Gimme the Prize!

Oh, so many things to talk about, and the lack of places to start.

First things first let me speak on the amount of work I being loaded on my back. Much, much work, few assignments but many in burden, they are like rocks that are thrown into the net that is part of the catch. Throw more restrictions they say, let you do what we call as a work of art, the way that it would be going.

The walruses are fucking chirping! Goo-goo-goo-ga-joob! They who say that this cannot be done, that the roads cannot be made without the proper amount of salt and tar, which is the same thing that is in our gunpowder of the masses. The almighty cigarette that holds in view more than the true Almighty. Joe Camel is worshipped as a speculative icon, not as a figurine for the people to stoop down, because no man would kneel to another mammal unless he feels that it is the right thing for him to follow.

Gimme the prize!

Whisper in our ears, little pretty birds, where the roads lead to. Failure is not an option, as time is money, and money wasted is time wasted, the clock ticking away leading to the utter destruction of society as we know it. Fire and brimstone cast upon he that does not seek the norm, who looks upon other ways to feed his needs, so sayeth they that set the rules for standard living. Lies, lies, all they say!

Swords on swords, men fighting men throughout the ages. Scoff at me you fool, you that wieldeth the sabre and I the one with the musket. You need not reload and only to swish, I am the master of my accord, my stick holds lightning and smoke. Hands that fashioned both, weapons of war, they hurt, they kill, they maim, but do they make fields? Yes! All things make fields! Scorching lands covered by mounds of lava, the product of the boiling earth, it is her destiny to sprout out the unimaginable.

Fear her and her children, little people who sit on her breasts and wade along her lips. The wind blows from one corner to the other, you look at each other with uncertainty, living in your own personal boxes. The security of the cardboard that is your home, some will have paint to cover the fibre of their cardboard that it would look different from others, attractive before all other forms of mankind. Spit on them that huddle from the rain, are you not foolish? Foolish! I think not! You are human!

Words of encouragement do not meet my ears as surely as I want them. You are not meant for this road. Off you go. I swat you with my electric racquet, you little mosquito. Your destiny is not for who you ought to be. Take your belongings and camp on the side of the path, that perhaps in time I might take pity in my passing and throw you a coin.

No! My destiny is my own, given from higher that I may use with the gun of life. BLAM and BLAM go the bullets. Fly on my future, and hit the barrier. Break the glass that stops me, break it again, smash it into itty little bits. Kings to squeeze, queens to turn, stare into their eyes and you see fear looking back at you.

The mirror shows. Reflection, I am a walrus. Goo-goo-goo-ca-joob! It cannot be! I fly with my wings, who am I to say that I follow the walruses, or the lemmings? The prize is ahead of me, if only I can reach it, in my hands. Fingers touching, grasping. Hold on. I have something to say.


Don't take it, it is mine! What is mine, it is mine!



Gimme the prize!