INERTIA (A Short Poem Without Meaning) by David Fischer dave@cca.org
Copyright (c) 1995 by David Fischer 
Reproduce without modification or omission.

I wake up
I get some money
I leave my apartment
I walk down the street
I go in a store
I buy some milk
I also buy some cookies
I walk back home
I enter my apartment
I make some coffee
While I wait for the coffee I feed my cats
I drink two cups of coffee
I eat some cookies
I take a bus to New York
I come home
I sleep
I work
One day I walk in the park
Near the water
I spend money
I go to work
I get out of work
I come home
I do this often
Every day in fact
Except
Weekends
I do other things for fun
That I don't do at work
Or while I'm asleep
These are the three different
Parts of the
Daily cycle.
I hate bathing.
I buy food.
I play with the cats.
I stop them from fighting.
The older cat
Sometimes gets angry
With the kitten
And tries
To 
Eat him.
They wake me up
At 5:00 in the morning
Fighting.
I don't eat very much
Or very well.
By the local standards
of the day.
I eat
A lot of bread and rice.
Not together.
I go out to walk.
Pretending
I have somewhere
To go.
But I don't.
I walk very quickly anyways.
and I get angry if
Anyone gets
in my way.
I hope the clouds don't grow big fangs and try to eat me.
that would be bad.
I would die.
I keep walking.
Bank, store, home.
Eating is a waste.
It's a self-indulgent pleasure.
Hee hee.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
My god.
I go to bed.
The alarm wakes me.
Another day.
do I notice?
Yes.
I get up.
I get dressed.
I spend three minutes playing with the kitten.
Now it is time to go to work.
I walk three miles to work.
Now it is time to work.
I punch in.
I work.
Now it is time to go home.
I punch out.
I go home.
Yippee.
Now I must spend the money
I have earned
On food
That I do not want.
When I used to bike a lot.
I used to get very angry
That I did not have gills.
I still do not have gills,
But it does not make me angry anymore.
I listen to music.
I enjoy the music.
I go outside.
I walk down the street.
I get on a bus.
I get off the bus 
in another city.
I meet some friends
Who live 
in that city.
We talk.
and walk.
I get on a bus.
I get off the bus.
In my home city.
I walk home.
I talk
to myself
as I walk
very often.
Perhaps
People 
think I'm
crazy.
At least
they don't have to worry
about the clouds 
growing fangs
and an appetite.
So content.
Thinking so little.
"Hi. I'm Jack."
Hi Jack.
"Want a beer?"
No thanks, Jack.
"Watch the game last night?"
No I didn't, Jack.
I walk along
Hands in pockets.
Don't shove a spear through my back.
Don't shoot me in the head.
Don't hit me with an axe,
Chopping off my arm.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
I enter the pizza place.
They don't call them pizza stores, do they?
I order a pizza.
I pay for the pizza.
I eat the pizza.
I leave the pizza place.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
Don't run me over.
I cross the street.
After the stupid driver
Who was not looking where he was going.
Has finally noticed
Me
and stopped.
Anger.
Twenty feet later,
All anger is forgotten.
Emotions that serve no purpose
Do not thrive 
Do not live
Do not prosper
In my head.
In a complex situation
I have to ask myself
"Should I be angry?"
And it all depends
on the views
of those
around me.
With whom I interact.
My emotions are defined
In this context 
Which has little to do
With me.
It's a socially defined thing.
But I'm not very social.
Maybe it's just a thing.
I hope it doesn't grow fangs
And try to eat me.
I look up.
I am distracted by a kite.
It has a wish written on it.
It is cut free
To fly away
Taking its wish
Far far away.
"I wish I had not cut my kite string."
Perhaps the wish should read.
This is a kite-wish
Retrospective though.
It is not likely
That this is what was written.
I walk quickly.
I walk slowly.
I stare at the ground.
I have no expression on my face.
I mutter to myself.
Mutter mutter mutter.
