The Transformation

Crazy is marginalized, dismissed humanity. Sane is a bunch of stuffed shirts. I know I’m in the right place precisely because of the lack of recognition I receive. I don’t need any forged documents to flip an academic a**hole the bird. He or she was asking for it. University was another novel Franz Kafka didn’t live long enough to get around to writing. All the good intentions in the world don’t shave off that little paint brush mustache, nor remove the horns from the cap of the captain.

If you have your editorial discretion, I have mine. That would make a great song title, wouldn’t it? You have your editorial discretion, I have mine. There is a space here you are never going to censor because you can’t reach it. I’m happy not being one of your prize front-page parrots. You can’t bury me alive anyway. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is not dead silence. The heckler from the edge of the universe will continue his heckling unabated. You are not. tongue in cheek, going to miss him once he purchases a megaphone. The thorny brambles you are battling must have a purpose, and that purpose it will fulfill.

Ever fly the friendly skies? Sometimes, if you do, you look down and you see this really desecrated landscape. The countryside bears a pattern of scar tissue. Humanity, the pestilence, has made its mark. We know our nature. It is like a house overrun by cockroaches, only we are the cockroaches. Is it any wonder that any one cockroaches significance means very little beside all the other cockroaches living in this high-rise or that? If my silence is a shout, somebody is going to make it out. Of course, you contradict me. It is in your interest to do so. That shout is silence as long as King Cockroach says it is. I get it.

Cockroach art is cockroach art. Stopping by the cockroach newsstand I snatch my indigestible eyeful of the cockroach news. Some cockroaches do a song and dance. If you don’t do a cockroach song and dance, you must be floor smear. Whatever. When in cockroach-burg, etc. Cockroaches have their ways. If you’re not a good cockroach, the cockroach mob is going to make you pay for it. You could do your 15 minutes on cockroach Punked for instance. ‘Oh what a piece of work is cockroach.’ You know how it goes, you don’t buy in, we buy out…Somebody will make sure you never cockroach in this town again.

Alright. We bad. We really bad. I don’t need your awards. I live in another dimension. I don’t need your credit. I live on debt. I want to laugh in the face of the entire automatonic business as usual bustle, and I actually manage it. Alienate me, and you only manage to alienate yourself. Whoopee. Now we’re Martian cockroaches. I guess it just had to happen. Even those you would eliminate, you promote. We’re an upcoming movie title. Think Martian cockroaches battle zombie cockroaches. Perhaps the Martian cockroaches are winning now, but there is no telling where this matter will end.

I say if the world were ten people, that might be too much for three of them. Odd numbers aren’t entirely bad if some of your odd numbers get even. Menages de trois, after all, keep principles from getting moldy. Anyway, there are all sorts of remedies to ancient misfortunes that haven’t yet reached the flat panels. Although we may be stuck serving the plutocracy, we will continue to believe in our illusions; nonetheless, if tin is a tinsmith’s gold, your goldsmiths must be grinning. Come to think of it, I guess that must make gold a goldsmith’s tin. Whaddaya know? There is hope for the rest of us.


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