I went outside this morning and the sky said to me, “fuck you, asshole.” I pretended like I didn’t hear for a few seconds, but then I spit on the ground and slowly looked up. “Fuck you too.” I got in my car, closed my door, and closed my sunroof shade. Don’t you spy on me, sky. I put my key in the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. Not even a sputter. On the little display between the speedometer and tachometer, a message slowly appeared. It said, “fuck you, asshole.” I got out of the car. I walked to the other side of the street. I tossed my keys into the storm drain. “Fuck you too.” I got my bicycle out of my house and set it on my porch. I pressed my thumbs on the tires to check the pressure. Stiff. I brushed the dust off the saddle. I checked to see if the chain was still oiled. All’s good. I carried it down the stairs and over the curb and onto the street. I hopped on and started pedaling. It was a bit squeaky, though. It’s been sitting for a while. But suddenly the squeaks started to sound eerily human. Like a child’s voice. Angry, though. “Feeeuuuckkk ewwwwwwuuuu, ashhhhhoooeeee.” Then the front wheel came loose and rolled under the bike. I fell. “Fuck you too.” I got up. Just going to walk from here, I thought. I made it a block or so, and then the pedestrian traffic started to get a bit dense. I had to weave in and out of people as they walked in the opposite direction. Some huge, lanky twerp bumped into me. I excused myself, but I could hear him under his breath: “fuck you, asshole.” I was too pathetic to say anything back. “Fuck you too.” I made it to work, but for some reason the front door to the building was locked. I tried pressing the button on the intercom box, but nobody answered. Usually there’s a guard there who will buzz you in if you tell him what company you work for. I lit a cigarette in the hope that the guard was just in the bathroom or something. Nope. I heard a fizzle and a hiss and then a voice came from the box. It asked, “what the hell do you want?” I told the box who I worked for and even gave it my manager’s name. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. “Fuck you, asshole,” it crackled. I sighed. “Fuck you too.” So I decided to just take the day off. I could explain the whole situation later. For now, I’m just going to go to the city park. Somewhere peaceful, but populated. Somewhere not totally removed from society, but not a bustling hub of activity either. Calm, relaxing, peaceful. Especially in the midst of all that’s going on around me. I got there, and found a bench in the shade. I sat down, and looked down and to my left. The words “fuck you, asshole” were etched onto the bench. I scooted over to cover them up with my ass.“Fuck you too.” Well.  You know what, world? You know what? I can’t take any more of your shit. I can’t handle this fucking trip you send me out on day after day. I can’t sit back and relax while you go on with your shit. You have a sick sense of humor. You’re a mean one. Really cruel. I’m a person, dammit. Respect me. Respect me, goddammit. Give me a break every once in a while. Do something nice for me. It’ll come back around, I swear. I’m pleading at this point. Sorry I got mad earlier. I’m just trying to make it all work. I’m just trying to be happy. I just want to be happy.I opened a book later that night. I don’t remember which one, it was on the top of a whole pile on my desk. I opened to a random page. I just wanted to be distracted. I just wanted to get into the middle of a story and try to figure out the beginning for myself. Good brain exercise. It read:  “Follow your instincts, pal.  Usually they lead us in the right direction.  Create your future, and try not to destroy the past.  Know thyself. I read that somewhere, by the way.  You’ll be surprised at who you find.  Only it won’t be who you expected.  Untruth is prominent in these lands.”  Great advice. ATR  http://d-roth.blogspot.com/2012/03/advice.html
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I went outside this morning and the sky said to me, “fuck you, asshole.” I pretended like I didn’t hear for a few seconds, but then I spit on the ground and slowly looked up. 

“Fuck you too.” 

I got in my car, closed my door, and closed my sunroof shade. Don’t you spy on me, sky. I put my key in the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. Not even a sputter. On the little display between the speedometer and tachometer, a message slowly appeared. It said, “fuck you, asshole.” I got out of the car. I walked to the other side of the street. I tossed my keys into the storm drain. 

“Fuck you too.” 