People walk past.
And think I'm crazy
because I'm muttering
to myself.
But they don't realize
What I'm muttering
under my breath
as they
walk by.
"Mutter mutter mutter"
I say.
I have an autistic cat.
"SHAZAM!"
Uh-oh.
nothing happens.
It works on TV.
Quick, find a TV!
There is no TV.
Only some rednecks
Who want to beat
Me.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ah well.
At least I'll have the last laugh.
I walk home.
I eat.
I sleep.
I wake.
I work.
I have the last laugh.
Three days later.
While watching
Cartoons.
No one.
Shall ever
Laugh again.
I go outside.
I walk.
I see some people.
Walking.
Talking amoungst themselves.
One is laughing.
Hmm.
I stop and look at them.
They watch me in curiosity.
I don't know how to phrase my question.
They walk past.
How could they laugh?
I thought that phase 
of human
life
Was over.
"I would like to purchase a pencil please."
I feel so embarassed.
I didn't realize.
This.
This was a grocery store.
Next time.
Next time I shall persevere.
I shall buy my pencil.
Even though
I walk through the
grocery store.
Spotlights follow me around
Whenever I'm in a
Crowded public area.
It's very annoying
and makes me
somewhat
self-conscious.
I shouldn't be.
If there's a spotlight on me
There's a reason for that.
Nothing I should be worried about.
But the exposure
and the weight
of those
eyes.
Bothers me.
I don't think it's just the eyes though.
I think it's the
retinas
that make me feel so
embarassed.
Do different coloured eyes
Feel different
when they're staring at the back 
of my
head?
I began to study this
but it was very difficult.
I did not realize
for a while
that they were
deliberately
making my study
even
harder.
One person would stare at me.
With brown eyes.
For instance.
And then,
when I turned
to see who was looking
and observe the colour of
that person's eyes,
The first person would look away,
and another person
would look at me
With  blue eyes.
For instance.
Thta is why I could make no sense
of my observations
and data
for the first
year.
Or
so.
I climb a tree.
There is a bird's
nest
near the top.
He invites
me in.
I climb
into the nest.
We talk.
I leave.
I go outside.
I walk to the zoo.
I enter the zoo.
I look at the animals.
I set a lion free.
The lion eats someone.
I catch the lion.
I return the lion to his cage.
I look at other animals.
I like the tropical birds.
I talk to the tropical birds.
The tropical birds think I am stupid.
They make fun of me.
I leave the zoo.
I do not wish to stay
Where I am disliked.
I shall not
Inflict myself
On unappreciative
Tropical birds.
I like birds though.
Except pigeons.
I like seagulls.
I like crows.
And ravens.
I flew to the moon 
Once.
I was young.
It seemed like a good idea.
The folly of youth!
The moon is very dusty.
I am going to build a catapult
Large enough to hurl the moon
into the 
sun.
I found an empty lot
I can set it up in.
One day.
When you see something in the news
About the moon
Being hurled
into
the sun.
That's me.
I stare at my clock
Blinking.
Waiting for something to happen.
Watching the clock
does not help
Anything happen.
It is not a catalyst.
But it seems to be
The thing to do.
My eyes drift there
and stay.
It is an adhesive
of attention
for me.
Perhaps my clock
is pateintly waiting
for some sign.
What will it do?
When it is time
for action?
Maybe it will blink
twice.
In quick
succession.
Maybe every clock in the world
is in on this
plan.
Why?
As a sign.
That something happened.
That we do not
understand.
Pretty smart way
to go about
it.
I don't understand the power grid.
I think it's some sort of
mystic
object.
That is - it has a mystic level.
The layout and flow
of the structure and power
has a simple functional level.
But I believe it is constructed with another
higher
mystic level of operation
and state.
When I call the power company
to debate my bill
I sometimes ask about this.
The customer services people
do not know,
or they have been instructed
to pretend thus.
