability. By anyone at all really.

Eat shit.The shaved apes will all be napalmed in time.

So I will write. I will play my piece of shit guitar. I will train till my stomach muscles are harder than Chinese arithmetic. I will dress like its 1978. And at the rate I am going I will stab the next cunt who fucks with me.

Photos. Photos are perfect. I want to be somewhere in the ether. I want my words. I want this. I am allergic to mankind. If I am a theory I can write the script .I can write you all out. It’s a solo show. If no one can get near you,under your wire ,there is no hurt. I am sick of amoral self serving lying pieces of shit. Just moving from one good heart to the next,doing the same damage over and over again.

“Not me” said the flea.”Not I” said the fly. 

Maybe I will never solve myself or come up with any answers. Who cares??  As I am a theory and no longer a person feel free to discuss. Correspondence will be received via the usual channels but don’t hold your breath on the reply front.

Wait, upon second thought, do…..