I got my bicycle out of my house and set it on my porch. I pressed my thumbs on the tires to check the pressure. Stiff. I brushed the dust off the saddle. I checked to see if the chain was still oiled. All’s good. I carried it down the stairs and over the curb and onto the street. I hopped on and started pedaling. It was a bit squeaky, though. It’s been sitting for a while. But suddenly the squeaks started to sound eerily human. Like a child’s voice. Angry, though. “Feeeuuuckkk ewwwwwwuuuu, ashhhhhoooeeee.” Then the front wheel came loose and rolled under the bike. I fell. 

“Fuck you too.” 

I got up. Just going to walk from here, I thought. I made it a block or so, and then the pedestrian traffic started to get a bit dense. I had to weave in and out of people as they walked in the opposite direction. Some huge, lanky twerp bumped into me. I excused myself, but I could hear him under his breath: “fuck you, asshole.” I was too pathetic to say anything back. 

“Fuck you too.” 

I made it to work, but for some reason the front door to the building was locked. I tried pressing the button on the intercom box, but nobody answered. Usually there’s a guard there who will buzz you in if you tell him what company you work for. I lit a cigarette in the hope that the guard was just in the bathroom or something. Nope. I heard a fizzle and a hiss and then a voice came from the box. It asked, “what the hell do you want?” I told the box who I worked for and even gave it my manager’s name. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. “Fuck you, asshole,” it crackled. I sighed. 

“Fuck you too.” 

So I decided to just take the day off. I could explain the whole situation later. For now, I’m just going to go to the city park. Somewhere peaceful, but populated. Somewhere not totally removed from society, but not a bustling hub of activity either. Calm, relaxing, peaceful. Especially in the midst of all that’s going on around me. I got there, and found a bench in the shade. I sat down, and looked down and to my left. The words “fuck you, asshole” were etched onto the bench. I scooted over to cover them up with my ass.

“Fuck you too.” 

Well.  You know what, world? You know what? I can’t take any more of your shit. I can’t handle this fucking trip you send me out on day after day. I can’t sit back and relax while you go on with your shit. You have a sick sense of humor. You’re a mean one. Really cruel. I’m a person, dammit. Respect me. Respect me, goddammit. Give me a break every once in a while. Do something nice for me. It’ll come back around, I swear. I’m pleading at this point. Sorry I got mad earlier. I’m just trying to make it all work. I’m just trying to be happy. I just want to be happy.

I opened a book later that night. I don’t remember which one, it was on the top of a whole pile on my desk. I opened to a random page. I just wanted to be distracted. I just wanted to get into the middle of a story and try to figure out the beginning for myself. Good brain exercise. It read: 

“Follow your instincts, pal. 
Usually they lead us in the right direction. 
Create your future, and try not to destroy the past. 
Know thyself. I read that somewhere, by the way. 
You’ll be surprised at who you find. 
Only it won’t be who you expected. 
Untruth is prominent in these lands.” 

Great advice.


ATR 

http://d-roth.blogspot.com/2012/03/advice.html

Rebuild.
Cannot close our eyes.

Construction paper traffic. Corner office destruction.
The cityscape burns brighter by the hour.
Clock tower, bring us all down.
Marching like ants to the foundation of a higher form.
Trash. Capped and smothered. Trash bag. Trash hat.

Feed me fear. (Informal gluttony.)

Construction paper lawns. Force-fed attention grabber.
When will you learn?
First come first serve.
The all you can eat trumpet. Playing the tunes of our death.
Breathe. Now blow. Now blow.

Let it be heard.

The preacher’s talent is going through the airwaves.
(I need to be led in the right direction. Set up the bumpers. Running in the gutter.)
The little kids taught me well.
But I wonder why they don’t listen anymore.
(It’s a television nightmare).
Eat and watch, eat eat eat. What they feed.
Corner office tubes. Give me the best view in the hut.

Feed me fear.

(Informal gluttony)

Between the Buried and Me - Informal Gluttony (album: Colors)