I am well respected amoung certain circles
for my fortune telling and
skrying abilities.
I am not known for accurate predictions
or deep interpretations and readings.
I am known because I am the only one
Who has mastered the esoteric art
of bathroom tile reading.
Those apparently meaningless and random
repetitive patterns
laid down as inconsequential & peripheral
interior design
Hold many meanings and messages for me.
Sometimes they are subtly disguised graphic symbols
and representations.
Sometimes they have mathematical meaning
hidden within their geometric patterns,
and sometimes messages are to be found herein
by reading the tiles as
morse code!
The last one I read
claimed that it was not a
message
at all,
and to leave it
alone.
Sometimes you just have to crouch down
and rock back and forth
and chant incoherently.
It's just a mood
you get in.
And nothing else
will do.
I lived in a park for three years.
I had been turned into stone,
and everyone thought
I was a statue.
When I finally left
I was very
hungry.
I went home
and had a bowl of
cereal.
I never eat regularly.
Near-starvation punctuated with
feasts.
It makes you appreciate food
a little more
and keeps you body
on its toes.
Don't want it to get too comfortable,
too relaxed.
I treat my body
like the enemy.
It is not me.
It is an external entity
an eternal enemy,
to be schemed against.
I hate sleep.
Time spent sleeping
is time lost.
I drink coffee
before I go to bed.
I toss and turn all night.
Thinking.
I'm so glad I'm not asleep.
I do not think that I think
I'm so glad I'm not awake
while I'm asleep,
but who knows?
I cannot be sure, so I will
proceed on the assumption
that I do not.
Today I must paint a house.
I leave my home.
I go to the house.
I paint the house.
I come home.
I have now painted a house.
Today I shall go on a hike.
I put on my boots.
I put some food and assorted survivalist goodies
in my backpack.
Like
Food
Water
Rope
Knives
A dictionary
A thesaurus
A world atlas
A micrometer
Blankets.
I go outside.
I hike.
I hike out of the city.
I hike into the woods.
I hike along a river.
I follow the river upstream.
I hike up a mountain.
The river has become a stream,
smashing its head continuously against the rocks.
That's the way, stream.
Keep it up.
We're all rooting for you.
Root, root, root.
I reach the top of the mountain.
It is like a huge bald head.
A giant smooth rock
lifted above the timberline.
I sleep.
I wake.
I continue to hike upwards.
Progress is very slow at first,
But as I become accustomed to the
trail,
I pick up the rhythm
and my speed.
I am soon well above the mountain top,
and heading into the first
low-flying
clouds.
The clouds actualy are made out of cotton-candy.
But they're so polluted you can't eat them.
Well, you can, and I did,
but it's disgusting
and I threw up a little later.
Luckily I had the foresight to pack
some cotton candy
of my own.
I took that out and made friends
with all the angels playing on the clouds
because they could no longer eat the local
cotton candy.
Angels are very stupid.
Maybe it's lead poisoning.
As I continue higher and higher,
the air begins to thin.
I see several angels
who have managed to
venture this far
with air-tanks
on their backs.
Their tanks don't hold very much
air though,
So they must descend frequently
to breath freely.
They also get tired because
the tanks
are so heavy.
Although they won't admit it,
it's also a certain degree of
fear.
When heaven was built,
they didn't have
air tanks yet.
So of course,
they thought no one would ever
be up here,
and this is where they put
all the power lines.
I didn't see anything happen
while I was hiking by,
but I'm told that
burning angel flesh
smells truly disgusting.
I continue upwards.
I am moving slower now.
Although I am gradually
escaping the earth's
gravity well,
I am also getting tired.
I stop and relax
in a geosynchronous orbit.
I fall asleep in the shade
of a small
telecommunications satelite.
I am cold.
The physical challange of the hike
makes the cold invigorating
instead of merely
miserable.
I smile at the thought
that it doesn't
rain
in outer space.
I make good time,
once away from the Earth.
