Virtual Insanity

"Hey, I'm in pain."
"You wanna see pain, swing by First Methodists Tuesday night. See the guys with testicular cancer. That's pain."

He switches off the movie, or puts the book down, or maybe just opens his eyes. At this point, all that matters is the thought and not the medium that brought it to him. He thinks, thinks, thinks, is he really in pain? Or is he just too self-obsessed to notice anything else but his own problems, which can be described as insignificant at best and downright stupid at better than best. Does he have testicular cancer? Does he even know a loved one who has cancer? Has he ever lost a limb? Does he have any idea what it means to be physically inadequate?

But fuck all that. Does everyone have to live the exact same life to feel genuine pain?

"Well, I mean isn't everything autobiographical? We all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know, if you've ever seen that little one page note to the reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel. You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of the moments of our lives, and that anyone who sits down to write, is gonna use the clay of their own lives. You can't avoid that.

So when I look at my own life, you know, I have to admit, right....that I've....I've never been around a bunch of guns, or violence. You know, not really. No political intrigue....or helicopter crash, right? But my life, from my own point of view, has been full of drama, right?

And so, I thought that if I could write a book that...that could capture what it's like to really meet somebody. I mean the most exciting thing that has happened to me, is to really meet somebody, you know, make that connection. And if I could....make that valuable, you know, to capture that, that would be the attempt or....

Did I answer your question?"

He destroys the TV screen (what's a better word for "destroying" a TV screen? He can't remember. Lately, he's not been so good at remembering stuff, the one thing he used to be proud of. It would be safe to say he's a total loser now. Not safe for him, though. If he can't be his own, he'd feel better dead). Or maybe he just opens his eyes again.

"There's no chance for us, it's all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us
Who wants to live forever?"

He burns the speakers and bangs his head against the music player. Or maybe, much to the chagrine of the readers, he just opens his fucking eyes again.

"When I grow up I want to be a little boy"

He bites into the book and tears off the pages with his teeth. He really does do it this time. He chews and feels his saliva making the paper into a lump. He gets a weird feeling, as if he is chewing the insides of his own mouth. The soft, red insides of his cheeks. He is reluctant to admit that he likes the feeling. Then another weird feeling, deja vu. He has felt this before. How weird is it exactly to have a weird feeling about a weird feeling?

Was he dreaming in his sleep or sleeping in his dream? Not that it matters. He wants to be Schroedinger's cat, make life and death a question of probabilistic equations.
He killed himself yesterday, but he is still awake.

He is standing in the shadows, his soul is hanging loose
He wants to shake it off, what he has long abused

It's okay, he just had a bad day....