Problem 17
Everything is a statistic. An assorted mixture of 1's and 0's create the world we live in; the binary code of life. The chance of you being born normal and healthy = 90%. The chance you will die the same way = 7%. Calculate the probability of waking up in the morning to an exact significant figure. Divide that by the fraction of times loved by love lost. Now graph your destiny plotting each tragic moment with respect to time. Take the sum of that, and what's the solution? ERROR SYNTAX. In the end all you're left with is a series of miscalculated problems. You forgot to carry the one, now deal with the consequences. That is life. Solving some fucked-up ongoing word problem to one significant figure. Die happy or die alone. One significant figure. Devote your life to every little detail to make the formula work. You never know, you might have subtracted when you should've added as the driver of the truck multiplied instead of divided, and now you're just another statistic. Bloody, lifeless, broken. Not the same way you were born. You've just found your place in the equation. 93%. Congratulations.
(The solutions to all odd numbered problems are in the back of the book.)
Roar
Although we come from different times, we’ve both witnessed the destruction of the greatest minds. I am not arrogant enough to claim I understand what every line means, but I can tell you what I have seen.
I’ve seen boys and girls come home from war not smiling as they had before. Before the parties drew their lines and blindly followed their own kind. I’ve seen the mother and father, drained too dry to cry, asking the simplest of questions: “Why”. Why was their child just another supply? I’ve seen the fallen faces marquee across the screen as though it was an error code put out by the machine. The same machine you once described when all you wanted was the answer to your “why.”
I’ve seen my eMpTyV generation forget they have a right to speak for free forcing barely audible noises when they agree. Agree with the latest Michael Moore DVD. I’ve seen my generation take their own life in hopes their plight would shine light on their, otherwise, tragic night. These people have grown weak. They no longer attempt to cross lines because they can only see in blur.
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR
Ctrl/Alt/Delete
This they understand, but ask them the last time the raised a hand. A hand to signify that nothing is at it seems, and they want the answers to impossible dreams. Ask them to form ideas in their own words.
They have no words.
They have no own.
They have no answers.
They have no voice.
They have no identity.
They have no strength.
They have problems.
They have medication.
They have appearance.
They have a matchbook life.
If given the desire, one match can ignite the others and spread into a wildfire.
They would rather remain close and hidden in the dark.
You were my spark, but fifty years is a long time. I dedicate this last line to your Mr. Ginsburg.
May they Howl.
Fuck.
Shallow
(For the full effect, take your last breath here then continue reading without another breath to test if your mind is over your matter.)
If you read this without taking a breath you will most certainly be close to death but you cannot surmise the existence in my eyes unless by surprise something inside you dies. Do you feel the constriction in your chest wondering if this was for the best when you would have been better off taking a guess rather than throwing yourself into this mess? You’ll soon want this to end for the ink to drain from my pen in order to fill your lungs with oxygen but I never said it would be easy to see what I see and that IS what you have wanted all along to be able to prove me wrong and say you do understand that I am JUST another man who needs someone’s hand to fulfill my destined plan but the final grain of sand in the hourglass has long since passed and now your eyes are too dry to cry and your head is beginning to spin so I should bring this to an end and let you win…With every final ounce you are certain to denounce that all you have read will somehow lead me back from the dead although I’ve already cut the final thread and there is nothing left to be said.
Breathe.
Why Me Vote?
These United States have become splintered crates holding captive our fates.
Debate the sovereignty of an armed man protecting his land from the infringement of dein Fuhrer’s plan then listen to US applaud a deceptive fraud of God.
Whisper leagues of ivy into my ear so I can mirror what you allow me to hear while you redistribute your wealth of love evenly down each of my puppet strings. OoOoOo I quiver with the change you bring.
