Hunger does what sorrow never could.

Energy without reason. Continually satiated by the stream of impulses fed in through the senses. Inventing new senses to keep them untarnished. Keep them segregated from the current to try and hold on to what once was. There was hunger once. There was anger there. There was.. something. Once punch to calm the nerves. Two to help you sleep. Any more and you slip back down that shit stream you paddled and struggled and fought against to get where you are. You drank from the stream. You bathed in it to help. You laughed. YOU LAUGHED in its wake. Watched the motor boats stream by throwing up a wave of brown water high in the air. You opened as wide as you could and let it pour all over you. It was your fuel. You giggled in that shit stream. What happened? Where did it go? It's still there. Right out the window. If anything its more convenient than ever to dip your hands in that filth. Have you changed? Has it changed? Do you age and forget?

Fuck that. Fuck those tools. Fuck that old way. IAAM STILL ANGEREY GODDAMNIT!! FUCK! Point and laugh. I can still shake your bones with my scream. I can still break your will. I can still strap on the boots and kick in your teeth. I can still lift. bitch bitch bitch. Isn't that what it has always been? Hasn't it always been the bitching? Yes and no. It had purpose. I had purpose. I haven't lost that purpose. I am not complacent. I am still a human being goddammit. Part of the shit stream. The matter of relation has changed though. And maybe that is the point. Maybe that is what age brings. You feel like an alien walking among what used to be humans. It doesn't look human anymore. Is that the path of progress? Is that how it's always been? Is this unique to our time? We, the aging observers look for some small glimpse of skin or blood. Something to relate to. Something to redeem our faith. Something to justify our care. Something. Anything. Dig and dig and dig, finding only feathered bangs and fucking i don't even know what to call it. Is that was has changed? We don't know how to find that last little spark of humanity? We.. I don't know how so it sinks down and sits. It waits for that spark. The beast that roamed so freely now isn't tamed but confused. It doesn't know what it is looking at. Prey or predator. What do you tell a creature that knows one thing when that one thing doesn't seem to exist anymore?

Waiting, watching, breathing. Slow and steady. Breath deep. The shit is still there and I still hate it. I bring my glass to that river. I will dip it in the shit water. I will raise it high as I toast the loss of mankind. And as that filth spills all over me, it will be my laughter they hear because it's all so fucking hysterical.

madness.. madness..