Electric Butter

There’s nothing for it. Nothing to end the madness but to brave hell’s hot snows. In my ankles and feet I feel the surging flow of electrified liquid butter. My muscles quiver and my bones shake as I stand and let this force pass through me, dispersing downward and carrying my sins along with it. For after all what are sins but the products of emotional immaturity? And what better way to let them go than to open our understandings to the greater thematic development of our psyche?

How many boats does it take to reach the moon? How many screams to imitate the loon? Not all paths lead where you are going, no matter how long or how fiercely you tread. But you can be sure of one thing: all paths lead somewhere, though it may not be far from where you started.

Poison twists itself out of my like a burrowing snake or an expelled splinter. It is dead, itself, and would gladly share that with me. But it is too weak and minute to be anything but another itching irritation in a life that is full of itching irritations and the sore immobilized limbs of children made to sit still.

Too many Tuvaluvian tricksters and not enough factory-labor, that’s why their island is sinking. A little bit of repetitive manual work with the blinders on will fix their problem, and if we pay them well enough they’ll scarcely notice that they’re knee deep in the ocean. If we give them a waterproof television at home, they’ll never notice. They should be so lucky.

There’s no need to rush, I promise you that tomorrow you’ll be just as clueless as in this very moment. I promise that there will be more to do, that the sun will rise and the earth will spin. I promise that there will be men and women who seem evil to your eye and who see in your eyes only evil. I promise that you’re both right.

The great spirit Arcalouie one day, while playing in the flowers, sneezed up a great and noble glob of phlegm (he’s allergic) and from that phlegm through a process of ever increasing complexification the world was born, and man and woman upon it, and all was sticky and poorly thought out.