I detour around
Mars.
Now I can see my destination.
I love spending a weekend
camping in the
asteroids.
Just to get away from the city,
you know?
The hustle and bustle.
The noise.
The pollution.
It's relaxing.
It's theraputical.
I even think it's rather
educational.
I suppose it's mostly nostalgic though.
In my case.
I stop in the capital,
just to see what's going on,
before I head out to the
more remote regions.
I've never heard anyone talk about it,
About the planning and setup that is obviously involved,
Or discussing previous accomplishments,
But every time I go there,
the major metropolis of the asteroid belt
is disguised as some famous earth city.
This time it looks like New York.
Everything here mocks the original city.
The rivers,
The buildings,
The monuments,
The stores,
The people.
The food, the music, the speach.
Everything perfectly resembles New York.
A New Yorker would be perfectly at home here,
except for the Sun being so small and dim,
and the really low gravity,
and the total lack of oxygen.
I almost forget, myself!
When you go to talk to people though,
they can only say a few
words.
Depending on their profession,
like simple
automata.
I arrange a few into a circle,
to see what they'll talk about.
I start the ball rolling:
"What is the meaning of unity?"
"Porno shop. Straight through two lights, then your second left."
"But do you saw through the ribcage?"
"Ribs are $12.95 a plate."
"Home plates are available in the sporting section."
"Section B will now lead us in a song."
"You may only use a number 2 lead pencil."
"Penicillin was discovered by accident."
"Yes, that covers accident insurance as well."
"Well, I don't know."
"No man, fuck off."
"TAXI!!!!"
"29.3305 at 1.62 for 90 days."
"Sixy days is too little."
"Can I have a little?"
"It's not my turn to take out the kitty litter!"
"No, two lights, then your second left."
"I give up. Turn it off."
"No."
"Look again. You'll find it."
"Search within."
"Yeah?"
"Remember that time on the bridge?"
"The river."
"My youth."
"My kids just started nursery school."
"The starter's brand new!"
"All brand-name goods."
"We got the goods on Skinny this time!"
"Untill tomorrow."
"Gone Tomorrow!" (sung)
"Good riddence!"
"Don't talk so!"
"Speak up!"
"Don't talk so!"
"Look again. You'll find it."
"Of course, some of us never lost him."
"Sterling silver."
"No, batteries are not included."
"Up to this point, set theory was thought to be all-inclusive."
"On your mark!"
"Yeah, the one with the funny hat."
"Funny, ha ha?"
"Ah hah!"
"Ah choo!"
"Choo choo twain!"
"Let's go, no loitering."
"Display technology based on Cherenkov radiation?
	That's totally fucking twisted, man."
"Radical, dude!"
"Keep it moving."
"Stop."
"Keep it moving!"
"Stop!"
Two police officers stand
glaring at each other.
They lean forward untill
their heads are touching,
and they form a solid
blue
archway.
The blue cloth slowly transforms
into stone,
and they grow towering into the sky.
And a moment later,
A giant arch stands in a busy intersection
in the middle of
Greenwich Village.
Surprisingly.
Surprisingly,
It looks quite good there.
I turn back to see
that the rest of my assembled
company
have started to fight
each other.
Fists, knees,
Pipes, chains,
Knives, guns,
Artillery and biological weapons,
Soon wipe the street clean.
I am alone again,
In the middle of New York City,
Out beyond the orbit of 
Mars.
How else might I avoid the continuous crowd!
I decide to viit the museums.
I soon find that indeed,
Everything here looks like
Old New York back on Earth,
Except that all the museums,
which do look exactly like the existing New York
museums,
architecturally,
are, without exception, featuring a single exhibit, titled:
"Wisdom Of The Ants".
And all of the guides and museum
staff,
appear to have antlers.
They aren't real antlers,
(you can tell)
but it's still an unusual deviation from the
New York
super-realism.
I am sick of pseudo New York.
