Turn away

[Sepia]

Or: On death

Or: Food

Turn away the flags, let them down off their sunset trees. Set us down, carry us into oblivion. Curse us, gift us before you turn us out into this. Churn us out, cry us in, lock it up. Sing the song you used to sing, the one you used to hum but you've forgotten, remember it again, remember it and carry it in your heart forever now, let us die here, let our eyes turn pale, let us see this world with newfound apathy unlike the fire in the eyes of those who found that new land, let them remember they come from us, drive them down and into us, let them know the umbilical cord will always be there, let your children know they will only inherit your bad genes, your bad traits and ticks before you send them out into the world before you turn away from yourself as you go out back and you let the flag down and there you rise.

It would be a good death but not good enough- I dream about batman and in my dreams he is not the new one, not the reboot frank miller did earlier, not nolans interpretation, not the truly dark knight but he is the one he used to be back when they deputized them, in an age where vampires didn't shine, in an age when we didn't talk about paris. Catch our heart in this fire, let it play and sizzle, see it as it turns brown and know that if it wasn't for old maillard we'd never really understand and like cavemen we would still be standing there over the fire telling each other that we're sealing in the juices before some fucker draws up an isi canister making meat foam and the bubbles fly up into the air, like retarded moths or drunken cowboys trying to hit the moon.

We are weird now, weirder still that we're still alive. I remember when I was 23, planning to die at 32 and how fitting that when I remember this I am 5 years from dying, five years from oblivion and I wonder if it ever was worth it, this train we got on with Bill Hicks but he's not here. The tide turns and we look back, hours and years filled up but we can't hold it. We don't want to hold it, we want to be here, now, not then or there- centuries have passed with wisdom gained and it doesn't matter with us as a society because we're all fucking alienated and we don't want no more. None of my coworkers read a book, none of my coworkers try to see something else than what is given to us from hollywood, none of my coworkers try. None of them are cooks that want to learn to amass more knowledge and KNOW, they are all always cooks that want to learn enough to get by, to not exceed anything and to die together with your dog or your loved one, fulfilled because you didn't want anymore, you accepted us as we are, you accepted that you were only an animal and you are a grave reminder

that there's nothing else here but this, this crude matter. Ibsen said that life is unbearable and not because it is a tragedy but because it is a comedy. What young norwegian authors should think most about is how he paved the way, the brand was already established a hundred years ago and to coke we add a zero and we know what we're getting but we're never getting anything more from this country, the cold and the skis and all the fucking rosebuds parked on the upper east side are a testament to us, and as former prime minister gro harlem brundtland said, it's typical norwegian to be good which then lead americas ambassador to make the observation that the norwegian people believe they are born good. Do we change it or do we kill ourselves or just move up into the mountain, living off the grid as much as we can? Will anarchistic communes work now that we have tv and the information superhighway? Circus, Circe?

By Circe we find Hecate and from her we hear the first chthonic whispers and this is when we were very young, when we were filled with a feeling of being fresh like an unopened box of crisp sneakers. We walk on his earth and it was he who defined the most valuable truth, nothing else than your loved ones care about you or what happens to you, for everyone else within your race, you are a name or perhaps a reference, not a cog or an ant but something abstract, a feeling in the gut

fuck it, it was the wrong tangent, the wrong train but we boarded the one with Bill Hicks and we're safe and he's young and he's dancing with police officers. This is all there is, one good scene before the actor jumps off the train into oblivion. We see the sun set and it's always setting here and on the hill there will always hang niggers and holding the ropes will always be houseniggers, no matter what race they are, what beliefs they hold, they're always there and will always be because that's who we are. Morning, here is your death, let your flag loose.

[Pope Pixie Pickle]