Tuesday, November 27

Listen Close

This is a work of fiction. Copyright © 2007 Bolt, Ink. All Rights Reserved.
No portion of this work may be copied, retransmitted, reposted, duplicated,
or otherwise used without the express written approval of the author.


Listen Close



That fucker, he’s always watching.

Doctor LaSalle the pusface tries to tell me what’s right, but she’s a philistine. She never listens. She talks and talks but never expresses a coherent thought. How many times do I have to point out the obvious?

Fluoxetine? Please. I eat that shit like candy. Lithium? Might as well swallow the powdered exhaust from a ‘57 Ford. That stuff’ll kill you for sure. Haloperidol? Might work on an earthworm, but not a crocodile like me. Clozapine? Ain’t gonna do it, hombre. I hide it in my corn. Can’t trust corn either. Kernels or pills, what’s the difference? They will both kill you if you aren’t careful.

No one learns any more, that’s the problem. No one really reads a book or feels the hum of the planets or thinks in the darkest safety of the night. There is everything there, more than your mind can hold. But not me. I keep my mind pure and alert and open to everything. That’s why I am free. Intelligence is not bound by ideas others have thought before. You’ve got to go and make reality for yourself.

Listen close: Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Cleopatra’s Needles. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Lawrence Welk. Aluminum nitrate. Jesus turding Christ! It’s all right there! One day they’ll stop cleaning these walls and look at the stuff I’ve written there. Then they’ll see.

The New York Times, Il Papa, Commandant Pusface, my father. They all think they know, but they don’t. They think I don’t know, but I do. I KNOW. I know i know i know i know i know. It’s that knowledge that keeps me safe.

If you’re smart, you’ll listen, and listen close. Pay attention. Beware. Don’t trust anything. Don’t trust anybody.

Because that fucker? He’s always watching.


6 comments:

Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer said...

Crazy . . . I'm crazy for bein' so lonely . . .

Farrago said...

I like the stream of consciousness here. I'm disturbed by the fact that he doesn't sound crazy, except for his mistrust of the face in the painting. I was waiting for that telltale evidence of a door off its hinges, but it never came. Has he been committed under pretenses? Is there something sinister afoot?

rennratt said...

I kept picturing that movie "Conspiracy Theory" when I read this.

This guy definitely isn't well.

Well read, perhaps. But not well at all.

No Celery Please said...

You really cpatured the crazy here. very n ice.

For some reason, I adore this:

Can’t trust corn either.

That line really made the whole thing for me. Wrapped it up in a nice, crazy bow.

the only daughter said...

I've known a few folks like this fella. At particular times, in particular circumstances...they were quite the learning experience.

The corn did it for me as well.

tiff said...

Yup - corn for sure.

KF, you've distilled down crazy and made it sound sane, but just for a moment.

I'm sad that people keep cleaning his manifestos off the walls. That's just not nice. Those fucktards. I liked this, because it reminds me of someone. I wonder if they'd see themselves in it?