I walk to the outskirts.
I leave.
I crawl along the rocky surface
of the 
asteroid.
I am picked up
by an alien
scout.
He takes me to his commander.
They question me.
They are interested.
They are not hostile,
But they will use anyone
and everything
to their own 
ends.
They have heard that a human's
retina
can detect a single photon.
They are so impressed by this,
that they put me in charge 
of quality control
at the
photon receiving dock.
I fail miserably.
They are understanding,
and kick me out.
Now I am stranded.
My little camping trip has become
complicated.
I decide to build a canoe
to get back
home.
It's difficult though.
There are very few trees
growing
in the asteroid belt.
And they're pretty scrawny
anyways.
It's hard to get wood to float
without water.
When I do finally push off,
my raft glides slowly towards earth for a moment,
and then collapses under its own
weight on the ropes,
and lack of any stable surface
underneath.
I am trapped inside
a tangled mass
of ropes and asteroid-wood
for the entire month long trip
back to earth.
Asteroid wood is dusty and flaky.
If I wasn't holding my breath
(Because I'm in outer space, silly!)
I'm sure I'd be coughing and sneezing all the way
home.
I'm scared at the idea of
re-entry.
I aim for a kite.
That breaks the fall a bit.
I walk away from the crying kid
whose kite I just
destroyed.
And you wonder why astronauts are notorious
tough guys?
This is routine.
I wander through this unknown city.
I am hungry.
I eat the bunnies playing in the grass.
They turned out to be lawn ornaments.
Lawn ornaments do not taste good,
but they are easy to catch.
It's a reasonable tradeoff.
I grew giant metallic angel wings once.
Glimmering gold,
Pointy,
they soared about twenty feet above my head.
The wind stopped in awe
at the sight.
I tried to fly up into the empty sky
but my enemies
had devised a cunning scheme
using a giant wooden
magnet.
Since normal magnets don't attract
gold.
My wings crumpled 
like tinfoil.
And metallic caterpillars came
and ate them away.
I love to go out and people-watch.
Sometimes on a bridge
overlooking a highway,
Sometimes from a tall tower
or office building
or warehouse
window.
To really enjoy people-watching
you need a pair of
binoculars
and some beer
and a high-powered rifle
with a scope.
But some days I
just go for a walk
in the woods
instead.
Or climb trees.
I like to stretch out on my back
on a nice thick branch
and doze.
When I wake,
I find that
Squirrels
Have curled up beside me,
and I try to get up without
waking them.
but I fail.
Sometimes they get frightened
and bite me.
I once fell out of a tree
because of this.
That was the only time I really
hurt myself
climbing a tree.
I broke my arm.
Or rather - the squirrel broke my arm.
I used to have my own TV show.
I had a camera man who would follow me around
As I wandered the streets,
stalking random strangers.
Once we went into the state house
and killed the governor.
We got a close-up of me eating
his brain.
We got great ratings, but our producers
were forced to cancel
the show.
Because of public outcry or something.
I don't understand politics.
I don't know.
Then I started a pirate TV station.
I only transmitted science documentaries.
Just to make it difficult
for the pigs
to shut me down.
They sent someone around
to beat me up instead.
Then they stole all my equipment.
I woke up on a snow-covered mountain peak once.
I spent days climbing down, but never reached anything
other than ever-descending mountainside.
I lived on berries that grew on the mountain.
There were these strange feathered cats circling overhead,
waiting for me to die.
And coils of rope
sleeping under all the bushes.
I don't remember what happened,
or how I got out
of that
predicament.
I drink a pot of coffee.
I wander around.
It's nice out.
It's warm
And sunny.
It is a very crowded
Saturday afternoon
in the 
park.
A man with a wearing a fake hat
pesters me for spare change.
I pretend I have none.
I crawl into the cool shade under the sidewalk to avoid
the crowd.
A few abandoned
ad campaigns
are huddled around a campfire
cooking
spite
and
potatos.
