Saturday, October 3, 2009

Even Inquisitors Have To Get Some Sleep

Hush, don't wake them. They have yielded me a few moments remission. For once they are not chockful with contrary advice. Not goading me to do things their way. I should take the opportunity to get some proper work done. Yet all I want to do is sleep. But then they persecute me more easily there. Dreams are their stock in trade. The legitimate playground for their squalling voices. A cacophony of one on ones, slam dunking me into concussion.

Now I know how god felt when his creations approached him on their babbling tower. Which god have I offended to smite me thus? Prayers are no good. They get wind of them and depth charge them with foul jibes and sound affects to match. Sometimes I think I can detect the smell of sulfur in my nostrils. They have turned my own senses against me. They plunder my thoughts. I have to silence them for once and for all.

I need my head to travel like a stealth bomber. To leave no report of its progress if I am to outwit them. They are armed to the teeth with mental AIWACs and synaptic Patriot missiles to bring me crashing back down to earth. To repatriate me to their cause. And re-swear the oath of allegiance within the military-industrial complex that passes for my mind. My hand on a bible, for He is a vengeful god and somehow I have spited him unknowingly. Assigned me my own personal seers, prophets and flagellants to whip me into shape. To make me a penitent. It's an angel I need to steer me towards the light goddammit. But I fear I killed mine by accident some time ago.

1 comment:

  1. Sam, it's Lucy again. I wish you would call me. You're scaring me a bit with this. I think you have insomnia. Adderal worked fine for my ex-husband.

    We really should talk though, Sam. There is something I have to get through to you and this blog thingie isn't working out to get you the message I need to send.

    Will you please call me? I live in Hartford, you can look me up.

    Love, Lucy