What’s the point of anything—
no, really: what’s the point? Ultimately,
I can’t be bothered. No reason. It’s
too nonsensical to place myself in someone else’s shoes.
Why would I do that? It’s the end
of civilization. We could have moved forward
a thousand years ago. Reach across
the aisle and shake a neighbor’s hand—but,
supposedly,
it’s a dangerous world out there.
Survival is the most selfish act. Fuck
you. Really, though, ultimately:
I don’t see you.
I don’t comprehend you.
I don’t know you because
I can’t know you. Fuck you.
Yeah. That’s right I said it—
but I said it with all the truth that’s there
right behind it. Eons and eons and eons
of truth. When the sun rises,
I wake up. When it sets,
I sleep. I dream. I live it.
I know it. You’re a you.
You could be anywhere and anything
and you’d still be nothing.
The only way you could affect my life
is if I let you feed me trauma.
You’d have to be a lightning flash
across my neurons for me
to register
you.
Otherwise, float around.
About your business.
Go.
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