I sit with them for a while.
I prefer such company
to the crowds up above.
Even though
they aren't real.
After we eat I turn into
gravel
and take a nap.
When I awake,
they have disappeared.
I go back outside,
and fight my way through the weekend crowd
to the park,
where I eat a hotdog vendor.
I am chained to a rock by the sea.
Every time the tide comes in,
I drown.
It is a horrifying death, watching the waves
slowly rise.
To my feet, my knees, my waist, my chest,
my neck, my chin, my mouth.
I can't decide if it's worse
with big waves
or small.
Twice a day.
Every day.
The chains are covered with barnacles
by now.
They don't stick to my skin
for some reason.
That's good.
One day the chains finally break under the constant
crash of waves
and corrosive
salt water.
I am free.
I go home.
I have some coffee,
then go to bed.
I once had a summer job
as a vulture.
I was terrible at it.
I always got distracted by 
the flying.
Seeking updrafts,
soaring without effort.
I loved it.
I didn't want to be bothered
eating the dead.
They told me not to come back
when I left
at the end of the summer
to go back to school.
I spent six years at that school.
I was the only student.
There were no teachers.
I liked it because there was no administration.
It was very difficult.
I certainly earned that degree!
The hardest part was figuring out
what I was supposed to do next.
Their style of teaching was very
subtle.
I never really understood
what most of my assignments
were for.
Reading certain classic authors was obvious enough,
but counting the number of windows
in all the buildings
in certain address ranges
on certain streets
in certain cities
in certain countries -
I never understood what was to be gained from that.
But I did it.
Diligently.
I was a very good student.
I got straight A's.
A is for Apple, you know.
and B is for Barbiturate.
I didn't learn that at this school.
I knew that already.
You have to be prepared for
higher education.
The more prepared you are,
the more you'll get out of it.
That's why bank robbers spend money on getting
really good
equipment.
Sometimes I got really paranoid.
I wondered if I was being used to some evil ends.
If my work assignments really had nothing to do
with my education.
If someone was sneaking in their own
Secret missions
into my curriculum.
This first occured to me
When I kidnapped a foreign head of state.
I read in the paper
that he had died in a terrorist attack,
but he was sitting in front of me,
tied to a chair.
I questioned him about linear algebra for
two days.
He was not at all helpfull.
Then one day he was gone.
I never found out what happened,
or what I was supposed to learn
from this assignment.
That's what got me wondering.
There there was the granite-kite project for engineering class.
Sure, I felt sorry for the parents of all the crushed school children,
but wingspan gives lift,
that's the first principle I was taught in aerodynamics.
Actually, that was the only thing I was taught in aerodynamics.
What did they expect?
I gave it my best shot.
I thought it would float gently above the school,
and give them all a nice surprise.
Drifting on the morning wind.
Finally, a man disguised as a
cable TV
installer
asked me if I wanted cable.
This was the secret code that I had been waiting for.
I was now a graduate!
I cried out in joy, and kissed my
messenger.
He appeared very surprised.
He was an excellent actor.
My school days were finally over,
and I had an unshakable intuition
that I had passed with
distinction.
I cut myself shaving this morning.
I watched the trickle of blood run down my neck onto my chest.
It evaporated almost immediately,
leaving a brown crust
that kept moving
with a life of its
own.
Once it was completely dry,
the dried blood flaked away
and thousands of little spiders
scurried away over my skin.
I wonder is this is normal.
I do not think it is.
I should not cut myself shaving so easily.
I shall have to buy an electric shaver.
Or perhaps grow a beard.
I examine my face in the mirror,
trying to imagine what I would
look like
with a 
beard.
I scoop up a handfull
of escaping spider-creatures,
and arrange them on my chin
to see.
I am pleased.
The spiders run away again.
They are most uncooperative.
Fiendish plots!
I don't recall when I first noticed
my followers.
When it was only one or two
I think
I just thought
they were hanging around.
