Twirling round with this familiar parable

I can't escape this incessant metaphor we live in. This self-perpetuating cycle of fuck or be fucked. They call it college life but I see it very differently. I am on my knees and my chest is burning. Something inside has bored its way deep into the various cutaneous vessels that compose my sick and twisted figure. But I find relief in the fact that what we think we know about existence is only a small fraction of everything there is to learn. I feel relieved that my own confusion is but a minuscule ache in comparison to the utter foolishness of those intellectuals that have it all figured out. Working to create a better America, that's comforting. Maybe they will stop trying to sidestep around the final solution...working to create a better American. General Motors and Starbucks owned countries funding government projects to construct more efficient and more subservient Americans. They will start construction right here in New Brunswick New Jersey. Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey. The center for technological misuse and overexaggerated delusions of economic grandeur. The coding, subconscious messages in between the unending text of organic reactions laden with chemical propoganda. The lecture outline for acid catalyzed hydrogenation of cyclic structures turns out to be nothing more than a ploy to get me to buy a Ford and vote Republican. What the fuck am I learning here? Delocalization of pi-bonded electrons and intermediate formation of bromonium ions...it's as American as apple pie and baseball. Or maybe I'm just pissed off because I fucked up my last Orgo exam. Either way, I still won't buy into the fact that passing this class will have a signifcant impact on the predisposed life you claim to have set before me. If I have this ability to set myself aside and act as nothing more than an observer to the cycle, does that pose a threat to those who believe in control above all else? Maybe I'll be misdiagnosed and given a prescription to "help" me stop thinking these thoughts. Then no one will give two shits about what I learned in college. The whole experience disapears in a blink with this bottled amnesia. One more pill to forget the past week, another one to forget the past year. How many doctors have been corrupted? They are given positions of power and the ability to decide our livelihood...our cerebral vocation. These intellectual superiors are just as susceptible to the propaganda as any of us, and I am sure they read a lot more about organic chemistry than I did. Maybe I should stop worrying about it and just take my pills. The blue one helps me sleep and the pink one helps me breathe. The green one helps my circulation and the orange one maintains my spirituality. Which one helps me get through college, through organic chem, and through the day? Consult your physician if side effects such as free speech, open-mindedness, and an overwhelming need to experience this holy reality occur.

Phylogeny and the study of human persistence

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. That is true for every day, except for the day you die. Under the bumper of a 1997 Eclipse, my body lies shattered and broken. Ligaments are torn away like the rotting mucous membrane of a decaying jellyfish. The phylum Cnideria always reflected some aspect of human atrophy. The mutilated vessel flies into the air and slides across the pavement. A concrete luge with no protection and no brakes, perfect circumstances for a friday afternoon. My life, a riddle on the tip of my amigo's tongue. It dances in and out of our heads as if one souless being had managed to get through to another. (Minus divine intervention, our meeting was exceptional) Here it is, the final resting place. The skin across my face burns raw and red from the searing friction. Black pavement lies dormant against the pulsing agony of a full sun. This ball of thermodynamic chaos is penetrating my already battered flesh. I am roasting on Gods barbeque. Sizzle the fat and let it drip off into a bucket of human waste. If McDonalds could only utilize my toasted burning skin, none of "us" would go hungry. They find what was left of me here, and there, and everywhere. They see my friend, crushed and bitter. The rest of his existence, centered and overcome by this one epic story. His mind was capable of percieving the events of this friday afternoon, but his legs were not up to the challenge. One by the tree and one under the Eclipse, this was the first day of the rest of his life.