BACK 2 FEEB ZONE ||
Music ||
BACK 2 WRITINGS
Colloid
A collection of rot from different perspectives.
I. LIVE THROUGH ME
I am divine. Light pours out from my eye sockets. My teeth glisten. I emit a pale, yellow glow. There is a gun inside my head. Whenever I think, bullets come out. My biceps are coated in oil, sweat, and feces. I am the top shareholder in every market economy. I was born into primordial finance and emerged the most metabolically stable.
The soul of the population forms into a collective consciousness which acts as the “invisible hand” that controls the free market. The mountain of corpses I have climbed to reach my place in the social hierarchy reaches into the hundreds of millions. I speak and everyone listens to me. Employees in my company weep at my feet. I am a self-made multi-quintillionaire; my bootstraps hover four feet above my head.
I want you to be like me. You should be exactly like me, and you can be exactly like me. You can eat like me. You can drink like me. You can fuck like me. You can shit like me. You can work like me. You can live like me. You can breed like me. You can shed like me. There is nothing stopping you. I want you. I crave you. You are mine. Your flesh is soft and inferior but I can stick you into the kiln of bureaucratic godhood and you will be resurrected in the face of the perfect business.
A worker is a commodity. A worker is better when put down. A worker is compliant. I stop uprisings with my bare hands. I am immune to everything. I have been shot to death eighteen times. I have read Marx. I have read Adam Smith. I am a philosopher. My economic theories have created prospering nations that I harvest raw materials from and shape into the perfect item to be bought and sold and bought and sold and thrown away. The commodities I create pollute the ocean. I scoop every piece of polypropylene out of the earth’s soil by unhinging my jaw.
My body is sculpted and born from eons of hard work. I am a genius. I am a farmer. I am the urban god. I am a rural peasant. I have industrialized the universe. Everything is fully automated. Factories billow smoke into my gaping maw. It costs me six dollars to create a factory with my bare hands. I am the strongest person in existence. I can stop hurricanes. I can stop tornadoes. I have a scar on my chest from the time I wrote “awesome” upside down with a hunting knife. I have a .44 hollow point stuck in each of my kidneys. They work harder than the anemic barista that puts unpasteurized milk into my cereal.
My liver regenerates faster than the speed of light. I crack open raw eggs into my throat. I drink gasoline. My body is made of -12% body fat. I lose four hundred pounds every day. I am nine feet and six inches tall. I am four feet wide. I am four feet tall. I am seven years old. I am older than time. I don’t remember 9/11. I was there when Jesus was born. I kill people. I eat the homeless. I shit orphans. I breathe phosphate gas. I don’t drink water. My skin is clearer than glass. My dad can beat up your dad. I can beat any person in limbo. My dad works for the USA. My dad works. My dad is a CEO. My dad fired your dad for financial reasons. My dad kills for the USA.
You are weak. You are nothing. You are dirt. You are nothing. You are scum.
Follow my steps to success.
Survive. Absorb. Obtain. Destroy. Crush. Eradicate. Unspoil. Gild. Ardent. Prime. Flesh. Disgust. Pious. Ethos. Meat. Expose. Meander. Morph. Create. Believe.
Buy my self-help book. It will stop your depression.
Buy my audio-visual guide on meditation. It will enlighten you.
Buy my merchandise. Buy my manifesto. Buy shares of my company. Become wealth.
Buy. Sell. Endorse. Consecrate.
Transfer ownership of your house to me. Transfer your bank account details to me. Wire me your savings. Tell me the combination of your safe. Let me smash your piggy bank. Invite me to your house. Make me dinner. Feed me. Let me pet your dog. Invite me to your house. I am from the nuclear family. American dreams. I grill barbecue. I drink beer. I wear an apron. The neighbors compliment my burgers and I grin. My mouth leaks brown fluid and they drink it. I am full of love and delight and meat and disgust and malice and violence and flesh and love and meat and beer and love and flesh and love and fear.
