Could I smash my keyboard into words? Would it make better sense that way? Would I be expressing something even if my audience doesn’t understand?

Such is the random meaningless angst I feel today. Purely misguided teenage rage, the best kind, the truest caliber, with no political affiliation, no reason for being period. Such is the beginning of all poetically catastrophic tirades.

But then again it’s probably just lack of sleep. I need a vacation. I need vegetation. I power naps and super abs. A super slurpee. A lobotomy. I need to buy something. Right?

And if you’re feeling down, well little buddy, you’re just not getting enough exercise. It’s a chemical imbalance, that little de-motivating demon inside, he’s accidentally thrown a wrench into your enterprising works. Power nap. Endorphin milkshake, double mocha orange frap-puccino. You’ll be fine. Just stick to legal methods of circumventing depression (that’s simply a disclaimer. The fact is that if it makes you a more productive consumer then by all means abuse it, whatever it is.) Take Saturday off, come back fresh Monday with a renewed killer instinct. Think positively, remember that nothing’s really wrong, it’s just the ephemera in your fucking head. But whatever you do don’t talk to yourself while driving, and try not to be alone. The stress got you positively mad. It’ll do it. It’ll transform you if you don’t keep it in check, if you don’t treat it properly with antiseptic wipes and support groups.

You see, it’s all symptomatic of a disease that you’ve contracted, and not this one that you’re obligated to participate in.

This is a world of concrete things. Don’t let the ambiguous static clutter in your head distract you from that. That stuff is shit, any accomplished power-lifting CEO will tell you that. This is a world of instant grits and instant messaging get with the program. Don’t be internal. Show it all, think it all, tell it all. And you’ll be told if you’re redeemable.

A Radiohead bootleg from the Netherlands and all of a sudden I feel nostalgic for 1997. Ok Computer. It’s like 2001: A Space Odyssey already. But that’s only 5 years ago, how can it be? How can it be OK Computer? They sound classic already. They’re forever entombed in my long extended childhood (warning: it will never-end). Karma police for the Karmarator.

If I could be the arch-villain of Karmarator I would be Nostalgia Boy. Nostalgia Boy would render his victims powerless by drowning them in memories of past glories (always re-imagined touched up and airbrushed to perfection.) They soon become inert and useless as they weep for the golden days of yore.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 3rd, 2002 at 8:36 pm and is filed under general. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.