[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED]
BY RUI CARLOS DA CUNHA
We're all becoming invalids, growing old and infirm. Eventually, we'll croak over and die, kick the bucket. Really, what does all this mean to anyone anyway? Even if we survived, we'd be decrepit and useless.
All the government wants is good, healthy people to work. Leave the aged in nursing homes, factories of slow death. Leave us helpless with dumb waiters, servants installed in homes.
But why focus on the dark side, on the dire, bleak aspects. Even if we can't get it up, we can still just pretend. 'Cause grandma is horny as fuck, who could see that coming. Oh, nobody cares anymore, get it on, bang a gong. Move on, no love lost, no harm done, no harm, no foul, move on. If it all meant too much back then, now it means nothing, zilch. Nothing at all, nada, to think no babies means free love. Given the association with hippies, sex is sex.
If you can't put out, then get lost, go smoke a pipe outside. Nothing comes from years of sorrow, melancholy and loss. Vacant stares out windows, lost souls waiting for a kind smile. And then Rod O'Conor shows up ready to kick my ass. Literally, I know nothing unable for decades. If I could have, I would have but life is a gamble. Decided long ago, I failed as a human being. Silence befell my destiny without a legacy.
Guess what, I became useless young, worthless to most people. Relegated to dead end jobs with no future in sight. Only hope kept me going strong, pretending to be young. Wonders never cease as they say, at least, I could still run. If I was tired, my body hurt, who was I to complain? Nobody listened anyways, not even therapists. Given psychotherapy meant nothing to the mere dead.
Oceans of suffering and pain, still no one really cared. Lonely and sad on an ice floe in the Arctic Ocean. Decisions were made without me, without any knowledge.
Answers were few and far between, friends were farther apart. No one gave a rat's ass for me since I was a small child. Difficult as it sounds, it's true, the sadists enjoy pain.
If I derive pleasure from words, they derive it from harm. Not that schadenfreude bothered my sensibility. Forgotten without followers, I kept moving forward. If money comes laterally, the crab lifts up his claw. Relative to solving problems is knowing how they start. Mechanics reveals the inside of a lock as standard.