The Full Calypso
Well I cant call my methods the most humane, or even that human. Its strange, the way I secretly know that the only goal worth striving for is immortality and I also know that we are all just dead weight on a cooling planet, in a cooling universe. All that striving seems silly, but then again, not striving is equally silly. Everything looks silly when Death looks at us, he is the only thing that can see our transparency. What I would give to talk to death. Or be him. Having everything be the same length away. 90 degrees from everything. Eternity would be the same as yesterday, both would wither under my good Samaritan gaze. Every leaf and child would burn away to skid row under by liquid neon glare. The worst thing though, is proving im 21 to get a beer. You see, I have no pockets for my wallet in my robe. But then again that would be me disguising my supreme despair with temporal(read worthless) things. But Death was the first celebrity and I shy from the light. But while the cost of living has increased, its popularity has not. Explain that Adam. When the villagers finally break down the gate, and strip the halo from my head how will they remember me. Catch 22 rings in my head. Will they remember me, misted with blood shotgun in hand, body armor and a rose in mouth. Or will they remember tearing the sheet off the kitchen table because of the short breaths the table was making. Seeing me, scared on a typewriter finishing a heretics will. Crucified, hung, struck by lighting. And the Calypso machine would be full and contented. And no one would have to think to much.
