cereal after sex

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Money is a rebellion against liberty

and angels with arrows mingle on the edge of space

No one cares where you are

Or who you are

Or why you are

For I am listless

Drained

Lost

Lonely

Inside myself

Blunted

Joyless

Lacking passion

Restless

Anxious

Convicted

Hexed

Depressed

Dead inside

Solitary

Antisocial

Lacking energy

Swimming in cement

Unmotivated

Strange

Ancient

A capsized fish ship in the Dead Sea

I end up on the shores of a little beach town and I have wiener schnitzel for lunch at a small café and there is peace and there is quiet and besides the waiter I am the only one there and it feels good to be alone and I can breathe and the cacophony of chaos has evaporated into the salty air and I find a sleepy hotel overlooking the sea and I stand and stare at the window as the isolation envelops me and it feels good to no longer be alive and to be a ghost in some vanishing dreamland and I sit on the edge of the bed, the room half-dark, a wedge of magical light grazes my face and I think about the World Cup and I think about the long, ragged life I had led and I think about love and loss and everything else in between and how I met my end at a cliff in Montana and all I wanted to do was to fly and to vanquish the suffering and to not be witness to the atrocities of man any more… and there was breakfast by the sea and the day would present me a walk, through the town of lost spirits and up into the parched hills where I would kneel and pray to the sun gods and they would look upon me and grant me three wishes and I would hope for a blanket of peace as I slept on the rocks beneath the stars and the wide wide world of space above me and I could taste the Milky Way and watch the planets spin and see the angels drown in stars and what else do I wish for myself other than to be a forever wanderer through time and the universe and to go to the place prior to my own birth and to sit in the darkness and hear nothing and all is black and still and then a door opens and a light breaks through and the whole world is renewed and I sit still and breathe and there are winning Belgium waffles at the table and a big genie bottle of syrup and the jinn of sweet sticky life comes emanating forth and I am no longer frightened as the salty ghosts haunt my mind and soul and I eternally mesh with them and stay and wander more through the halls of the castle and the valleys of the dry land.