2 Minutes. Go!

This ain't a pool, but it's made for reflection. The dark is only dark, but prime time for deception. You can brush off the cobwebs, sprint toward the nest egg. It don't matter. Illusions scatter. Dreams shatter. Hey, batter batter....

I'm not a fool, but I know insurrection. The night hides the truth from its very conception. Run toward the light, bright, run until you're out of sight. Sit down. Frown. Let your thoughts play around.

Sometimes I'm cruel, but it's often misconception. I act like a dick, but it's for my own protection. I am not some perfect vessel, I am flawed, raw, easy to tears and blood. I slam the door to my brain with a dull thud. But I remember what it was like...to wake up in pain, covered in blood, no memory of the night before. I have spent hours and days and years trying to reconstruct nights because their blankness makes me so uncomfortable. Scared.

There are no rules, no yellow card ejections. You can make it up as you go, chop it into sections. Stack them up and see how high they go, the low blow, the self-loathing. You can hide so much in thrift store clothing. 

I'm done now, and I realize that I often write its/it's wrong. And I hear Antrobus' voice in the back of my head. But I'm trying man. I really am. I get so hot and frantic when I try to think of grammar rules. Besides, it don't matter much anyway.

As long as you can read what the words say.

2 Minutes. Go!

I'm not a rich man, and I doubt I will ever be, but I can do things. I can make you laugh. I can hold you close when the weather is cold. I can think about you more than I think about myself. Or try to. It goes against the wiring. 

I am smart enough to appreciate that I could have fucked everything up so easily. My disorder and your disorder nest like Russian dolls. You tolerated too much, but, lord, I needed that tolerance. It wasn't fair, but it was the way it had to be. 

I don't know much about the world. I don't understand the stock market. I don't really know how a mortgage works because I've never even thought about one. I do think about what it will be like when we are old. Plenty of time to sit and relax. To take walks and talk about life. I'm looking forward to it, but I'm not in any rush. 

If I had all of this to do over again? Honestly, I would probably fuck it up. I'm amazed I didn't fuck it up this time. 

Amazed and grateful. 

2 Minutes. Go!

Step right up, and welcome to the first meeting of "Bullets for Billionaires." We're glad you came out tonight, and we just know that you are going to be an important part of the team. The billionaire class has become parasitic. Though we tried, as an organization, to think of peaceful solutions to this problem, we have come to the realization that there is only one way to stop a billionaire.

In the bag on the table, you will find a t-shirt and a lanyard. Show everyone your pride in the mission, and rally support among the working class! For every person you sign up, there will be a reward. We have plenty of bullets and their are billionaires to spare, so get shooting today! 

Your dues will go to buy bullets, organize cleansings, and reward the avengers. This is a unique opportunity in history. Take the bull-et by the horn, and rejoice in your membership today! Your name will go down in American history, and your great-great-grandchildren will tell your story. 

Don't miss out on this opportunity! It may only come once.

2 Minutes. Go!

They won't let you move. Won't let you leave. They say you are free to go at anytime, but nobody believes it. Everyone who tries disappears. And I mean disappears. They are gone, their cars are gone, their houses are empty...no one ever speaks of them again.

You can try to make the best of it. That's all you can do, so you do it, but it feels hollow and empty. It makes you depressed. It makes you want to leave. 

The evenings are the hardest. There is no boss to appease. There is no structure. The evenings and the weekends make you feel lost and scared. Alone. You grit your teeth, and wait for the time to pass. Wait for the alarm that tells you it is time to be productive. 

There is nothing worse than being unproductive. It is the cardinal sin which no one wants to face. No one even talks about being unproductive, even if they clearly accomplish nothing. Appearances are important. Never forget that. 

If you do a good enough job of being productive in your work hours and invisible in your free-time, there can be a kind of freedom, but it is fleeting. Still, it is the closest you will ever get. 

Enjoy it.

2 Minutes. Go!

There is no sound from the old wooden shed, but there is a presence. You can feel it. It is sticky and unsettling. When the wind blows, the feeling changes, but it always comes back. It makes you feel frantic, but it is merely the cost of being in the back woods. Momma had always said to stay away, and maybe she had a reason.

There were so many things in the woods and the town that the people didn't like to talk about. It was a conspicuous absence since stories were the way they entertained each other. The lack of ghost stories just made the ghosts stronger, but not strong enough to keep you away. 

Maybe they were sirens. There was an almost gravitational pull when you got close enough to the shed. Sometimes, you tried to test your toughness by creeping as close as possible. Other times, the discomfort was too strong. 

On the day you disappeared, no one thought to look by the shed. Not for days. Everyone knew not to go down there, and most people couldn't be dragged there by oxen. They looked everywhere else first, and when they finally thought to check by the shed, bones and scraps of He-Man t-shirt were all they found. 

No one would ever tell the story. It hurt them, but they never spoke of you again.

2 Minutes. Go!

Small birds can sit on tiny branches. They are almost weightless. Soft, light feathers over hollow bones. There is a magic to it. They can be fierce, honoring their dinosaur forefathers, but they can also be kin to dust motes. They can float and hang in the air; they can use the wind to their advantage. 

The ravens outside my apartment can't sit on tiny branches. They are not light on their feet. No dust motes, the ravens. They are big and loud and they can be hell to deal with if you piss them off. Never look sideways at a magpie, a raven, a crow. They know things you will never know. 

I can't sit on small branches, and I don't have the dark magic that the ravens wield. We humans are heavy creatures, clumsy. Even the most astounding of us can't compete with most animals. We are neither strong nor fast nor blessed with razor teeth. 

We are smart, and that is enough. Even the dumbest of us can compete with most animals. Maybe not the ravens, though. 

Our brains are special. They give us the ability to destroy ourselves and take everything else with us.

2 Minutes! Go!

It was always like this, and it will always be like this. Until there is nothing anymore. Which may be any day now. I don't care that much. I'm barely invested. I'm keeping my options open. Maybe global warming will be a blast. Maybe it won't. Gonna be interesting, for sure. 

Nothing changes; people are people. We used to be people hunting and gathering. Then, we were farmers and hunters. Now, we are cogs. Same deal. Just trying to not die. There are a lot of ways to do it. Keep doing it, otherwise you have nothing to worry about anymore. 

Don't let the whole thing get you down. That's the main thing. You just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep on cogging. Keep your nose to the grindstone. Someday, they'll let you trade in your life savings for a slightly less painful death. 

If that ain't motivation, I don't know what is. 

Nothing ever changes. Tell that to the icebergs. Tell that to the poor penguins. They're just doing their thing, too. We all are. Stumbling onward, ever forward.