I'm squatting here against a beam in The Dekalb Street station at 1am...waiting for the R to Bay Ridge....surrounded by all these filthy assholes...schizophrenic .....with his pants down, weeping.....impossible teenage loudness .... at someone's undeserved and indifferent expense ....I am just buzzed and tired enough to calmly contemplate killing all of them. Just exhausted enough, at the precise degree of anhedonia required for absolute, illlegitimate but functionally definitive fearlessness in the face of getting beat to a pulp....there is shocking power in my dissolution. Now children board the train...So I will go home after all, sleep ...for one more day I will live as not murderer, not one rushing to be slain.
|Erik T. Johnson: Fiction (Often SpecFic), Poetry (Usually Not), Songwriting, Singing, Illustration, and Lowly High Priest of the Alphabet Gods (Praise The 26!)||