Ex Nihilo | On hold

• raw pork and opium

〨

          Forget everything you know about yourself. Forget the color of your hair, the shape of your eyes, that hidden birthmark behind your left ear that looks like a spider. Forget that scar on your right forearm from that accident with the knife throwing and the bruise you got this morning from banging your head against the bathroom cabinet.

You're an idiot.

Forget everything you know about the world. Forget the orange tinted trees, the oil tinted ocean, the mixed air you're breathing in right now, impure mutt that it is. Forget the feel of the ground beneath your shoes because you can't walk barefoot anymore. Forget that there are 12.5 billion people in the world and time is running out and doom was singing with the acid raindrops years ago.

This is real. This is real life.

Forget everything you know about living and time, space and reality, you and the world.

Because you know nothing.

You're a foetus.

From the moment you're old enough to listen without drooling you are told everything about everything by people who don't know anything. You are told that this is your life and these are the cards you've been dealt, so you have to play the game. You have to play and play to win. You're supposed to ignore the fact that your life is absolute shit no matter what, that the world you live in is flickering.

Real men grow up and get good jobs so they can afford to lead expensive lives. They don't need to be happy.

Are you a real man? Have you bought all the things you don't need and died with each transaction?

Who owns your soul? Are you...happy?

The year is 2065 and we know nothing.

In my room, I'm stretched out on my bed. Will is in the corner beside me, lounging on my Air-Chair. We are loaves of bread, both staring at Ruddman on the floor in front of us. He's counting money, concentrating.

"Fifty," his voice is a hoarse whisper, croaking the reality of what he has said up to me. I look at Will.

"We're fifteen dollars short of the kingdom," I say. And it's silent.

Damn.

"Are you sure? Count it again, man," Will urges.

"I've counted it four times already, fuck. We only have fifty dollars."

"Are you sure ?"

"Yes, goddammit! What did I just say?" Ruddman's on fire.
Will is looking at the bills and coins sleeping on my floor.