By coincidence.
I didn't know
they were watching 
and listening
to everything
I said or did.
Even when they started asking questions
I didn't notice anything
out of the ordinary.
I guess their questions were a little
strange
to be coming from
random strangers on the street.
It's difficult to get my attention.
When I started seeing faces 
when I woke up in my
apartment
that I recognized 
from meeting on the street,
I realized that something
was up.
I began to think back on the past
few weeks
while regarding the
circle of faces
sitting
around my bed.
Many random encounters with people
recently 
had not been of the
"Do you have the time?"
or
"Which way to the train station?"
variety, as much as the
"What happens when we die?"
and
"What is God's intention for modern man?"
variety.
I just thought
I was running into a more
philosophically inclined
segment 
of the general population
in my 
travels.
Not so, I not realized.
I tried to ignore the new
occupants
of my now-crowded apartment
at first.
For five days
I pretended not to see them.
I went about my daily routine
as normal.
It was too much for me though.
I grew so tense
that on the sixth day
I burst into flames.
This incident is what 
Started the real stories
and popularity of this
new
cult.
They sought knowledge.
I taught.
When I was a student,
I was alone.
I pity my students.
I understand their quest
and their
uncertainty.
I tell them that 
whenever
They are killing bugs, they must
first
threaten the bug by saying,
(in a most menacing tone)
"I'll crush you like a bug!".
I refuse to tell my students
why
they must do this.
One day after giving a lesson,
I walked across the street,
and found myself
alone.
I looked back
and saw
my followers
crowded around the 
sidewalk
on the other side of the
street.
A few had ventured
across,
but sunk
into the pavement
of the street
as if it was
water.
A few were standing around
up to their knees,
and two had ventured
deeper,
as deep as their waists.
I continued on
to the store.
I bought some junk food.
I left the store.
I go home.
They are right where I left them,
on the further side of the street,
a few still wading
about
in the pavement.
A cry goes up as they spot me returning.
Although my annoyance with my job
and my followers
grew in unison,
the complimentary solution didn't occur
to me untill it was almost too late.
I was sick enough of both
to just run.
Luckily, the idea hit me
first.
I started seperating my followers -
the inner circle and the outer circle.
Of the inner circle, one devout believer
at a time is taken into my closest confidence,
and taken aside to study alone.
This believer is never seen again,
and my refrigerator is suddenly full
of frozen meat.
And my garden soil is so heavy and rich,
I grow many plants
which my followers sell at market 
for me.
My follower's numbers
are no longer overwhelming,
and I am prosperous.
Unfortunately,
one of my students
interupts me during one of my private meals
and is surprised to see me
drenched in the blood
of his brother.
I quiet him down, but I can see
he is still upset.
By the next day, everyone seems
to know.
What's going on.
They don't leave.
They are very dedicated.
But they appear somewhat
gloomy.
And we don't get any new
converts.
From outside.
Except the two I catch
one night.
I feel the unease of the strangers when I go outside.
People avoid me,
And the normally friendly
Convenience Store clerks
are more distant
even.
I go to the zoo.
The tropical birds won't talk to me
anymore.
Not even to make
fun
of me.
The clouds don't
follow
me
now.
Days pass.
Weeks pass in total
Solitude.
I am finally drawn out of my
misery
by an invitation.
I have been invited to a gathering
of important
government buildings.
Oh.
It's not for me.
It's for my house.
The address is the same, you realize.
I didn't mean to read mail
not meant for me.
I sink further into my misery.
I need something to do.
One day I decide to replace all my blood with mercury.
Mercury is very poisonous,
so this is to be a very slow, gradual process.
I expect that it will take several weeks.
I get an intravenous needle
and rig up a
continuous drip bag
immediately.
I smash a few mercury switches
that I ripped out of
broken
thermostats
to get the mercury.
For the first week I merely take
single
injections
in the morning.
The second week
I set up the 
continous drip bag.
