A silence rings hollow in the bell-tower each afternoon. I can hear it ringing truthfully from my den where I’ve established, a little nest where I can come and forget that only corpses sit in the pews. Only corpses sit in the pews, and any statistic will beget that as many as 10,000 pederasts are currently dealing forgiveness. And the Hindus will gang rape you. And the Muslims tunnel under rubble plotting the end of the West. And the Evangelicals could rebuild Aleppo with their treasure stuffed in political war-chests. Mind you I am the most desperate type.
My car I haven’t started in nearly a week, and my kitchen is just about out of anything to eat but for the oil in the drip-pan beneath my sink. My phone is on vibrate stuffed beneath my mattress and sometimes I hear it hum: I know the voices on the other end – my boss or my mother or a friend from whom I reneged some important thing – will quietly ask if I’m okay, where have I been? am I coming to work today? I haven’t spoken a word since maybe December 1st….
I accidentally let myself slip into the crevasse between the back and bottom couch cushions, and was a little sick how neutrally fetal it felt. I stayed there a while to ruminate – Again around noon I decided to masturbate, and didn’t see a reason to clean the couch cushions.
If I drink enough and keep the TV loud enough my head fills with blood and I usually come alive enough to play some music on Pandora.
I will waste here patiently for a reason to go outside,
For a reason to swallow the shame when facing another human being,
Or a reason to get by with the inveterate pain of just trying to survive.
Only corpses sit in the pews:
And with this in mind, even if you can manage to spend your days at the bottom of the Trevi Fountain collecting your precious pennies, you’ve already abandoned the statues above and now there is nothing left to the muck your mother thrust you into, and, clawing at nothing, you can find, that there is nothing left to color this meaningless void.
Mick's Neon Fog 