Tuesday 9/30/2008 01:20:00 AM

God had the pistol in his hand. He fired, but missed. Ending everything in 'a whimper, not a bang'.

I could love the world. I really could. If it could love even one of us. Who toils to make the things that make others rich.

Life is not a poem. And all the poets are dead. Made useless by mortgages and credit.

The world has no use for things that can't be sold.

And I, little use for it.

Feed me my disease in tired payments. Tell me I'm better while it gets worse. Kittens in the barrel. To drown. Claws out. Scratches everywhere. Drugs. Always with the drugs. To take away the one disease. Discover a dozen new ones.

Buy me. I'm for sale. Save me. I've already taken so much. The world is ended by the old. When there are more old than young. The world isn't ending. Right now. But it's looking in Darwin's direction.

I'm tired of paying for actors and athletes to eat caviar while other's starve.

Dismantle the system. Start over. With new charlatans.

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