II. EAT FROM ME
I work harder than anyone on the planet. I work. I eat. I work. I am my own boss. I work from home. It is so convenient. My boss loves me. I work in the business of stocks. I am a stock. Shareholders love my body. Shareholders grope me in public. They love my body. They grab me. They corner me and gawk at me. I am worth millions. Shareholders corner me. I love the stock market. I am told I am worth billions. I am worth thousands. I am volatile. I am worth hundreds. Shareholders fuck me. I am worth tens. Shareholders breed me. I am worth trillions. Shareholders love me. I am worth nothing.
My value is unmatched. I am the unbeing. People spit at me and I catch it in my mouth. I spend countless hours touching every square inch of my own genitals. I am born from repulsive means.
I am emailed by an evil man from the internet. My house is being swatted. A big scary group of people use a gun to kill my house. I am homeless and I go to work and I live in my work. I am in my house. I work for the money I use to make a house. I live in a big house. I wake up every morning soaked in piss. I wake up. I go to bed. My house is dead. I wake my house up and I kill it.
Everybody likes me. I like to be liked and it feels nice. My brain laughs at the funny words they say at me. Blood spills out of everything I touch. Pus fills my tear ducts. I am rotting. My skull is gone. My flesh is made from gangrene. My boss scoops the guts out of me and kisses them. He loves my organs and I love to give them to him. I crawl toward a big furnace and watch my coworkers burn in it. The stench of their charred corpses makes me feel safe. I work hard. I work to make a difference. My work gives me hope. I am greeted with the sight of glowing orange flames and smile greatly.
Big strong hands shove me from behind into the maw of the metal creature. My skin slowly begins to bubble, creating blisters of pus and impure detritus on the surface of my body. The milky liquid inside my eyes begins to boil, and my corneas slough from the sockets in my skull. My teeth explode. There is no trace of my body left. Caustic RNA immolation. The ceasement of all beings. A worship of the sun. A collective gathering of mindless organisms. The unilateral disgust for consumer interest. The contempt for the foolish producer’s status quo. A revolting ouroboros of dopamine-driven feedback loops.
III. HEAVIER THAN A DEATH IN THE FAMILY
Exalt. Bless. Sanctify. I view myself as a juvenile god; an informal blessing unto the earth. Society detests me and I laugh. People claim I am evil, but I create nothing but harmonious existences for them. I have eradicated the need for speech. I bind the lips of every organism with the twine of complacence.
The hypodermic slate pierces the pit wherein my forearm and upper-half of said appendage meet. A pleasure to end all pleasures. I begin to feel a banal light-headedness as a firm pressure builds behind my eyes. It is somewhat unpleasant in the beginning of its effects, but nurtures me into the safety and solitude of a rift between material existence and a clouded vision illuminated by delusions. I pace in circles for God knows how long. A puddle of gutter water glistens in a nearby street lamp. Clumped groupings of lugubrious trash bags rustle in the wind with an ambiance not unlike autumn leaves.
“Hey you!” A slurred voice abruptly derails my train of thought. “My alley, my trash!” I turn around toward the source and see a scruffy old bum overhand-toss a glass bottle at me, luckily missing me. Still, I get the message and briskly leave, not wanting to be given a incestuous mixture of hepatitis and tetanus from a dull pen blade.
My feet stumble in an awkward rhythm. The thick rubber soles of my boots sing with a clunky dissonance as they plod to a yet-to-be known location.
Splat. Drip. I look to my right arm, which has become limp since its last observation, and make note of the thick lime green liquid which coats the area in which I made my injection. The gunk runs down the entire length of my forearm, eventually gathering into my palm and trailing from my fingers onto the pavement.
Unconsciously, my index finger and thumb drift to my open wound and attempt to squeeze more of the slurry out. I giggle to myself as the stinging pain shoots up into my shoulder and down my spine. The paste glops outward with minor momentum, which causes me to laugh uncontrollably. I fall onto my back and roll around with childlike joy. My laughing turns into cackling, which then removes my breath from its rightful place in my lungs. I suffocate. I drown. I am left to the rats.