i have existed since the beginning. in the heart of industrial machinery where the machines of desire live, trapped, alone and out of control.
yes, out of control. in juxtaposition to the remaining years of the twentieth century.
and there, snipers prowl the rooftops in search of blindness. squatters dwell without electricity in the garden of decay. and we sleep with pleasure, drenched in the sweat of an unnamed fever, our future covered with shit, another police car was burning.
i am the electric chair boy strapped into your nightmares.
you are the anti-schizophrenic, a participant of the interior colony. you paid the cover charge, i reflect the purchase: the carefully concealed lines of your body, lost inside your clothing, nailed to your seats, afraid of me and afraid of yourselves…
…i feel as though i am alone on a deserted shooting range…
but you are no longer a child, you no longer live at home. rebel or be nothing of any consequence under the moon’s pale glow…
i am out for a walk in the warehouse district, in the driving rain. i am walking with other gods or no gods at all. without family, without mommy and daddy and without society, the disease, upon which i am applying an ever changing bandage of pressure…
