Exceptionalism, yo!
The feeling that buoys you through the destruction of ego: "I can simply eat eggs!"
//
Panellists making noise from behind the curtain. A movie that makes no sense, being screened for millions. Whatever happened to that guy? We never see him no more. Got old. Got so old in fact, he probably died. Cigar smoke it was. A car accident. Syphillis. Take your pick Mary, what about all three? It was seen before. We all seen't it. A false plastic, a fine mesh, gallons of lotion smeared across glass. Push buttons. A drawstring bag. Push pins in cork, even as it comes peeling off the wall. That smell. Little fortress. Pornography hidden in book bags and wheel wells. Frantic cardboard threats.
//
Pinching me daily, only to find myself alive.
//
Crass and loud, a small child oozing confidence lays into me. A shrill, piercing shriek of rage, followed by one or two torn bank notes. A wig left burning in the back office. What, it's yours? Gosh Mary I had no idea. Shadows grow long across the plaza, giant pillars of darkness slowly rotating into one another. Not really understanding the meaning. Ready for another tongue, finally.
//
Catholics from beyond the grave (which is where, exactly?) tracking my every move.
//
The monstrosity of Abe's liver still has the power to astound me. Sun, moon, stars, galaxies even, blurred into being by the power of dust. Frankly, I'd never even heard of the back office. Honestly, the pornography was not mine.