The future will come into view, and tend the artificial light. Someone’s gotta do it. Maybe the ones who like to make points. Or the ones smoking freely of their legal painful swollen joints. So what if we face reality. What’s the big deal about turning from it? Why not more embracing of the broke upon the broken? It doesn’t mean you like it. It may not mean you’re next. You’re eyes might change , for sure, might lose a little color. But the pale truth of compassion may be best in black and white. Those are the eyes you wanna stare into….all damn night. The closed become open minded, to air out their shuddering great depths of chilling pain. Those who ascend in great haste, from personally selected lands of sordid waste. Some to broadcast and podcast their pain, others lobbying for just a taste.
Comedy is a wonderful treatment plan. And walking or hiking. Watch out for the men, girls. Their kinda hiking is hiking skirts. Parting the fabric seas for the young sprouts, the future of the human race… the wannabe materialists and the gonna feel deprived. The wannabe famous and the gonnabe famous… the future chicken tenders of the couch (to replace the current tenders of the couch). Turkeys. Cornish Hens. Nightwatchmen and women of the virtual screens (television junkies). Eyes fixed with such discipline. Clucking in all the right places. Pecking when necessary. Necking during commercial breaks. Braking to a perfect stop, when the feature doubles the creature… the wanna get paid for their efforts, the gonnabe disappointed again and again (myself included).