2 Minutes. Go!

The sodden ground, scattered bodies bleeding. Dead patriots as far as the eye can see. The sun pokes through the haze of smoke and dust. There is not enough light to glint off metal or watch faces. There are darkened lumps under trees, but you don't know if they are alive or dead. Choose caution. Close your eyes and be still, they won't shoot until they see the whites of your eyes. 

At least that is what the elders say.

When the red meets the blue, the whole world is a purple bruise. People shouldn't have to fit into binary systems. They are so limiting. They are inherently disingenuous. They are a square lie shoved down our round throats. The billionaires love the purple. They love to watch us tear ourselves apart. 

I remember when American flags mean unity, not division. I am not one of the elders, but I am old enough to remember. I'm old enough to remember when Congresspeople didn't wear AR-15 pins on their jackets. I remember when I was able to have friends who thought like me and friends who didn't think like me. The world was a lot rounder when I was young. 

You don't even get to breathe clean air. You get to watch the genocide of flora and fauna that my generation was supposed to stop. You get to watch species erased from the planet through no failing of their own. You get to cry for whales, cause the children of the 80s didn't save shit. We had great t-shirts, though. 

Sometimes, I hope that the animals will become rational, sentient, free-willed motherfuckers and come tear us to ribbons. Sometimes, I convince myself that we have been through hard times before. We will persevere. Sometimes, I have faith. Sometimes, I believe. 

Most of the time, I'm just tired.

2 Minutes. Go!

If you're going to come at me hard, it better be the hardest you've got because I've been yelled at and abused enough in my life. I'm not waiting for you to take the first swing. I'm ready to bust open my vault of slicing words. If you want it, get it, but don't come casual, come correct. 

If you have any fancy notions about fair fighting, you should throw those shits out right now. I don't fight fair. I fight to win. Think about that. Think about how much you like your teeth and eyeballs. Think about how you might want to have kids some day. 

I'm old. I'm not fast enough to run. But I got muscles you don't and the kind of bitterness that forty-five years earns you. I'm too tired for long fights. This shit will be over soon.

Something maybe you should know. I've never lost a fight. Not even close. Never had my ass beat. Never been jumped. Maybe they see it in my eyes, the willingness to dive into pain and blood. That shit doesn't bother me. I like it. I thrive on it. I've bathed in it. 

I'm not saying I'm a tough guy. I'm not. But I can be tough for three minutes, and that is all I will need. 

2 Minutes. Go!

Is she cold in the night when she feels alone, red dress on black boots in the tepid warmth of the streetlight? Does she remember, then, that she was once a dream. She was once the living embodiment of hope, and that was the first addiction. When you finally do kick hope, it leaves you a different person. You are full of holes. The holes need to be stopped up or all of you will leak out of you.

Does she tie back her blonde hair showing black roots? Does she hide her heritage, becoming blonde and hiding her black roots? Is she America? Is this what she's trying to tell you? Look at me, I'm you! I'm the ideals you claimed to have, do you feel them now?

Will she die for your sins, though? Can you pound nails into her hands, and build belief systems around her? Can we make them kill for her? Will they do anything for her attentions, her approval? Do they think it will stop the lonely misery for even one measly second?

They buy her hourly, and she sells, not herself, she keeps that close. She sells the ugliness that you bring to the ghetto. She sells the sticky glances the morally upright cast. She sells the lie that there is love for you. Comfort. She sells you a brief window of time, too grimed to look through. She sells you your soul back, for just a moment, so you can sell it all over again.

2 Minutes. Go!

If it kills me, tell my story, but please don't you dare feel sad. No one ducks death. This has been coming for a long time. Since the day I was born, I've been living to die, so celebrate, tap a keg, tell funny anecdotes. Maybe go fishing. Sit on a sun-warmed rock. Let the breeze lift your arm hairs. 

I will get old before I die, but don't mourn for my youth. I treated my youth like an overworked horse, rode it hard and put it away wet. It didn't kill me. And I have been places you have never gone. Hell, I bet I've been places you can't even imagine. 

If you think about it, the whole world is like one big joke where we don't yet know the punchline. I'm looking forward to the end of the show. I want to see the slides they promise. I want to walk towards the light that is my synapses expiring. I want my last words, but if they're stupid, go ahead and make up something better. No one wants their last words to be, "I think I shit myself..."

I've had a cool life, and I've got a lot more left to live. I want to see if we get jetpacks. I want to learn how to fly. I want to see if we fix global warming. And if we don't? Doesn't matter. Step up the timetable. Maybe stay inside, though. 

Skip the fishing.