Dragon’s teeth tearing through the ligaments, in my circle no one spoke on what happened in Vegas, not one mention or frame of solidarity. We just walked on by, and you ain’t got enough God to blame or shame us. We got gun fatigue mixed with political shell shock and natural disaster syndrome. We’re sick to death of salacious, old wind bags. We’re done with ammo-sucking psychopaths, and we fucking hate evil nerds going by hacker handles that sound like some antiquated eight-bit Atari game no one has ever heard of before. We’re living Novocaine, and, yo — we don’t care what side of the aisle you’re currently gooping up with your slime. Fuck you — you ain’t making shit better for no one navigating through the public pit. I’m in the woods, alone, it’s raining… there’re fallen trees, and the leaves are starting to shade from green to death, and it’s beautiful. I love America, I really do. It’s so grotesque, inflamed and swollen with stupidity and greed. There just ain’t nothing like it in all of the bleak galaxy.
“The Great Gun Debate” Ha! There is no debate to be had!
There’s a portion of the population who can not feel whole as a human being without a weapon strapped to their person. The gun is tied eternally to their identity, and that’s that. And people will continue to be held hostage by their hostility and die under their hand, and that’s that.
In America you’re free to be slaughtered for nothing, and that’s that. Ammunition fills the hole in their hearts and puts holes in the hearts of their enemies, and that’s that. Buy yourself some Kevlar, keep whistling and pray you don’t catch fire. I don’t own a gun for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost because I cannot guarantee I won’t turn it on myself… I’m prone to despair. I have to carry that plague.
There’s a rich fog in the woods today, it’s wrapping itself around the foliage of baby trees with water bags tied around their trunks. Hurricane Nate’s tail spitting softly on everything. I’m on a hill overlooking Louisville, and the mist is so thick you can’t see a single aspect of city life… it’s a wonderfully surreal sight, a pleasing veil that will fall too soon. When you hold a gun, you can feel its power instantly. There’s a heavy heat that transfers from it’s sleek metal form to you. It’s intoxicating, sexy… and that type of scary we feed off of and, seeing as we tend to disappoint in every area, I stay the fuck away from guns and gun people. Hell, I tend to stay away from most people to be honest. There is no telling what’s gonna set a person off and send them down the warpath. No one’s figured it out and no one ever will. We know more about what’s happening on the ocean floor than we do about a man’s blind rage. Rage cannot be measured or contained, welcome to Earth — now duck for cover.
“Man, I don’t wanna murder nobody!” said my friend, Gatt Nucleus, earlier in the summer. The very fact he felt he needed to express this sentiment melted my brain. Welcome to Earth — now hit the deck.
Goya’s “Fight With Cudgels” is one of my favorite paintings of all time. Like Kayne West, it’s a complex masterpiece that only a fool would sleep on. The painting depicts two farmers simultaneously swinging clubs into each other’s skulls as they sink into a quagmire.
It’s the single greatest comment on man-made violence ever made by a man. Both farmers lose as they succeed in killing each other and for what? Some worthless patch of Earth? A goat? A mutual lover? A sacrifice to the gods? Who gives a fuck. At the end of the day, they’re dead. They’re corpses submerged in the muck, and the village will be better off without them until a new feud arises, because there’s always a new feud on the horizon.
Welcome to Earth — best protect yer neck while you still can.