Storefront

Maybe I will open a shop.

It will sell broken parts of all types, my way of getting back at those people who offered me nothing but brokenness, knowing or unknowing.

I will play "Godspeed You Black Emperor" all day and sit in a metal chair behind the counter.  Nothing in the store will be broken except for the items for sale.  Bicycle with no chain, a pair of hedge clippers rusted shut, some halved golf clubs, one shoe for the left foot.  At night I would be a shut-up and drink coffee.

I wish people would just shut up.  I can't even hear anymore.  "I own a hunting rifle..." etc.

They are sad, even in their happiness, like birds who forgot that the sky was never infinite, but a system of pulls and tugs on the frame of bone that casts small silouhettes.

In other thoughts, people and their stupid bullshit can go to hell.  I am listening to recorded audio that portrays the sadness of humanity.  I don't want to hear another poem.  People seriously need to adjust their states of mind and start cleaning.  In the meantime, here's half a coffee pot.