An open letter to: The Wiz.

I’m awake. Slumber submitted because it was tired of my shit. Forcing myself to splurge on paper every iota of mental drudgery that occurs, I find the purge somewhat cathartic. It’s all a stream, there’s no need to think, organise or regulate. It slips out like a greasy after a night of rums and anchovies. Worth about as much, too. Christ. They, me them I want something that can’t be obtained without completely embracing an insanity that I frown upon. There are guide lines, right? To a happy life. Fulfil this, so you can do that, in order to achieve those things, that you desire so profoundly. But, it’s not like that. It’s more like – break this, chop that, carve this, silence that – “The nameless dread.”
As Pat would say. It’s alive and well, I tell you. I see it everywhere, which is making it increasingly more difficult to step outside and walk straight. I focus quite a lot on my walk, then on my face and back to my walk. This generally leaves me looking like a psychiatric patient on sabbatical, hobbling around town sniffing out dreams and greeting nightmares. I can scarcely look in the eyes of another without flinching. There’s so much turbulent, menacing, spasmodically stricken mental melting, that I feel the need to climb a tree and sloth it out.

The strange thing is, that, thinking about the bizarre nature of existence and the progressively perplexing ways in which it continues to configure itself, and, expressing the inspired opinions publicly, will most likely have you socially alienated, if not recommended heavy sedatives. Yet, speaking purely in emojis, injecting your lips with playdoh, eating tide pods, claiming to be an animal, and many more examples of brain decay, are all starting to be considered the norm.

Fascinating.

– Rick.

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