it reeks of shit. it could have been incomprehensible shit if you hadn’t come across it a gazillion times before. but you have and it’s still as shitty as it ever was. and it’s never going to get any better. so what do you do with it ? what do i do with it ? i accept it for what it is and get on with my life. until now.

before i vent i ask myself do i need to ? maybe i do. to ensure closure. closure about the fact that shit exists? yes. in unquantifiable fertile quantities it does. in advertising it permeates every niche of your existence.

shit comes in many avatars.

it’s serious shit it comes on a fresh A4 printout. so fresh the turbid wisps of self-deprecating steam leaving the shit surface actually catches your eye. and your nose. it is placed perfunctorily on your desk with severity and a polite sense of purpose. the latter is anybody’s guess. but yours to surmise within the minute. here’s where the faculty of intelligence can go awol. do it. suspend your judgment and soak in the shit. it’s so effervescent it won’t last anyway. at least it doesn’t seem to.

it finds a way into your mailbox. smack dab in the midst of the everyday bunch of fwd inanity sits a piece of the profane. only this shit doesn’t make you laugh. it makes you sicker than the last sick joke some sickhead sent you. the deeper down it sits in your mailbox the more sickly the stench is when you open it. open it. and let it invade your sense of calm. don’t react. light up and inhale. your sense of survival will find ways to numb it. it always does. always will.

sometimes the shit comes out of a mouth. spewing forth with volcanic intensity like it does from a frayed hole in a rusty drainpipe down the side of a derelict erection time forgot. a gaseous gurgling of bile and vile toxins. filth so pure it defiles the air it traverses between the mouth and your senses. yet, you take it all in. wicked, when you realize a touch of masochism on a monday morning bares a new hue of blue. fill your veins with it and smile as it enlivens anatomical parts creative brilliance never will. you will survive. roaches did.

i hate it when the mouth is attached to a moron. love it when said moron is a pompous ass. but then that’s a different fettle of kitsch...

it’s a love-hate relationship, you and the shit. love-hate in converse order. you come to love it after spending so much energy hating it. odd but true. unlike a tethered slave who falls in love with the grind for the lack of choice you fall in love with it because of what it spurs you to do. you take the shit and play with it. you sit in it and let your id amok. squeezing it in your palms like play-do. and over time you fondle it so hard you bring about a mutation. you’ve interfered with its fragile dna and created a progeny - an apparent physical replica of its parent but with the power do infinitely more.

and why do we do this ? is it because we’re paid to take shit through the system and convert it? no.
we do it out of habit. that which comes with our kind. the creative kind. look at the dude upstairs. he’s creative.
ever noticed how the convoluted lobes of the human brain looks like well, a helluva lot of shit ?


umd's picture
Activity Score 4

too much shit. puke. if you can find happiness in giving a shine on that shit! then you are creative!