One morning,
I awake from a deep sleep instantly,
clear-headed
and blood (mercury!) pounding.
I leap up and
rip the curtains away from
the windows.
It's snowing!
It's summer, it can't be snowing.
It's fallouting!
The silently drifting radioactive fallout cheers me
immensely,
and I decide to have a huge breakfast
before going out to
play.
I joyfully skip down the middle of the street,
humming a children's rhyme,
speeding up a bit
to hurdle those stumbling wrecks of
neighbors dying of
radiation sickness.
I take huge gulps
of the freshly
irradiated
air.
I soak in the rads.
I lift my beaming face
proudly,
finally as an equal,
to face the Sun,
high in the sky.
I rejoice at the
atomic energy
coursing through my body.
I rush into a
restuarant
as I find myself suddenly
famished,
But everyone there is
near death.
I start pulling some
steak
out of the restaurant's
refridgerator.
I stop.
I look around.
At the bodies.
They are weak.
Their bodies are weak.
Their flesh is weak.
Their meat is weak.
I will not be weakened.
I shall not eat what they eat.
I shall not eat any of them!
Be they human
or cow.
They are one and the
same.
Weak.
I only have one choice.
I get a big knife
from their kitchen,
and sit down in a
booth
to carve up my
legs.
For my dinner
plate.
As I carve through my femoral artery,
and my blood splatters
the ceiling,
I take a victorious glance
at the twitching bodies
littering the floor.
The ample evidence of my
strength and vitality
showers down
upon their heads
for several
minutes.
I close my eyes,
Lean back in my seat,
and imagine a rain forest
of my body.
As I eat.
My skeleton soars overhead, holding all sorts of squishy bulbous
bags and ropes,
My internal organs.
A mist or light rain of 
blood
is constant,
Like it is here still,
as I open my eyes
and return.
Who would live in my jungle-body?
What would they hunt?
Where woluld they live?
They must be peacefull
Hunter-gatherers.
The kind
that
Live in total
harmony
With the
land.
I finish eating the meat that I had prepared,
and wrap the rest up in a
plastic bag.
I prepare to leave, then remember
I have no legs
anymore.
This presents a problem.
Nothing insurmountable of course.
My strength shall overcome
all obstacles.
I reach up and grab hold of the
window
next to my table.
With a sudden jerk,
As if pulling a tablecloth out from underneath
A set of laboratory beakers,
I yank the entire wall and roof off the
building
I am sitting in.
The sudden breeze from outside is
quite refreshing.
I reach up and grab the edge
of the sky.
I pull myself up past the clouds,
And push off into my own 
orbit.
The Earth, my
Home World,
grows so small.
It falls into my hand.
I hold it between finger 
and thumb.
What to do,
What to do?
I grab my mortar and pestle,
mirror,
razor, and
straw.
I REGRET NOTHING.
I throw the tiny planet into the mortar,
and quickly,
anxiously,
turn it into a more usefull
form.
It seems to have a sticky center, but that crumbles quickly
as it cools.
I grind it into a 
fine
powder.
I lay it out in a line 
on the mirror.
I bend down
with a straw up my nose
and snort
it 
all
up.

Ahhhhhh......

A sudden rush,
tension drains away
replaced by both
euphoric relaxation,
and 
exhilarating power.
The pleasure is short-lived however.
A sudden tenseness in my head,
Sharp pains shoot down my legs,
Spasms in both of my hands,
A sudden burning in my chest,
My body suddenly collapses into a
Dense mass
Which ignites
Under the intense
Gravitational
Forces
And a fusion reaction
Turns most of my flesh into pure
Energy.

The blast can be seen
For millions of light years
Across the universe.
Only my heart
Remains,
As a smooth, spinning, singularity.
Pulling a continuous stream of
matter
Past my event horizon,
To my heart,
Myself.
In my curiosity,
I still seek
All.

Come play with me.