An eruption killed thousands today
2:50 a.m.//04.11.06

Mood: Drifting away

I feel like I'm becoming so old-looking. I feel so old. I feel so dead and lost. So alone. This is the one of the lowest points in my life that I can recall from recent history. Life is trying to play a game with me that I'm not interested in playing. I sat on the couch on Sunday morning at 5am. I sat there crying, wrapped up in my star wars blanket. I put my fingers to my temple like a gun, and I pulled the hallucinatory trigger and pretended to put a bullet in my head. I proceeded to tumble over onto my side, and thought that this is what would be going on, direclty after my death. The world would still be turning. People would continue living their lives, not even phased. My mother would still be sleeping in her bed, aware of nothing. My pets would most likely come over and sniff my body, and in some feline capacity, mourn, knowing something is just not right. It's almost as if it never happened at all. That thought was wavering on the line of placidity and meloncholy, often times staying on one side more than the other. I can't deny the fact that I feel I'd be better off seperated from this world. Some would say it's selfish to want to kill yourself and put people through that. But I say it's selfish to want to keep me here for your convenience. And now for something completey different.

Hey!
Yo!
We're the United States Marines

We know you've all been killing each other
For at least two thousand years

But we're here now
To protect the family
Of Christian heroin warlords
Most friendly to the West

So you knock off this fighting
Or we'll tell Mom

Ever notice news
Is staged like TV wrestling shows
With Reagans and Khaddafis cast
As cartoon villains and heroes

Or those wildlife 'documentaries'
Where a lion from a zoo
Kills a deer tied down ahead of time
'At the perfect camera angle'

When lemmings balk at dying for Disney
They're just hurled off the cliff

We are gathered here today
To take photos of the President
Pretending to mourn these brave young men
Who came home from Beirut
Gift-wrapped in body bags
A truck bomb blew them to bits

We knew they were sitting ducks
We sacrificed 'em, Aztec style
So we could use their dead meat
To cook up war fever back home

So make sure you take lots of pictures
And slant your news our way
Just like in Wild Kingdom
We first tied down the prey

We want people boiling for revenge
In their living rooms
So we can go play shoot-em-up
Anywhere we choose
And our backers can cash in
Without the public asking questions.


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