My Lord! Quick! I am sick. My quiver was a shiver. I’m in need of a universal care giver. Tick.Tick.A line? I don’t understand, haven’t I served my time, paid my fine? Ah! Silly me. I forgot - equality regardless of legality. No, please, go ahead my alien friend; let them mend the dents caused by our fence. Bienvenidos. I meant no offence about the fence. No! Don’t take away my freedom of speech! You should be impea…
…Okay. To my dismay you’ve chosen to play us like pawns. And many have caressed your fingers while you’ve allowed them to linger before a knight ready to fight. Oil flows, the deficit grows, yet you’re deaf to our woes. So impose your will, ink your quill, pass another bill. Come take my land. And while you’re at it, try infringing on the right in my hand.
The World is Coming to an End and You’re Scrambling Eggs!?
(Begin the war drums.)
dumb! dada dumb! dada dumb! dada dumb!
(Slowly drift towards podium to appear god-like then lift hands in air to silence the herd..er..masses.)
Silence.
The end is here. Due to our landscapes consisting of Wal-Marts and Starbucks in which everyone needs to drive a Hummer to, we have destroyed the ozone. This is why we are being incinerated nationwide. The hottest summer since...Jesus was crucified!
Roars.
We are under attack! North Korea has launched 7 nuclear...7 BIG nuclear missiles at...Hawaii! But we are no longer a proud nation. We have troops to be proud for us. We need not concern ourselves with another war. We can simply watch "The Daily Show" and formulate our own educated opinions. Let us read Kafka and Ginsberg while we stand in front of the Hummers, trying to reach Wal-Mart and Starbucks, like they did at Tiananmen Square!
Applause.
If we are to die, we will die on OUR terms!
Cheers.
Besides my sheep...er...loyal brethren, I know your lives are not what you imagined them to be 5 years ago. You were capable of so much more, but what happened? Did you become discontented? Jaded? Copasetic? Are you to blame for where you've ended up? NO! It's the government's fault! Their lies and deceit caused you to suffer severe mental "illness". You have no control over your destiny; they do! It is time to break free from their stranglehold!
Follow me and DO NOT listen to anymore of their lies about the "natural heating and cooling trend of the Earth", or that we would never have the rights we have now if it wasn't for the brave generations before us who thought "freedom" was worth fighting and dying for. They are trying to poison your weak...er...incapable...er......
Just drink the Kool-Aid. It will make us INVINCIBILE!
(The flock falls to the ground. Exit stage left.)
MiLK
Stop fighting the man and the men over one God and his sin.
Our skin controls a familiar blood that flows into a bond unspoken. Our hope, then, is to recognize the color reflected from our eyes is merely a disguise not devised to be despised.
When two shadows pass they blend into a singular mass regardless if they’re cast by black or white or artificial light.
Night blinds the barrier that binds us fro
m extending our hands trying to understand that our anger spent fueling this war could be better served as a roar for equality to soar.
King let his dream sing through the mainstream only to be awakened by their screams.
Now we’re afraid to fall back asleep.
Try counting grey sheep.
Part IV: Forever
Screaming White Noise
This is what, we in the Business, refer to as writer’s block. Although I’m not in the business nor am I a writer. So this is what I call choosing the wrong path and refusing to ask for direction.
I peaked at 17. All that angst and raw passion.Believing in true love.Believing in the good of humanity.Believing in humanity. Believing we’re more than opposable thumbs and fictional stories.
When my beliefs were challenged, I had ammunition, I took the safety off, and I fired. It was so easy then. A little betrayal sprinkled with a little heartbreak and topped off with some parental inaction made a delicious recipe for the things I felt but could not say. Now I lack the energy.
I care too much causing me not to care at all. I’m not numb, for I don’t believe in such nonfeelings. I guess I just except it now.
What is this nonsense? An attempt to look toward the future I guess. To hold on to the one thing that can’t be taken away.
My unrequited love.
I want my tombstone to read: “This is a real writer’s block.”
About the Author
Hi. Thanks for reading. If one line reached you through these 9000 words, I’ve done my job. Those who know me know I don’t offer much information about myself. These writings reveal more about me than I could. I am not webbed in social media, so if you want to “follow” me, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way: stalk me.
Andrew Pennington designed my cover. He’s been like a brother to me for 25ish years. He is the spider in the social media web, so if you want to contact him, you can:
[email protected].
Until next time…
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends