Mindless empty chatter.
Mindless empty chatter.
I can hear it.
Your thoughts.
Your mindless empty chatter.
It’s fine. It’s good.
I have it, too.
So—can I interest you in some mindless empty chatter?
Let’s talk.
Let’s talk about GAS PRICES and how they’re always changing.
Let’s talk about TRAFFIC and the ways in which we can avoid it.
Let’s talk about PEOPLE we don’t know and the things they might be doing.
Let’s talk about time and the ways in which we waste it.
Let’s talk about waste.
About the button that doesn’t work or the phone that won’t turn on or the freezer that won’t close.
About the elevator that’s too slow or the gum that lost its taste.
Let’s talk and talk and talk and talk.
And then let’s sit around and talk about all the things we wish we were doing.
The incredible things we wish we were doing.
But we’ll never do.
AND THEN LET’S DIE.
Should we feel something?
Let ourselves feel something?
I know it sounds painful, but—should we take the time to feel something?
Please, for the love of God—God, let’s talk.
So we can forget the endless possibilities that lie just outside this room.
This room. Empty space.
A blank page and a brick laid down to sleep.
To sleep.
Perchance to dream.
No.
There will be no dreaming today.
ONLY TALK.
Let’s talk about—
Is it just me? I
That zones out sometimes.
That can’t take the chatter sometimes.
Because if it’s just me—great, send me to the institution. Corrode my brain and pull out my organs.
Dig and dig and dig until you find—me.
Cause I’m there. Somewhere. Somewhere deep.
I’m not always there but I try. I’m not always there but I try.
So once you’ve found me.
Go ahead.
Take out all the beauty and the hope you see.
All those blissful little tingles.
Kick me back out into this room and I’ll realize—
Everything’s okay.
Just fine.
Decent enough.
That would be so, so nice.
And then I’ll watch the news and agree with it.
Or disagree because isn’t it fun to disagree?
And I’ll eat bagels and wear matching socks and use a map on my phone to make sure I’m
never ever headed in the wrong direction because who would want an adventure?
And I’ll forget all the times I felt something.
Because it’s so hard to feel something.
And it’s so easy to be here…
So, can you tell me the name of that institution?
Tell me how, when, and where I can go.
I’ll go.
So a doctor can dissect my brain and pick out the parts that feel too much.
The parts that burn.
The parts where melted gold streams out.
And is met with the rude awakening of chatter.
Cause, haven’t you figured it out yet?
THE ONLY THING WE DO IS TALK.
Talk until our Talk until our MOUTHS run dry and our TONGUES fall out.
Talk until our Talk until our BONE turn to DUST.
And the only worthwhile topic is everything.
The only idea is a literal and the only essence is the stuff you can
count on one hand.
Five fingers. And maybe a few little toes.
And when that doctor is done.
And they have trash bags full of my beauty,
Sealed and tossed into the lake with the rest.
Then, can I stop feeling?
Can I stop hurting so much, all the time?
CAN I STOP DREAMING OF MORE THAN JUST CAN I STOP DREAMING OF MORE THAN JUST THIS ROOM?
Because if there is no institution
If I’m right and this—this is wrong
What do I do now?
