Fortuneteller TV Set
Oh TV! You’ve stolen my innocence & turned me into a rabid dog! But I’ll fetch your stick & bury your bone. I’ll bury your memory in the Tomb of the Last Game Show Contestant. TV has taught me we’d better spend a whole lotta money & make a lotta deadly weapons with it, or we’re gonna get ourselves into a war. TV taught me love happens in an hour or less. TV taught me sugar is one of the major food groups. The cats keep reminding me they are ravenous & stare at the sweet singing caged birds with murderous intent in their Egyptian eyes & meowing like the Moon’s on fire. TV has foretold the future & made us long for a make-believe past that never happened. Ants are crawling through the dead bird’s skull, listening to sweet songs it had once sung. Over there, it’s a picture-perfect day on TV. We were guided day by day into a world of never-ending perfect scenes starring cardboard cut-outs & not flesh & blood humans. One day, we saw through the falsely perfect incessant visual loop & rewired our brains, removing images used for brainwashing & ingrained enough to twist our minds. Everything opened up, like a damn destroyed, like a fence torn down, like a mind receiving universal truth transmissions. I changed the channel & saw men walking on the moon. I changed the channel & no one was wearing bellbottoms anymore. I changed the channel & watched the Internet change everything. I changed the channel & watched a global pandemic kill millions. I changed the channel & saw quantum thinking become a reality. I changed the channel & watched a cold civil war turn hot. I changed the channel & saw how reality needed defending. I changed the channel & people were wearing bell bottoms again. I fed & petted the cats & they told me the future, using their eyes to hypnotize & their minds to send visions, all-wise beings that they are. I changed the channel & dark night mysteries clung to the front bumper of the speeding midnight black Cadillac, as ghosts from times past swooped down from low-hanging clouds, speaking in whispers & buried memories.
Brilliant.
Parts of this made me feel BILL HICKS .... I think U and me are the last of the Writers who cram all dat shit 2getha into 1 long Paragraph. Proving THOMAS BERNHARD was onto something.